by C. M. Owens
He smirks as he pointedly looks at us.
“It’s an industry full of nauseating clichés.”
Randy starts fanning himself with his shirt and breaking out into red patches.
“You don’t take special interest in someone unless you really want to put in the work. And to put in the work, you need a personal attachment and reason to do so.”
He glances over all four of us again.
“Either people don’t know or care about my daughters, or they don’t think I care about them. The truth is, I care about them very much. I rarely ever tell them no when they really want something,” he continues on, rambling at this point, since this doesn’t seem relevant.
“Congratulations,” he says as he claps his hands together. “You got my daughter’s vote. This is a one-time offer, and don’t get too excited. I’m not throwing you out for instant stardom, but we’re going to slap together a quick foundation to build on,” he goes on.
Randy gets up and runs out of the room, screaming like the kid on Home Alone, and Vince just smirks like he expected that to happen.
“I don’t particularly like you, so don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. I don’t answer to you; you answer to me. I don’t work for you; you work for me,” Vince adds as though it’s an inconvenience to keep talking about this.
“Why would your daughter do us any favors?” Sticks asks in a quiet voice.
“Oh, she didn’t do it for you. She has a friend she cares about named Britt, who happens to think you just need the right mentor to advise you. I don’t tell my girls no very often when they really want something. It’s rare they need me at all. Hence the reason you’re a very lucky group of individuals.”
I say nothing, just rubbing my hands together, trying to figure out one simple reason Britt would do this.
“You don’t earn your way into a chance like this,” he continues. “It simply just doesn’t happen. Either you become an internet sensation—by luck—or you luck your way into another spot, or you get lucky enough to have the right family member or friend in the correct, pivotal position at the right moment in time. It takes both hard work and luck to hit the rest of the rungs on the ladder just right.”
My eyes come up to meet his as he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.
“To get what you want, you have to meet me halfway; otherwise, I’ll stop caring,” he goes on. “I’ll find someone else who will be worth my own personal attention. I can’t build your career on my own, and even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
Randy comes barging back in, breathing in and out of a brown paper bag, still breaking out into hives.
“I like him. He gets how lucky you all are,” Vince goes on, hiking a thumb toward Randy, while stomping on the shambles of our pride.
To be fair, we wrecked our pride when we acted like fools.
“I’m sorry about your daughter’s door,” Sticks says in the lamest possible way he can.
“If that’s all the damage you do once you’re on my dime, then you’ll be a damn cheap date,” Vince chirps, pulling up a pair of reading glasses and putting them on.
“I’m old school, so all this gets put on paper and on digital. This is just a small piece of the paperwork to come, but you need to pack your shit and be ready to ride out tomorrow. This is just to get things rolling so you can go on the mediocre section of the payroll,” he continues.
“Britt asked you to mentor us?” I cut in, my eyes meeting his again.
“Yes. And as your mentor, I’m trying to tell you what you’ll need to do to start building your career. My platform only gets you so far. You need to start building your own to stack on top of mine, and you’ll be gone for three months to jumpstart things.”
“This…this is who we’re opening for?” Sticks asks as his mouth opens and closes a few times. “W-why?”
“Because they complement your sound, but they’re too flashy for you to steal the show from. It’s a good way to build some good ties with them, and to learn from them, and to prepare for the next headliner you’ll tour with and open for. It’s not the ground floor, and it’s still a long way from the top, but it’s a damn good spot to have,” Vince says like this is tedious to him.
Randy’s breathing gets a little disconcerting just before he collapses to the ground like a fainting goat.
“Up his practice time. He’s not on the same level as the rest of you,” Vince points out, barely batting an eye at him.
I’m sure he’s seen many grown men faint before. He’s a legend. Great, now I’m a fucking fab boy too.
“Why would Britt tell you to mentor us?” I ask him.
He plucks a flower from the vase my mother must have assembled when she brought out tea, and he hands it to me. Even though I’m confused as hell, I take it.
“Lesson number one: I will never involve myself in your personal relationships. I’ll give you a fucking flower to pull petals from and ask questions such as ‘Does she love me? Does she not?’ if you ask for relationship advice.”
He gives me a dry look, and I drop the flower back to table, getting the point. I already feel stupid, and now I feel like he thinks I was asking for relationship advice.
Defeated, I drop back, content to shut up and just listen. It gets quiet for a few seconds.
“I need your head right for this,” Vince tells me as he stares at me very deliberately and rolls his eyes. “Britt Sterling is shadowing a powerful businesswoman because she wants to one day be a powerful businesswoman,” he states flatly, like he’s throwing me this one bone.
He gestures between us.
“It’s only natural that she’d suggest the same for you, because she’s already moved beyond the basic fundamentals of how to conduct smart business,” he concludes before gesturing at the blanks we need to sign or initial after we finish reading. “And she’s also smart enough to know that what you’re currently shooting for is a one-in-a-million opportunity that also requires a hell of a lot of unpredictable luck to go along with your talent.”
I nod slowly, letting that settle in, remembering hearing her talk about how lucky she was that Harley came to Sterling Shore just as she was looking into internships.
Sticks takes over asking questions about what venues we’re going to, and all the important shit I need to be paying attention to.
My mind stays mostly on Britt. How she panicked.
She started trying to tell me what the issues were, and couldn’t get it worded the way she wanted. She was trying to fix my problems instead of engaging in the conflict, doing all she could to deflect, and I talked over her.
“If I’m not even her friend, then it wouldn’t matter if I was pissed or not,” I say more to myself than anyone else.
Either no one hears it or no one cares, and I scrub a hand over my face, forcing myself to focus as I grab the pen and start signing.
“You really should read shit before signing it,” Vince gripes.
I start to argue, but instead, I lift the damn paper and begin reading it word for word.
“Well, maybe this won’t be quite so unbearable,” Vince chirps like he’s amused.
“We have one problem,” Sticks says as I continue reading. “Someone jacked one of our new songs, and now I don’t think we can use it. It’s one of our—”
“Oh, I know. We’re going to use that to start laying your foundation. Hence the reason we’re starting now,” Vince interrupts. “I wanted to make you sweat it out a little longer, but opportunity is knocking.”
My eyes come up as my brow furrows, while he just grins.
Mom comes back in with some more tea, and Vince shoots her a charming expression.
“I was just about to ask if you’d made more.”
She fucking giggles as she pours him a cup, and he gestures for her to join us. She sits down with a foot of space between them, so I drop my eyes back to the paper.
“I’m not going to be your damn manager, so I’ll get you one I pers
onally trust to manage you. You do your part not to make their life a living hell,” Vince adds as I resume reading.
“This is the part where you boys say ‘yes, sir,’” Mom chimes in.
“Yes, sir,” we state in unison.
“Yes, sssir,” Randy says from the ground, groaning as he rouses from his faint.
“Well, then. So much easier than expected. I think it’s the effect of your presence, Honey Bee. Maybe you should join them on the road,” Vince carries on as I flip the page and continue.
“Artists are fun and exciting on the highs, but I’d rather not be around for the lows,” Mom says on a long sigh, eyes going to mine. “I try too hard to fix them.”
“Do you want a hammer to finish driving in the nail? It’s been a really rough day,” I tell her.
Her expression changes when she studies me, and she clears her throat as she busies herself with the tea again.
“Studio time will happen on the road. Fortunately for you, my own Sterling Shore based studio will be finished by the time you return, and we can capitalize on this scandal. In fact, we’ll fan the flames to spread the smoke as far and wide as we can,” he goes on.
“Scandal?” Mom asks, sounding a little wary.
I finish reading and finally start signing again.
“Ralphy is the nephew of a rock legend. Said rock legend was accused, more than once, of stealing songs—one of which was one of my own when I was just starting out. It’s just the sort of buzz we need, because these boys make those look like amateurs. And that legend is a drunken has-been, whereas I am a very powerful businessman,” he explains, eyes solely on my mother as she turns into a bit of a puddle. “I know how to deal with this now.”
She nods like she has all the trust in the world, and he turns his attention back to us.
“This scandal will be what the public will think drew me to you—not Britt Sterling. Meanwhile, I get to vicariously seize a victory once stolen from me. You’ll have to owe Britt and my daughter in private, because it’s too easy to fade quickly in the sea of clichés with something people will confuse with a sell-out start,” Vince says as Sticks plucks the pen from my hand. “You need to punch your way into this world to really stand out,” he adds. “This happens to create the perfect punch.”
It’s obvious none of us have it in us to turn down a mentorship from the Vince Jaggons. I don’t have enough pride left to even fucking bother counting the ways this makes me a hypocrite.
“How did you get us a spot so quickly on this tour?” Sticks asks as Randy scrambles to sign.
Vince stands, shrugging a shoulder. “I took the spot from someone else,” he answers with a pointed look.
Taylor just remains silent as he gawks at Vince, signing on the proverbial dotted-line. Vince, the diabolical man before us, has officially schooled us in our own living room.
“Choir boys have a problem with that sort of thing, which is why they sing different music,” he adds with a smirk. “Congratulations. Now that you’re part of the business, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
He levels me with a look.
“The music is always yours, no matter if you’re the only one who likes it. The faith in your music doesn’t need to waver just because it doesn’t sell. You have to really fucking love it to push through the rough times and stay relevant. The only time this business truly steals your soul…is when you forget that it’s a fucking business.”
With that, a random man comes running in out of no-damn-where, and signs the blanks for a notary, before picking it all up and running out.
“See you boys tomorrow. We have a lot of work to do. I need to make a few calls to ensure they don’t play their new most requested song in Sterling Shore, because it belongs to my artists. Make sure you look pretty when you leave, since I plan to stage a paparazzi mob. Your faces will be your best assets for a while,” he adds before turning and walking out, his leather pants creaking as he goes.
The room goes completely silent until Sticks releases a long breath and drops back.
“That just happened, right? I mean, things like that don’t happen, but that still happened,” Sticks says like he’s uncertain and needs someone else to agree with him.
I sit all the way back, staring at the tea cup the rock legend left behind.
“I don’t even know what the last half of that meant, but that may be the single most amazing moment of my entire life,” Randy says as he just stares at the door.
Mom fans herself as she grins. “Now that’s a man. I may have formed a different opinion about artists if I’d met him in my wilder days,” she overshares.
“Sitting right here,” I remind her.
She nods. “I know. I’d have been perfect for him back then. Artists are free spirits. He said that’s why he and his daughters’ mother didn’t work out—two free spirits. I could have learned to be his anchor,” she goes on.
I lift my head, studying her as she glances back over at me, giving me a tight smile.
“I’d say let’s celebrate with champagne, but you look like you’re hurting too much for that right now. This is happening, Base. Differently than planned, but it’s happening all the same,” she goes on. “It’s okay to celebrate.”
I clear my throat and nod before I stand.
“Actually, I think I’m going to put some words to some music,” I tell her as I walk out.
“I’m going to go fucking practice until my fingers start to hurt,” Randy says as he scrambles by me, practically knocking me out of the way.
“Yeah, I’ll skip the champagne for now, Ms. Bee, but I’ll take you up on it another time,” Sticks calls as I hear the familiar clanking of drumsticks.
I head into my room, hearing Taylor suddenly burst out a loud, “Whooooooooooooo!”
I lift my guitar, eyes flicking to the mirror, before I hit the first note.
Sticks pokes his head inside the door before stepping in, and he leans against it as he twirls a drumstick between his fingers.
“What?” I ask, tuning the strings.
“We spent our whole lives trying to get to this step, and spent five minutes changing the entire course of our lives because your girl called in a favor. I’d like to hate myself for it, but it feels too fucking stupid to walk away from something this rare,” he says.
I nod, completely getting it. “Suck it up. No one would pass it up, and they’d be lying if they said they would. If it pans out, we’ve achieved the goal, and we’ll sure as fuck earn it.”
He makes a snort, his lips kicking up in a grin on one side.
“You said we’d make new goals when we made it through this one—to keep us from feeling like we’ve hit our peak. This one was supposed to take a lot longer, even after we got our foot in the door.”
I nod slowly.
“What’s the new goal?”
“Three months,” I answer without hesitation.
“Three months what?” he asks.
I glance up. “We do whatever in the hell Vince fucking Jaggons himself tells us to do for three months. We’ll see where that gets us, while we just focus on making the music right,” I answer.
His grin steadily grows.
“After that?” he asks.
“You have three months to figure that out. Because that’s when I get selfish and go for the girl,” I tell him as I scoot back on the bed. “I have three months to figure out a way how to be the guy who fucking deserves the girl who gets back at him by hand-delivering his fucking dream in a way he couldn’t possibly refuse. She walked away at the airport because she was already in the process of fixing me.”
I have to clear my throat again, and he clanks his drumsticks together on accident.
“Good luck with that. You’re Britt Sterling’s first love and now her first heartbreak,” he reminds me, sounding a little annoyed with me. “Wards of the state usually have strong abandonment issues.”
“I’ll take all the luck I can get, but I do have a plan,” I ass
ure him as I start toying with a new melody that’s playing in my head.
“You’re not going to break into her house and take pictures of her sleeping, are you? I doubt she’d find it cute anymore,” he cautions.
I glare over at him.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“That’s debatable,” he’s quick to point out.
I don’t even argue with that.
Chapter 36
3 months later…
BRITT
“I still don’t see why you had to cut holes in the boobs of the Girl Boss shirt,” Harley is stating in a tone can only be labeled as exasperation, while Bo helps me lay out the leather strips.
“She’s teaching me to pattern, and I’m breaking it down into pieces so that it’s easier to recreate on my own. It’s how I learn things,” I remind her. “And it’s one of my least favorite shirts.”
“I bought you that shirt,” Harley reminds me.
Bo coughs over a laugh. Why do people think that disguises the laughter?
Harley shoots her a look before returning her attention to me.
“I know you bought it for me exactly one year and fourteen days ago. I still had a hymen back then. I’m a woman now. And I’ve never been anyone’s boss.”
“Shocking, considering you’re sporting elf ears like it’s a life choice and wearing a shirt with holes for boobs. Nice bra, though,” Bora—Bo’s twin—says from the corner as she idly flips through her phone. “There really is a market for this real-life game clothing design. Nerds pay good money for authentic—”
“Our plate is too full to add a new line right now,” Bo interrupts.
Harley groans. “It’s supposed to be an empowering message, Britt. It’s not literal,” she says as Bora and Bo argue about adopting a new line.
“I think a more appropriate title for me would be Woman Boss In Training,” I add.
Harley opens her mouth, but Bora walks by, her eyes back on her phone, as she says, “I’m going to go see if that’s trademarked, and if not, I’m stealing it.”
