Sold Out

by Melody Carlson

  Wednesday, June 18

  The big day is now over. Tah-dah!

  We toured the recording company and met so many people that I’ll never possibly remember all those names. Not that I’ll need to. I’m sure that I don’t need to, since I’ll probably never see any of them again. Okay, I don’t know this for certain. We know nothing for certain. All we know is that, “We’ll be getting hold of you.” That’s what Eric Green said as he shook each of our hands after the audition.

  The audition. Hmmm. I guess it went okay. Not perfectly. Not nearly as well as the memorial concert last month. But we did the best we could under the circumstances. It’s hard to be comfortable when it feels as though you’re under a gigantic magnifying glass. It didn’t help that I had a big zit trying to pop out in the center of my chin. You know the kind that are red and hard and feel like Mount St. Helens just before it erupts and wreaks havoc everywhere. Allie insisted on putting a little cover-up on it and promised that it was invisible, although it felt very visible to me. But I won’t go on about that.

  They gave us about an hour to warm up and get everything set with the sound technicians. And we were actually starting to relax a little, and I thought maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Willy was really hanging loose, cracking jokes, and basically keeping us light and on track—or trying to.

  But then it was ten o’clock and here came six men and one woman, all in very expensive-looking dark suits. They all seemed to be about the age of our parents or older. Two of the men looked like they were close to sixty. And okay, I just don’t get that. Why were these old suit people making decisions about who did or did not get a recording contract? I mean, they’re not the kind of people who would ever go out and buy our kind of music in the first place, so why should they get to be the judge of whether it’s good or not?

  It’s not as if I expected to see a bunch of kids our age walking in and offering us a record deal, but I guess I expected people who looked just a little more music-minded or even trendy. Now in Eric’s defense, he seemed more like a music guy. And he didn’t even have on a suit, just nice pants and a dark shirt. But here I go again, judging the book by its cover, and this is something I totally dislike for people to do to me. Am I becoming shallow???

  Maybe so. Because as soon as we met the suits, I started to feel a little uncomfortable with my “peculiar” hair color and piercings and stuff. I felt like I was standing in front of my mom—times seven! As if I was being scrutinized for every detail that did not, would never, measure up to what I’m sure they thought a decent Christian girl should be.

  I was thinking, “Did I forget that this is a Christian recording company?” Who knows what they might’ve expected? Suddenly, just as we’re about to begin, I imagined that the last group in here was dressed in matching light blue suits and singing Southern gospel music in four-part harmony, and I thought, “What in the world are we doing here?”

  Just the same, we played. And although we were understandably nervous, there was no barfing on guitars or stage fright or missed notes or false starts. In fact, we did okay. Willy said we played beautifully, but then he was probably just being nice.

  The seven suits were all very polite and told us that we were good and certainly must have a bright future ahead of us, but their smiles were tight, and their handshakes stiff, and it felt as if they were covering something up. Like they were thinking, “Eric Green, you are fired! How dare you bring this sorry excuse for a band in here! What were you thinking?” About that time, Eric delivered his line about him being in touch. I almost expected him to say, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.” Or, “Here’s your hat what’s your hurry?”

  My dad and Laura’s mom both assured us that Willy was right and that we sounded great. “You did your best,” Dad said, putting his arm around my shoulders as we walked out to the two cabs already waiting for us. “You’ve got nothing to feel ashamed about.”

  But as we packed our things into the trunk, I felt absolutely miserable. It was all I could do to keep from crying. I felt like this was our one big chance, and we simply weren’t good enough. We hadn’t made the grade.

  I still don’t know how Allie and Laura feel about the whole thing. We girls rode together, and we were all pretty quiet on the ride back to the hotel. I’m sure everyone’s just tired. I know I was. And suddenly I wish we were going home today—I’d like to go hide in my room and have a good cry—but our flight home isn’t until tomorrow.

  Back at the hotel, Willy and Dad invited us to go sightseeing again today, but we three girls declined. And Mrs. Mitchell looked relieved. I had a feeling she was ready to go home too.

  “Guess you ladies are all worn out,” said Willy.

  And maybe that’s it. I know I, for one, am ready for a nice long nap. Maybe when I wake up I’ll realize that today was just a dream. That we haven’t done the audition yet, and we have another chance, and that somehow we’ll get it right this time. We’ll really wow them. Or maybe not.

  THE BREAKS i guess i’ll live

  it’ll be okay

  life goes on

  just another day

  back to normal

  is where i’ll go

  and i’ll be fine

  take it slow

  it’s just how

  cookies crumble

  that’s the breaks

  take a tumble

  que sera and

  carry on

  trust in God

  sing a song

  cm

  Seventeen

  Thursday, June 19

  Well, morning comes and I’m ready to blow this joint. Okay, it’s really a nice hotel, but I’m thinking, “Get me outta here! I wanna go home!” And then the phone rings. I hear my dad pick it up, and I stop shoving stuff into my backpack and just freeze, straining to listen.

  “Is that so?” I hear him say. “Maybe you should talk to Chloe.” Then he’s calling out to me to get the phone.

  I pick up the receiver in my adjoining room and say, “Hello?”

  “Hey, Chloe, this is Eric. Whazzup?”

  “Not much.” It bugs me when grown-ups say “whazzup.”

  He kind of chuckles then. “Well, I just thought you might like to know that we want to offer Redemption a contract.”

  Just then my knees turn to Jell-O, and I’m not sure if I can speak coherently.

  “Chloe? You still there?”

  “Uh-yeah. Did I hear you—?”

  “You heard me right.” He laughs. “This is always the best part of my job. I love hearing the reactions.”

  “But did you actually say—?”

  “I’m saying that we want to offer you girls a recording contract. I’ve asked your dad to postpone your return flight until tomorrow so we can bring you back over to Omega this afternoon and go over some things.”

  “You’re kidding?” I think I’m actually screaming now, and I hope I haven’t permanently damaged his hearing.

  He laughs again. “Nope, it’s really true. Now I’m going to call Willy and start hammering out some of the preliminary details. I’m guessing you might want to go tell the rest of your band.”

  “Yeah, of course, you bet. Thanks! Thanks so much. This is so—” Now I’m actually starting to cry. “This is so cool!”

  “I couldn’t agree more. And I honestly think Redemption is going to be a really big hit.”

  Then I hang up and start walking around my room in crooked little circles, muttering, I think, something that probably sounds unintelligible, but really I’m sure I’m thanking God.

  “You going to tell the others?” Dad is standing in the doorway watching me with an amused expression.

  I run over and hug him, tears streaming down my face. “Can you believe it, Dad? Can you believe it?”

  He laughs and nods. “Yeah, I think I almost can.”

  “I’ve got to tell Allie and Laura,” I scream, close to hysteria again. It’s all just so unbelievable. Somehow I make it to their adjoin
ing rooms, and the next thing I know we’re all three in the hallway, jumping and yelling and totally going nuts while the three adults stand around and smile. Well, except for Laura’s mom. She’s not really smiling. Actually she looks just slightly bewildered.

  “It’s like a dream,” says Allie with tears in her eyes.

  “Somebody pinch me,” says Laura.

  So I do.

  “Youch!” But she laughs.

  “I’ve gotta call my mom.” Allie suddenly bolts for her room.

  “I’ve got to call Dad,” says Laura to her mom.

  “We better call your mom too,” Dad reminds me with a wink. “She might want to start looking for the right lawyer to go over the contract.”

  Willy waves his hand. “Don’t worry. We won’t have to sign anything today. We’ll just meet with the folks at Omega and go over a few things. Then we’ll take copies of the contract home to read more carefully at our leisure. Since the kids are all minors, they need to have their parents sign. And it might not hurt to have a lawyer go over everything.”

  And then everyone disperses to use the phones and change flights and schedule appointments, etc., etc. When Dad gets off the phone I must remember to call Mike at the Paradiso like I promised. Will he really call the newspaper? Maybe I should tell him to hold off until we know more about what exactly is being offered to us. Although the mere idea that Omega is offering anything at all is enough for me.

  Anyway, I’m back in my hotel room just feeling totally stunned and overwhelmed as I write all this down. It’s so unreal. I mean, we’ve dreamed of this day, and we even believed it could happen. But now it feels just like Allie said, like it’s all a wonderful dream and someone’s going to come in here and wake me up and tell me it’s time to go to school or mow the lawn or something.

  BIG THANKS!

  thank You, God

  even if it’s a dream

  it’s a good one

  thank, You, God

  for doing something

  so incredibly huge

  and amazing

  and wonderful

  only You

  could do this

  thank You, God

  amen

  Friday, June 20

  We’re flying home now—first class again—and this time we’re no longer pretending to be celebrities. Okay, maybe it is a little premature to start thinking we’re all rich and famous (heh-heh), but it is more than just a fantasy now. And slowly, it’s starting to feel less like a dream and more like reality.

  After our celebration dinner yesterday, we three girls made a pact. Eric and a couple of the other “suits” (who were really quite nice despite their somewhat intimidating appearances) took us to this really fancy restaurant. And anyway, we three girls made a pact in the rest room—of all places—and we promised that no matter how famous we might become (and who knows, we might), we will never let the success go to our heads, we will never become demanding divas, we will never forget our old friends, and we’ll always keep our friendship above the music.

  And I’m writing all this down today just in case any of us ever forgets! Not that I think we will, but you never know. I remember what happened in the movie “That Thing You Do!” and how everyone started turning against each other. But really, I don’t think that could happen to us. We have God to keep us glued together, and we love each other like sisters!

  But anyway, here’s what happened when we went back to Omega. We were ushered (all six of us) into the president’s conference room, where we all sat in sleek black leather chairs around a dark wooden table that was as shiny as glass. I could actually see my reflection in the surface.

  Mr. Sallinger, the president of Omega (the oldest of the “suits,” with gray hair) was at the head of the table. And Eric was sitting to his right. “We’re so pleased here at Omega to have the opportunity to record your music. We were all very impressed with Redemption yesterday, and we think you girls have what it takes to go the distance.” He studied our faces. “To be honest, we’ve never recorded a girl band before, but as you can see—” he waved his arm to the numerous photos displayed on his office walls, one band in particular that I recognized because they’ve been extremely popular in both Christian and regular circles—”we’ve recorded some of the best musicians in the industry.” He smiled broadly. “So you’ll be in good company. And we think you’ll fit in just fine. Eric has the contracts all printed up for you. It’s our boilerplate contract—”

  “That means it’s basically the same contract that we offer to all our first-time recording musicians,” Eric quickly explained.

  “That’s right.” Mr. Sallinger smiled at Eric. “And naturally, if you have any questions or concerns, we’re more than happy to answer them. Eric’s your man for that.”

  Now Eric was handing each of us a thick yellow legal-sized envelope. “We can go over some of the preliminaries while you’re all here, if you like.”

  Mr. Sallinger stood. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have an important meeting already scheduled, but I just wanted to take some time to welcome Redemption into the Omega family.” He nodded with what seemed genuine satisfaction. “We’re so very pleased to have you joining our recording family. And it’s plain to see that God has blessed you girls with some outstanding talent. Now, I’ll leave Eric to field your questions.”

  Then we all opened our envelopes and I just sort of blinked at the stack of typed pages—single-spaced and filled with lots of words I don’t even know. And I usually think of myself as having a fairly decent vocabulary.

  “This looks like Greek to me,” said Allie with a goofy grin.

  Eric laughed. “Hey, you’re not alone there. The truth is most people can’t make heads or tails of recording contracts. Let me just take you over the highlights.”

  And the highlights were (if I can remember) that we sign with Omega for one year, with an agreement to two more years (if things go well), and we three girls will equally split what sounded like pretty huge sum to me (even if it wasn’t the “million” that Allie was hoping for), but which Willy told Eric “is yet to be determined.” And I was thinking, “Watch it, Willy, we don’t want to blow this deal before we even get signed up.” But, thankfully, I kept my mouth closed. After all, he is our manager. And last but not least, we must be willing to tour for six months of the year.

  “Six months?” exclaimed Laura’s mother as if we were being assigned hard labor or a prison sentence.

  Eric nodded. “Yes, that’s standard. To sell albums we must promote albums. The girls have to create a name for themselves. The only way to do that is to tour and perform live.”

  “Six months?” she said again. “But what about school?”

  “Tutors.” Eric looked at her evenly, and I could tell he was wondering if she was going to be the wrench in the works. I know I was getting worried.

  “I’d like to be tutored,” I said brightly.

  “Me too,” echoed Allie.

  Laura remained silent, just watching her mother.

  “But the girls are so young,” she continued. “Why, Laura’s the oldest and she’s only sixteen and a half. And as her mother I’m not entirely sure I want her traveling all over God’s creation, doing who knows what with who knows whom, on some broken-down bus that—”

  Eric loudly cleared his throat. “We provide a top-of-the-line motor coach with everything these girls could possibly need—including full bathroom, TV, VCR, full kitchen, microwave. It even has a washer and dryer. We cover all expenses including the cost of one adult chaper-one.”

  “Sounds great to me.” I smiled at Eric, not wanting anything to spoil this deal. Frankly, I was thinking the whole touring business sounded like a really exciting vacation.

  “Well, I don’t know.” She shook her head.

  “Mom,” began Laura slowly. “I’m not a baby anymore. And I really want this.”

  Her mother gave her a sharp look, then quietly said, “We’ll talk about this more when we
get home.”

  Eric continued to go over a few more things, and I’m afraid I wasn’t paying close attention just then because I was too busy imagining us on tour, performing in exciting places and staying in our luxury tour RV. Finally, Eric asked if we had any more questions.

  “I think my wife wants to have an attorney go over the details,” my dad explained. “How soon would you like to hear back from us?”

  “I can understand wanting to have a lawyer look into this. That’s fairly normal. But just the same, we don’t like these things to drag out. Would two weeks be fair?”

  I was thinking two days sounded more than fair to me, but once again, I kept my mouth shut.

  “Two weeks should be just fine.” Dad slipped his copy of the contract back into the envelope.

  Eric turned to Willy now. “How about you, anything else you’d like to know?”

  “Nope. I think you answered most of my questions over the phone when we spoke this morning. I’ll go over this more carefully on our flight home tomorrow.”

  Eric stood and shook hands with everyone. “We are really excited about Redemption.” He grinned. “We don’t even want to change your name.”

  “Do you usually change names?” I asked.

  He pointed to the picture of the band I had recognized. “Do you girls know who these guys are?”

  “Of course,” said Laura. “That’s Iron Cross. Everyone knows them.”

  “Do you know what their original name was?”

  None of us knew.

  “The Baxter Boys.”

  “The Baxter Boys?” I laughed. “That sounds like something right out of the fifties.”

  Eric grinned. “Well, you probably know that two of these guys are brothers, Jeremy and Isaiah Baxter. But when they started doing music they were just little kids, and that’s what everyone in the neighborhood called them. It was okay for church socials and playing around town, but a little hokey as they got older and more sophisticated.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, they do not look like the Baxter Boys.”

  “Will we ever get to meet them?” asked Allie with that dreamy look again.