by MV Ellis
“I know you would. But that’s your way, and your family’s way: act now, and forever suffer the consequences. I just like to be a little more strategic when it’s a ‘small’ matter of my entire fucking life, career, reputation, future, and livelihood on the line.”
“Of course you do, rich boy. But then, that’s your family’s way, right? Sit around doing nothing but making plans until it’s too fucking late to do anything at all. Sorry that this impulsive gypsy boy would rather do something than nothing, even if it means risking doing the wrong thing. I guess we missed out on generations of Anglo education to teach us how to do nothing but eat with the correct fucking fork, and breed with the right people.”
“Fuck you, Rome. You can’t pull the ‘poor uneducated Romany’ card with me. Save it for someone who doesn’t know that you’re just about the smartest person on the fucking planet, and—despite your late entrance into formal musical education—one of the best-trained musicians out there.”
“Whatever. A few years at the Con doesn’t change my DNA. Just as, musically, I’ll never have the same finesse as you guys who’ve been classically trained since you were barely out of the womb, nor will I ever shy away from making decisions based purely on what my gut is telling me to do at the time. It’s one hundred percent me, and it will never change, no matter where I am, who I’m with, or what I’m doing.”
I believed that to be true. His brother was exactly the same. They were two of the most overly talented, but also wild and headstrong, people I had met. Convincing either of them to do anything, especially if it was something they weren’t exactly keen on—or worse still, attempting to convince them not to do something they were hell-bent on—was like trying to corral the sea.
“Listen guys. I know it’s a shock for us all, but we’ve got to be smart and strategic about this. We’ve also got to make a decision that we all agree with.” James was ever the diplomatic peacemaker, and I didn’t envy his job refereeing the two of us in normal circumstances, let alone on an issue as touchy as this one.
“No. We need to make a decision that we both agree with.” Rome motioned between the two of us. “You’re not the one getting up on stage every night, we are.” I agreed with him on that point at least.
“Okay, point taken. I stand corrected.” James raised his hands in mock surrender. “We need to get to a point where the two of you are in agreement, and to a situation where whatever decision is made is something you can live with moving forward. The label hasn’t exactly given us much wiggle room to negotiate, but even still, the best option that the lawyers can come up with is that we go back and suggest some time restrictions on the new arrangement. There’s nothing in the current contract that prohibits this, and that would give us a little freedom to move in the short-term, at least.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Rome’s words echoed my thoughts.
“I’m suggesting that we get a clause written in that says the arrangement is for a fixed term—a trial if you like—and then we can re-evaluate on that basis. Though they didn’t behave that way in yesterday’s meeting, I’m fairly certain that the label guys don’t want you to walk away. So, if we give the impression that you just might, we’ll be in a decent position to negotiate.’
“What kind of timeframe are we talking about?”
“That’s up for debate. Realistically, I doubt they’ll agree to anything less than twelve months.”
“One fucking year of our lives wasted on this bullshit?” Rome slammed his hand down on the glass table and I winced, waiting for it to shatter. It didn’t, but his patience did.
Chapter 8
Rome
* * *
King gave me the look. The look he reserved for times when he thought he needed to “handle” me. It was the same way he might approach a small child throwing a tantrum, or someone who wasn’t quite in control of all their faculties.
“Don’t look at me like that, asshole.”
“Like what?” He shrugged.
“And don’t fucking play dumb. You know what I’m talking about. Like you’re going to have to baby me to get what you want. Fuck you.”
“Listen, it’s not about babying you, but as you quite rightly pointed out earlier, I’m the pragmatist of the two of us, so—”
“I didn’t say that. I basically said you’re a fucking pussy who couldn’t make a decision if someone put a gun up your damned ass.”
“Semantics. What you meant was that I’m more inclined toward calm and careful consideration, and you’re more passionate and impulsive, which is why our shit works, and always has.”
“Our shit works because we’re both beast musicians, and you’re one of the few rich wasp assholes whose face I didn’t—and still mostly don’t—want to cave in on sight.”
“Well, there’s that. But anyway, the truth is that I’m the brains of the outfit and you’re the brawn, even if the reality is that you have more brains than my entire damned family put together. So as the thinker, I’m going to say this... I checked out Que Violin online. She’s good. Scratch that. She’s really fucking good at what she does. Those execs are assholes, but the one thing they’ve got right is that she’s no lightweight. She’s like us, but with that body, and that face—”
“So, did you check out her music, or just her tits? I’m not getting into a musical partnership with someone just because we want to fuck them. We can do that without ruining our careers,” I informed him.
“Who said anything about fucking her?” King asked.
“You didn’t need to.” I looked at him pointedly, and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Jesus, Rome, why does everything with you come back to sex?” The more indignant he was, the more I knew that I was on target about his attraction to Quincy Copeland. I could read him like a fucking book, and it was all there in his body language, but for some reason he didn’t want to admit it to me in words.
“So you’re telling me I’m wrong?”
“I’m not. All I’m saying is just because she’s incredibly fuckable, it doesn’t mean she isn’t also highly talented.”
“Everything you say now is null and void, and my point stands. If you want to fuck her, go right ahead, just don’t bring our musical shit into it.” I leaned back, case closed.
“Guys, you can’t just assume that someone will sleep with you, either of you, and even if she will, that’s really not wha—”
“Shut up James!” we snapped at the same time. At least that was something we agreed on.
“Okay, it’s just—”
“Nope. Still not listening.”
James held his hands up in surrender again, but looked at us as though we were discussing banging his grandma.
“I don’t care how fuckable she is—and I should know, I’ve already been there, done that—we’re not doing this collaboration.” I’d been holding off on telling King that the violinist and I had already been intimately acquainted, but suddenly, there was no time like the present to drop the news.
“We are.” I could tell by the set of his jaw that he was ready to do battle over this. As for me, I was born ready.
“Not gonna happen.” I folded my arms.
“Wait. What did you just say? King narrowed his eyes, staring at me suspiciously.
“I said it’s not gonna happen.” I knew I shouldn’t play with him that way, but he made it too easy. It was like taking candy from a baby.
“Jesus Christ, Rome. Do you always have to be such a complete asshole?”
“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question, given that we all know the fucking answer.”
“Okay, you’re an asshole. But you’re not a dumbass, so can you please stop acting like one. What did you just say about fucking Quincy Copeland?”
“Oh that.” I was the picture of nonchalance. “I said I’d beat you to it. By quite a long way, in fact.”
“Bullshit. You’re yanking my chain.” He didn’t sound as convinced of that fact as
he wanted to be.
“Nope. I’m serious.”
“You’re telling me that between that meeting and now, you’ve somehow parted her from her underwear? No fucking way. She hates your guts.”
“Didn’t you hear me at the start of that shitshow of a meeting, when I said we’d already met? And I can tell you she didn’t hate any part of me the night of the Sonata Awards.”
“She was the ‘best fuck of the year’?” His face was the picture of incredulity.
I nodded smirking. The truth was, it was better than that, but damned if I was going to tell King.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me who she was before now? You said you couldn’t remember the details of that night, just that it was the best sex you’d had in a long time.”
“And that was true. She was a great fuck, but I was too wasted to recall the specifics. I still didn’t, even in the parking lot. It was only when she was throwing shade our way in the reception area that it clicked into place. I recognized that look from the moment right before she rode my dick like her orgasm was a lifeline.”
“So what is this? You’re telling me this to mark your territory, like a dog peeing on a tree?”
I had to laugh. “Don’t be stupid, of course not. Anyway, that analogy is fucked up. You know the first thing that happens when a dog marks a tree? Another dog will pee right over the top and claim it as his own.
“My only reason for even mentioning it now is to make it clear that just because we may have fucked her, or in your case, want to fuck her, that doesn’t mean we need to work with her. More to the point, you can fuck her without working with her.” I could see the words trying to tear free from James’s mouth, but he had the good sense to hold them back.
King wasn’t so smart. “Dude. This is a serious career decision, and regardless of how attractive I may find the person in question, I am actually able to separate my brain and my dick. My brain is telling me that we should give this a go and see it as a challenge. One year to work on new material, stretch ourselves, and hopefully, through collabing with Que, reach a new and wider audience.”
I steepled my fingers and rested my chin on top of them, elbows leaning on the glass table I’d almost shattered minutes before.
“It could work out to be a win, in a weird kind of way.” He was fucking deluded.
“And what’s your dick telling you?” I queried.
“That I’m pissed off that you got there first with her.” At least he was honest, but then again, we always were with each other.
“Okay.” I stared him down as I spoke.
“Okay, what? Okay, we ’ll do it?” He looked incredulous, and rightly so.
“No. Okay, you do what the fuck you like, but count me out. I hope the two of you are very happy together,” I set him straight.
King rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.
“Is that the way you’re gonna play it? All that ‘it’s my way or the highway’ bullshit?” Damned straight.
“You’ve met me, right? I literally know no other way to play it, so yeah, that’s the deal. Same as always.”
“Well, your ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’ noble bullshit is all fine and dandy, but did you not catch the part where we’ve been told that if we don’t come to some kind of agreement with the fucking label, there’s no us? So it’s not really your way or the highway. It’s just the highway. The one that takes us to the unemployment office, and a life of obscurity after all these years building our shit to the level we’re at now. You’re telling me you’re willing to watch all of that flow into the gutter without even trying to make this thing work?”
Jesus, he was like an eighty-year-old grandmother, the way he loved to exaggerate. “Calm down, and stop being a drama queen. They’re not the only record label out there. We walk away from this and we carry on business as usual with a different label.”
“Umm… if I can interject here.” We turned sharply to James. I’d forgotten he was even in the room.
He took advantage of our momentary silence. “I’m sorry Rome, but King’s right on this one. The thing is, if you walk away, you’ll be in breach. So, in effect, that whole conversation yesterday was a polite way of them appearing to give you a choice, while really telling you what’s going to happen, or else you’ll find yourselves not only sued for every cent you’re worth, but also owing them your advance. Not only that, but with all that drama surrounding you, no other label will want to touch you for at least a few years, until the dust has settled and the legal proceedings have concluded—and it could take easily that long.” God damn.
“Not to mention,” James continued, “the fact that having merged, Sonic Dissonance, or whatever they are going to be known as, is now the biggest and the best label on the planet. Who would you want to work with apart from them?” Shit. James didn’t wait for a response. “So, as far as negotiations go, the one year thing is as good as it gets, and if they go for it, we should be calling it a win. ”
“That’s fucking bullshit. If there’s one thing I learned from my dipshit brother, it was to always go into a negotiation with less to lose than the other party, and to always be prepared to walk away.”
“Yeah, because Marko’s done so well using that strategy.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that your brother is even more of a loose cannon than you are, and half the ballet world won’t even consider working with him, because of his penchant for walking away.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what we call natural selection. Those people couldn’t handle working with him anyway, so better off taking them out of the equation from the get-go, than performing a messy extraction down the track.”
“Jesus dude, I really wish I could take myself out of the equation sometimes. You hurt my head.” He rubbed the furrow in his brow for added emphasis.
I grinned, knowing that although I was a pain in his ass, he wasn’t about to walk away from our partnership. He had too much to lose, and so did I.
“Yeah, it’s a shame my playing feeds your soul, right?”
He nodded slowly. “Truth.”
Chapter 9
Quincy
Two weeks later
* * *
“What the hell? I don’t think I can do this. We haven’t even started yet, and my anxiety levels are already through the goddamned roof. I’m not normally a particularly anxious person. I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m making a huge fucking mistake. We’re making a huge mistake.” It was true. I’d been a certified basket case since I’d signed the contract agreeing to work with the Bowed & Dangerous boys.
I used the term “agreeing” loosely. The labels had held a loaded gun to our heads, pure and simple. It had been two weeks since that initial meeting, and both parties had decided that the only thing we could do was go forward with the suggestion of a one year trial.
I’d been riddled with doubt since we signed the paperwork. Not even two consecutive weekends spent eating ice-cream straight from the tub, while Deone talked me down from the ledge, had made me feel any better about the situation.
“Deep breaths, Q. We’ve been over and over this.” Carson was right, we had. “Nobody’s making a mistake. We’re all making the most of a bad situation, and we’ve used our meager bargaining chips to our advantage. We didn’t have much to play with, but at least this way we have recourse to walk away without penalties, after a year. It may not sound it, but that’s a lot better than where we were when we walked into the room.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It doesn’t sound it. Why does it have to be so long? I could barely stand to be in the same room with them for twelve minutes. How the fuck are we going to manage twelve months? Seriously, this is suicidal. Why didn’t we negotiate it down to, like, three months, or better still, three hours?”
“I didn’t tell you this before, but we did initially actually go for a shorter timeframe. Us managers suggested six months, and the label dudes pretty
much laughed in our faces. They came back with an offer of two years, and we bargained them down to one. Like I said, it’s the best of a bad situation.”
“Yeah, and like I said, I’m really struggling to see it that way. I mean, I think I’m normally a pretty positive person, but right now my cup isn’t even half empty. It’s bone-fucking-dry with a huge crack in it.”
“And at the risk of sounding like some kind of woo-woo guru, honey, you’re really going to have to find a way to reframe this mentally, as the situation isn’t changing any time soon. For better or for worse, it is what it is. So for your own sanity, it’s going to be easier if you try to look on the bright side, or find a silver lining, or some shit.”
“Ha! No need to worry about sounding like a guru—Anthony Robbins you ain’t!”
He laughed then, and I joined him, though mine was driven more by hysteria than actual happiness, and the smile definitely didn’t reach my eyes.
“Touché. Guru or not, I’m here to tell you to calm down. James, their manager, has assured me that they’re as committed to making this work as we are, so we’ll just have to keep an open mind and try to make the best of it, hey?”
“And by ‘we,’ you mean me, right? ‘Cos, last I looked, you weren’t the one who was about to write music with them.”
“Yes, obviously, that part’s on you and them, but I’m here for moral support, as is James.”
“Meanwhile, they’re so committed to the whole thing that they can’t even be bothered to show up on time for the first session. It’s going well so far.”
“You read the briefing notes I sent you, right?”
“Yeah, I did, and the billions of press reports I found online, and I get it. Roman Ivanenko is a musical prodigy, quintessential bad boy, and an arrogant asshole. He doesn’t do rules, is notoriously rude, and always late. Sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll. The full nine. Did I miss anything?”
