Under the Spotlight

by Angie Stanton

  She stared at the thick packet.

  “This covers all the basics. Each party’s name, where the recording will take place, start and end dates.”

  Riley looked to Garrett, who nodded encouragement.

  “It includes who has control over recording quality, the minimum number of tracks to be recorded, and their duration,” he continued.

  “I thought the contract was about the money,” Riley said.

  “We’ll get to that section in a minute. This contract also includes an exclusivity clause, which states that you cannot record elsewhere while under contract with Garrett and his production company.”

  “Trust me, that won’t be a problem.” She didn’t want to record with him, let alone someone else.

  “No, I don’t think it will be. As I said, all of this is standard language. Now under compensation and royalties, it states you are receiving this amount.” He showed her the number on the page.

  “Twenty thousand dollars!” She turned to Garrett. “That’s a lot more than what I asked for.”

  “The number you asked for wasn’t enough. I wasn’t going to take advantage of you.”

  True, but this was more money than she’d ever dreamed of earning. It would solve a lot of problems. Maybe Garrett was a good guy after all. She couldn’t wait to tell Erika and see her reaction.

  Craig interrupted her thoughts. “This is an advance to work against future royalty earnings that are fifteen percent, based on . . .” He paused to see if she was paying attention.

  “Industry standards,” Riley answered.

  “Exactly. This next section is about termination, disputes, and breach of contract.”

  All the monotonous legal talk made her head swirl in confusion. “Excuse me, do we have to go through all this? Can I just sign it? You said it’s all standard anyway.” She needed to get out of there and find someplace to either do a happy dance, or throw up as she realized what a big deal she was about to sign.

  “Certainly, but it’s always in your best interest to read a contract before signing. There is one section I must address. Do you wish to have independent counsel in regards to this contract?” he asked.

  “Wouldn’t that cost more money?”

  “Yes, it would. So if you wish to decline independent counsel, please check and initial here.” The lawyer indicated the box.

  Riley took the pen, checked the box, and initialed. Each page he turned in the contract made her squirm in her seat.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to bring Tara in to witness the signatures.” Craig left for a moment.

  “I thought we were just going to throw together a record and see if it stuck or not,” she said to Garrett.

  “If we’re going to make a record, we’re going to do it right. This isn’t some garage band putting out a cobbled YouTube video. We’re going to make a high-quality record.”

  Mr. Johnston returned with Tara. “Tara is here only as witness to the contract signing and will sign off as such.”

  “This is so exciting,” Tara said. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

  Riley forced a smile. “Okay, where do I sign?”

  After signing her name several more times, she passed the pages to Garrett for his signature, and Tara signed the last page.

  “Thank you, Tara, you’re free to go,” the lawyer said.

  Tara grinned at Riley before leaving and closing the door behind her.

  “Congratulations!” Craig said. “And here is the check that serves as your advance.” He handed her an envelope.

  She peeked inside at the twenty-thousand-dollar check. First Steven Hunter and now Garrett Jamieson. What bizarre dimension was she living in?

  “If I were you, I’d put that in the bank and be careful not to spend it too quick. It could be a very long time before you earn royalties, if ever,” Mr. Johnston said.

  “I will.” She would open a new bank account at a different bank, where her mother could never touch it.

  Mr. Johnston stood. “I’ll get copies of the contract made and ready for you in a few minutes. In the meantime, congratulations to you both.” He shook hands with both of them.

  “So what happens next?” she asked Garrett, once the lawyer left the room.

  “We start working,” Garrett said.

  “Already?”

  “What did you think was going to happen? We need to move fast. I’d like to put out a demo track as soon as possible. There’s still buzz about you from your video with Steven Hunter. We’ve got to ride that wave.”

  Craig opened the office door. Barry Goldwin and nearly the entire staff entered. Tara pushed a cart containing a bottle of champagne and clinking glasses.

  “Congratulations!” they yelled, stunning Riley.

  “Let’s get a picture,” Logan said.

  Garrett put his arm around her and smiled. Riley gave a strained smile as Logan captured the moment.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  32

  After their impromptu celebration, Garrett raced back to Brad’s condo. There was so much to do, and he couldn’t wait to get started. But first, a phone call.

  “Hey, Dad. I got her to sign!” He waved his way past the doorman of the Marina Towers and entered the elevator.

  “No kidding? That’s great. I never had any doubt.”

  Garrett wasn’t about to confess that the only reason Riley surrendered was her need for insta-cash. The reason she signed didn’t really matter. Hearing the approval in his father’s voice was exactly what he needed.

  “It’s great to see things coming together for you. Your mother will be so happy, too. So when do you start working?”

  “I already have. I’ve reserved a studio to record in next week. I’m reaching out to some studio musicians to lay down tracks. Now I’ve got to find the perfect song. I only have one debut as a music producer and I want to do this right.”

  “Excellent attitude, and finding the perfect song is always the biggest problem.”

  Garrett juggled his phone and messenger bag as he unlocked the apartment door. “Yeah, I’ve got calls out to a couple of songwriters. Barry even offered to call in a couple favors if I need him to.”

  “That’s one way to go. But consider this. You have access to an extremely talented songwriter with an encyclopedia of songs waiting to be recorded.”

  Garrett paused in the entryway. He knew who his father meant, but refused to ask for any favors. Not now, not ever. “Forget it, Dad. I’m not calling him.”

  “For God’s sake, he’s your brother.”

  “And he’s been acting like a little diva the past four months.”

  “Is this how you’re going to run your career? Letting personal issues interfere with making smart business decisions?”

  “Dad, he broke up the band!” Garrett tossed his keys on the entry table, crossed the apartment, and laid his bag on the glass-topped dining room table.

  “Garrett, you know it was a lot more complicated than just quitting the band. What are you going to put first? Business? Or your personal feelings?”

  “Fine. I’ll think about it. Listen, I’m home and I’ve got a ton to do, so . . .”

  “I’ll let you go. And son, I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Garrett hung up and smiled.

  He set up his laptop and pulled a legal pad out of his messenger bag. There were about two dozen items to add to his to-do list. He needed to start thinking about publicity, album covers, marketing, and appearances. There was so much to do and he couldn’t dive in fast enough. In the old recording mold, they’d take months to complete all this, but with YouTube, he could move as quickly as he wanted.

  His father’s words echoed in his mind, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was right.

  Garrett picked up his phone and dialed his brother.

  “So how’s the Windy City?” Peter answered.

  “Pretty damn awesome,” Garrett said, looking out t
he windows and across the city.

  “I hear you’ve taken up climbing.” Peter chuckled.

  He was confused for a second but then realized Peter was talking about his most recent arrest. “At least I’m living life to the fullest.”

  “Yeah, until you kill yourself. Are you doing okay, or was it a cry for help? Do you want me to call the guys in the little white coats to come get you?”

  Garrett turned his back on the massive windows and sank into the leather couch. “Give it a break. I was only having a little fun.”

  “The kind that gives Mom a stroke.”

  “And how’s the life of a reclusive singer songwriter who sneaks into open-mic nights to get his performance fix?”

  “Incredibly well. It’s so nice of you to ask,” Peter answered, unruffled by Garrett’s jab.

  “I give you six months and you’ll be begging to crawl back on any stage that’s bigger than a postage stamp.”

  “Is there a reason you called, or did you miss treating me like a human punching bag?”

  “Actually there is.” Garrett hesitated, not sure how to proceed without sounding like a dick. “Can you send me some of your songs?”

  “What songs?” Peter sounded confused.

  “Some of the better ones that we never recorded.”

  “Why?”

  “Never mind why. I need them, and only send the good ones. None of the shitty rejects from three years ago.”

  “Oh my God. You’re going solo, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m not going solo. You knew I came out here to produce records. I’ve found the perfect artist, but now I need material, and it’s got to be great.”

  “And you want my songs.”

  “Theoretically they belong to Jamieson, not you.”

  “Which is another reason that you can’t just give away my music.”

  “You aren’t seriously going to fight me on this?” Garrett growled, ready to battle.

  “No, I only wanted to yank your chain. It’s fun to make you squirm.” Peter laughed.

  “Asshole.”

  “So who’d you find willing to record with you? They must be really desperate. That or they’ve never actually met you.”

  “You ever hear of Riley Parks?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Well, it will. Are you near your computer? Go to YouTube and type in Riley Parks and Steven Hunter.”

  “Hang on.”

  “This girl was on Chart Toppers a few years back. She works at Sound Sync.”

  “Got it. She’s pretty, but not really your type.”

  “Shut up and listen.” Garrett heard the video playing in the background and pictured Riley baring her heart and soul in that song. He waited for her to hit the big notes.

  “Wow! And she’s agreed to let you produce her record? Does she know you don’t have a clue what you’re doing?”

  “Sure I do. I’ve put out four albums. How hard can it be?”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s strong and funny and everyone loves her. You saw her stand toe-to-toe with Steven Hunter. But she’s kind too, and not arrogant.”

  “I’m impressed. Has the cold, heartless Garrett Jamieson finally found love?”

  “What? No! I worked hard to land her.”

  “Don’t you mean land her in bed?”

  “It’s not like that. It’s business.”

  Peter laughed. “Sure it is. I give you three weeks. Bet you can’t hold off that long.”

  “Just send me the songs. Tonight.” He hung up and tried to clear his mind of the image of Riley in his bed.

  After the contract signing and impromptu party, Riley returned to work only to find they’d wrapped up early for the night. Still in a surreal daze, she headed back to her apartment, trying to digest the horrible steps she’d taken to fix her life.

  “You’re home early,” Erika commented while staring at the TV. “Hey, you never called me back about the insurance.”

  Riley pushed the door shut and dropped next to her on the battered couch.

  “Oh no. What now?” Erika asked.

  Riley pulled a large manila envelope from her bag that contained the weight of the world. She tossed it to her friend. Erika scrambled to pull out the documents.

  “What are these?” Her eyes scanned the pages. “Is this saying . . . ?”

  “Yup.” Riley stared at a crack in the wall on the other side of the room.

  “Riley, are you okay with this?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re going to record, like, for real?”

  “What is there to say? My life sucks.” She pictured herself spiraling down a drain.

  “It does not. This might be exactly what you need to turn it all around.”

  “I know this sounds really lame, but,” she hesitated then whispered, “I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid. Listen to me.” Erika scooched closer and faced her. “Garrett wouldn’t have pushed you so hard to do this if he didn’t think you could.”

  Riley grabbed a sofa pillow and hugged it. “But what if I’m really bad? You’re not the one who has to stand up in front of the world and expose your heart. I was so scared when I sang with Steven Hunter. You didn’t see me. My legs were shaking, my hands were sweating. It was bad.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve seen the video and you were amazing, and you did that on the spur of the moment. Imagine what you can do after a little rehearsal.”

  Riley laid her head back against the couch. “I don’t want to think about it. It makes me ill.”

  “Okay, we need to do some serious cheering up. I know the perfect thing to get you out of your funk.” Erika sprang off the couch.

  “What?” Riley lolled her head toward Erika.

  “Come on. You’re going to love it.” She pulled Riley to her feet.

  “I really don’t feel like going to Navy Pier.”

  “This is way better than going to the pier. Trust me. Now grab your bag. We’re going out.”

  Riley shook her head, but followed.

  33

  The next day, Riley pushed through the front door of the studio, bracing herself for the new direction her life was taking. When she’d woken this morning, for a second she thought maybe it had all been a bad dream, but, no, Garrett had already texted her to meet for a late breakfast. She hadn’t responded. He couldn’t wait to talk about recording together, and she wanted to talk about anything but.

  “Morning, Tara,” she said, passing through the reception area.

  “Stop! Don’t move! Did you dye your hair?”

  Riley’s hand flew to a chunk of hair that Erika had dyed a brilliant blond. She grinned. “I did.”

  Last night, Erika had dragged her to a corner drugstore where they picked out a blond highlighting kit. They spent the night eating pizza and turning several huge chunks of Riley’s hair from dark red to glossy blond.

  “Let me see.” Tara came out from behind the counter.

  Riley shook her head so Tara could see the blond chunks strategically mixed in with her red hair. “What do you think?”

  “It looks great.”

  “Thanks.” She pushed her hair behind an ear, glad to know Tara, who possessed a great sense of style, approved.

  “It’s very rock and roll. Did Garrett tell you to do that?”

  “Nope. It was my friend Erika’s idea. She did it for me.”

  “I can’t believe how cool you are about this whole recording contract. If it were me, I’d be screaming through the studio and telling everyone who’d listen. You do know how lucky you are, don’t you? I mean, Garrett Jamieson? You and him, working alone all the time.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  Riley didn’t want to seem ungrateful, and Tara wouldn’t understand her reservations. “It’s great. I’m excited on the inside. And we won’t really be alone much; there’s always a crowd around in this business.” A crowd telling her what she was doing wro
ng, most likely.

  “You could show some excitement once in a while,” Tara suggested.

  “I’ll work on it. Catch you later.” Riley passed through to the break room. She fished out her phone and called Garrett. Within ten minutes she was at the restaurant at the end of the block, as Tara predicted, alone with Garrett.

  “Hi.” He welcomed her in an eager voice as she slid into the booth, and then his next words were lost as he noticed her hair.

  “You like it?” She proudly turned her head each way, hoping he did.

  “What have you done?”

  He didn’t seem nearly as happy about her hair as Tara.

  “I think it’s pretty obvious. I added highlights.”

  “You can’t color your hair.”

  “Of course I can,” she said, her good mood fading. “So what did you want to talk about? I’m supposed to be at work. We’re adding the string tracks to Jamie’s album today. I’ve got a lot to do.”

  “No. Your contract says that you can’t change your hair.”

  “Seriously? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  A waitress appeared and placed a plate of steaming scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and delicious-smelling bacon in front of each of them.

  “I didn’t order this,” Riley said.

  “I ordered for you. I figured everyone likes scrambled eggs,” Garrett said.

  “Thank you,” Riley said to the waitress.

  “Coffee?” the waitress asked.

  “No thanks.”

  “And I’m dead serious,” Garrett said. “You can’t go changing your look. Thank God we haven’t done the photo shoot for your cover yet.”

  Riley fought the unease the thought of a photo shoot gave her. “There is a whole lot wrong with what you just said, but I’d rather not get into it.” She unrolled her paper napkin, spread it across her lap, and picked up her fork. “So what’s this little meeting about?”

  Garrett sighed. “I wanted to set up a tentative schedule for the next week. I know this is an aggressive plan, but I’d like to get to work as soon as possible.” He stabbed at his eggs and ate.

  “Whoa! Slow down. I only agreed to this thing yesterday.” Riley took a bite of greasy bacon and savored the flavor.