Push

by BLMorticia

  “Are you stupid, man? Prophet is a producer.”

  “For rappers, you dunce, not us!”

  “You fool, he’s done things with everyone! He produced Lord Dice’s latest album.” Morty stood across from Seth.

  Seth twisted his lips. “Not a fan, Morty. You know that. I doubt seriously that a rapper could help us with our sound.”

  “Are you nuts? He’s a multimillionaire, Seth! He has money. We need his help.”

  “And lose our cred in the process? Really? We would be the laughing stock all over Birmingham if that happens. No. If you said Rick Rubin, then I would’ve jumped out of my skin and did a naked jig. But for him? Nah. I don’t want to change my music to any weak bullshit just to sell records.” Unless I got him in my bed first.

  “Seth, are you stupid? We have to at least listen to him!”

  “Seth! Seth, holy fuck, did you….”

  “Yeah. Both of you have lost your minds,” Seth said to Gio.

  Gio ran up, looking like a wild man. “What did you say?”

  “G, would you tell Seth we need to contact him?”

  “Seth, we….”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll listen, but I’m telling you, the minute he talks about changing anything we do, I’m done. Done, I tell you. I won’t sell my bloody soul for anyone.” Unless….

  Morty and Gio shook their heads at Seth, but he didn’t care. Bottom line, this was his band foremost. Sure he liked Malakei. A lot, but it wouldn’t change what ideas he had for High Stakes going forward.

  Annoyed by his bandmates staring at him, Seth picked up his phone and went to YouTube to view the message. It looked legit, but he had his doubts. Anyone could pose as M. Prophet, trying to screw them over. People were just that sneaky. He didn’t have time for some prankster.

  As he pressed the screen to capture the number, Seth glared at his bandmates.

  They turned away from him and sat on the sofa.

  After three rings, someone picked up.

  “Good morning, 315East Studios, this is Lena.”

  Seth paused and gulped hard. “Um, hello. I got a message on YouTube to speak with Mister Oakley. Is he available?” Seth couldn’t believe it. Perhaps he was calling one of the biggest rappers in the world.

  “May I have your name?”

  “Um, Seth Davies. I’m the singer-guitarist from High Stakes.”

  “Oh yes. He told me to look out for your call. Give me a moment to make sure he is free. Please hold.”

  Seth’s eyes bulged.

  Was Malakei looking for him to phone?

  Fuck.

  That made things even more complicated, meaning it would be a lot harder to stick to his guns, listening to the head of 315East and one of the biggest celebrities in the world.

  Chapter Seven

  “MALAKEI? SETH Davies is on line two. Are you….”

  “Yeah, I’m free.” Malakei put down his kale shake and sat up straight in his chair. Usually he wouldn’t be in the office on Saturday unless he had an appointment, but he made an exception to talk with the band. He exhaled, cleared his throat, and hit the button. “Hello, Mr. Davies.”

  “Ahem. Hello. Is this really Malakei Oakley?”

  Malakei smiled at the heavy British accent coming through the speaker. It was cute and fit the person he ogled on screen last night.

  “It is. I’m glad you contacted me back. I gotta tell you, your performance blew me away. I wanted to meet. You guys have potential to be something huge.”

  “I know we do. We need someone to help us along. The right person.”

  “And I could be that person. Now, I have free time next week. I wondered how you and the band would feel about coming to New York.”

  “To… meet? Well, wow.” His smile came through the phone.

  “Yes. Unless that’s a problem. I’d fly you guys here, so there’s no expense on your end. I want to talk over some things.”

  “That would be great, but I gotta ask you. And I mean no disrespect, but what could you do for us? I mean, aside from the money, I wonder about the differences in our music. I have to be honest, Mr. Oakley, I don’t want to change our band. We’re hard rockers. I don’t want to soften us up just to sell records.”

  Malakei shook his head. Seth sounded like every independent artist out there. They didn’t want to change anything because they were afraid of selling out. Other producers or artists might’ve gotten mad about that question, but Malakei had heard it all before. Malakei had said the same thing to Les and Peter, several years ago.

  “First, please don’t call me Mr. Oakley. I’m Malakei, or if you want to call me Prophet, that’s fine too. Second, I get it. Seth, I’ve been there, so I know what you’re saying. I’m not trying to change a thing about High Stakes. And if you think that, then I’ll convince you otherwise.”

  “Okay, I s’pose that sounds fair. So we’re only having a meeting? There’s no pressure to sign any papers?”

  “Nope. We will talk about what I can do to help. I’ll give suggestions, and we’ll decide if we can work together to make this a partnership. Oh, are you guys a three-piece or a foursome? There’s four names on the bio.”

  “We’re a three-piece. I had a member quit because we butted heads. Is that an issue?”

  Malakei wasn’t surprised. Seth sounded like the type who led and not followed. A good quality to have in a lead singer. “No. I wondered since the bio said four. So are you good with meeting next week?”

  Silence.

  Malakei listened to voices in the background. He assumed those were Seth’s bandmates.

  “All right, Mr. Oak… I mean, Malakei. You gots yourself a meeting.”

  “Good. So how about next week, say, Thursday? Just so you can get your travel requirements in order. Is that too soon?”

  “No, that should be fine. Is it all right if we bring someone? I’d love to bring my mom. She’s never been out the UK.”

  “Of course you can. All of you may bring your girlfriends or mothers if you like. Can you let my executive assistant know a final tally?”

  “Sure. No girlfriend for me. My mum’s the most important gal in my life. Always will be.”

  “Oh? Well that’s sweet, Seth. Lifetime bachelor, huh?”

  “Nope. Just gay, mate.”

  Malakei’s eyes bulged when he heard that.

  “Um, problem, Malakei?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m very welcoming to everyone no matter their sexual identity,” Malakei said. “So, I’ll transfer you back to Lena, and she’ll coordinate everything for you. I’m looking forward to this.”

  “Same here. Thanks a lot for the opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll speak to you soon. Let me put you on hold, so I can transfer you.” Malakei did just that and pushed the button to ring Lena.

  “Hey, Malakei.”

  “Lena, I have Seth on hold. Can you please pick up the call and set up a meeting? You’ll need to get their information so we can fly them here.”

  “All right. How many?”

  “Three of them so far. Limit on the amount of people each member is two.”

  Upon finishing the sentence, Malakei thought about what Seth said. He had no issue saying he was gay. Malakei wondered how Seth would be received, considering metal could be just as homophobic as hip-hop. There was Halford from Judas Priest and Freddie Mercury, but they were both legends. How would hard-rock fans like a band that featured an openly gay man?

  Despite this, Malakei wasn’t concerned. If he and the band could agree, he would work with them, and hopefully after a compromise with Peter, they’d make High Stakes a success. The problem was keeping business separate from pleasure, especially if Seth was as attracted to Malakei as Malakei was to him.

  Chapter Eight

  “YOU’RE FUCKING daft, you know that? Why would you talk to him like that?” Morty yelled at Seth.

  Seth shrugged. “I’m not. I asked him questions, and he answered ’em. Am I supposed to lick hi
s balls just because he’s M. Prophet?” I’d lick his balls no matter what!

  “You idiot! I’m so glad he didn’t hang up on you,” Gio added.

  “Sod off, both of you. We got the meeting, right? We’re going to fucking New York!”

  “Yeah, barely. Good thing he didn’t get brassed off by your stupidity. You almost blew it, arsehole!”

  “Bollocks. You heard ’im. He said he understood.”

  “Sure, because he’s a businessman and likes us, it seems. If I were him, I would’ve told you to fuck off! You were downright disrespectful.”

  Seth stepped closer to Morty, eyes narrowing. “You wanna continue to talk shit? Hmm? I could call back and tell ’im I’ll go alone!”

  “You wouldn’t,” Gio said.

  “I would. You two won’t continue to berate me and get away with it. I asked him valid questions. And because he’s a pro, he sounded as if he understood. So, shut the fuck up! Fucking be happy we’re going!”

  Morty and Gio looked at each other, then at him. “Yeah, we’re quite chuffed,” Morty said.

  “Yeah. And you almost blew it for us, but hey, we’re going so I guess that’s all that matters,” Gio added.

  “Yeah, that is. Now, I guess you got news to tell your parents?”

  Morty held his hand out and nodded.

  Seth slapped it and followed it up with a handshake. “That’s right, lads. Celebrate, because we gots to put on our A game for M. Prophet. I still got my doubts, but, hey, it’s worth a shot.”

  Gio stepped up and shook his hand. “You’re barmy, mate. Downright mad, but yeah, thanks. This will be fun!”

  “Yes it is. Now, bugger off the both of you. We got packing to do. Gots to tell me mom so she can take time off work. Then I’m calling my boss to tell him to take me off the schedule. He hasn’t been scheduling me much anyway.”

  The guys hugged and left Seth’s home. He ran to the local pub to grab dinner to share with his mother, then sprinted back just before she walked through the door.

  “Seth? I’m home. Did you get dinner?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t have time to cook, so I grabbed takeaway.”

  “Ah, good. I’m knackered,” Seth’s mom said as she made her way into the kitchen.

  “Have a seat, then. I got great news.”

  “Do you?” She looked hopeful as she took the seat. “You got a new job?”

  Seth grinned. “Not quite, but better.” Seth rattled off the details. She gasped.

  “Oh my God, Seth! M. Prophet? I cannot believe it!” She held out her arms toward him.

  Seth hugged her and kissed her head. “Yep, it’s great, right? He wants to hear us, Mom. I swear, I got my doubts about it, but….”

  “What do you mean? I thought this was what you wanted.”

  “It is. I just… well, I feel weird about it because we come from two different worlds.”

  “Seth Alexander Davies! I did not raise you to hate people because of their skin color,” she said, angered.

  “No, Mom. Not that. I don’t got a racist bone in my body. It’s just… he’s a rapper.”

  “Seth, are you daft? He knows music. He’s rich and wants to help your band. So what that he’s a rapper?”

  Seth nodded and forked rice and beef onto his mother’s plate. “Yeah, the guys said the same thing. I don’t want to compromise our sound.”

  “That’s understandable, son, but he knows more than you. I know little about him other than he’s got a load of money. And for whatever reason, he’s alone. Quite handsome in fact.”

  “Yeah, he is attractive. If he were into men, I’d definitely give ’im a go.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think that would be a good idea if you worked together. And besides, I don’t think he’s gay. Perhaps he’s married to his business.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, I want you to take a few days off. You think Richard would mind?”

  “He would, but I don’t care. I got to support my only boy on his big adventure. This might be the break you’re looking for. Have you called Johnno?”

  Seth shook his head. “No. Not going to either ’cause it’ll be all over the neighborhood if I do.”

  “Seth.”

  Seth looked up from his meal. “What? Mom, I can’t. If I say anything, his mom will tell everybody. It’s just a meeting. We don’t know what will happen.”

  She shrugged. “I s’pose you’re right, babby. I wish you and Johnno would talk, but perhaps it’s good to stay quiet for now. I’m so proud of you.”

  Seth grinned at her. “Thanks. Let’s hope this will be the start of something big for us, because I’m tired of seeing you work that job. If we sign and make a bunch of money, I’m buying you a house and forcing you to retire!”

  She chuckled. “Aw, Seth, that will probably be awhile yet. Don’t get too excited, right?”

  “I won’t, Mom, but I’m ready for something big. I’m hoping Malakei will keep his promise.”

  Chapter Nine

  “SO, YOU got more acts coming in next week?” Greg asked Malakei.

  “Yeah. An R&B group on Monday, a jazz band on Tuesday, and Thursday, a hard-rock band I found on YouTube.”

  “What? Since when are you into hard rock, G?”

  Malakei gazed at Greg. “Since always. You know I love a variety of music. This shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

  “Yeah, I knew that, but I didn’t know you were a fan of racket.”

  Malakei drew up his lips. “Seriously? There’s racket in every type of genre out there. I’ve wanted to reach out to more rock bands for a while. I’ve had my hand in everything, but not a lot of heavy metal. It’s time to spread my wings.”

  “I don’t know why. That shit is the devil’s music, fam.”

  Malakei rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. Anyway, these guys are good. They don’t appear to be devil worshippers, even though the lead singer’s nickname is Reaper.” Malakei chuckled. “They don’t wear any corpse paint or upside-down crosses. They’re kind of like a harder version of Foo Fighters or Nirvana, if that makes sense.”

  “Oh all right, I can dig that. The Foos and Nirvana got beats.”

  “See! And here I thought hood music was all you listened to?”

  “Nah, I like variety, too, but I ain’t for Satan worshipping, kill yo momma, mess.”

  Malakei shook his head. “And I’m not for misogynistic, homophobic raps either.”

  Greg dropped his head. “Dude. Barry told me what happened. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Well, not really, but… you know I’m not into that. Why didn’t you tell me beforehand? I wouldn’t have invited them into my studio.”

  “Seriously? I mean, they’re not saying anything worse than any other rapper out there.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Before I stopped it, the crap Sway was spewing hurt my eyeballs. I won’t allow anyone who has those feelings to record anything with my name on it. Have you ever known me to invite any group that sings or raps with hate speech into 315East?”

  Greg eyed him and shrugged. “I s’pose not. Sorry, bruh.”

  “Mhmm. Good thing Momma hadn’t dropped in like she usually does. She would’ve seriously had my head.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I forgot you like all the clean shit.”

  “It doesn’t have to be squeaky, but it can’t be like that. I’m not in favor of any songs talking about how much they hate gays or feminine boys, or bitches and hoes. That isn’t my style.”

  “A’ight, man.” Greg put out his hand, forming a fist.

  Malakei did the same and bumped his against Greg’s. “It’s cool. I’m always willing to help friends of friends. Just check them out beforehand. Now, the single is going to a few radio stations. Barry sent it out last night, so we’ll see how much airplay it gets. You sure you don’t want to take a fly with Mustang?”

  “Nope. I gotta be my own man, Malakei. I don’t want no one telling me what I can and can’t do with my music. Besides, Pe
te is your competition.”

  “Yeah, but we’re friends, and I’m always willing to help them out. He’s looking for new talent as we speak.”

  “Yeah? Well, I got a couple of peeps that might wanna try something with him since you’re all into the PG stuff.”

  Malakei sighed. “Yep, I’m all for parental guidance. My music doesn’t offend people. I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

  “Yeah, but some people need to be offended. They earn that shit.”

  “Women and queers haven’t. Anyway, I’ll check you later. I’ve got work to do on this next band’s album.”

  “What? You’re the boss and you’re sitting here working on a Saturday?” Greg got up from his chair.

  “Yeah, because I gave my top producer/engineer the day off. Besides, I still like to be involved from time to time.”

  “All right, man. If it was me, I’d be sittin’ at home with a fat spliff and kickin’ it on the weekends, yo.”

  Malakei snickered. “Yeah, but you know I don’t do that, so….”

  Greg made a face. “You do nothing, man. You might as well be a damn choir boy.”

  “Yep, that’s me. Good ol’ Prophet. Now, get outta here, knucklehead. I’ll talk with you later.”

  “Later, fam.” Greg slapped his shoulder and walked out.

  The minute Malakei heard the door close, he went back to working on the sounds for this new song he was mixing. While he rewound the recording, he pulled out his phone to look at more information on Seth Davies.

  After they got off the phone earlier, he’d spent most of the morning cyberstalking his social media. The band had a Facebook page and Instagram, as did Seth. Malakei ended up with plenty of pictures to ogle.

  “Wow.” Malakei smiled at one of his favorites he’d saved in his pictures folder. Seth was shirtless, wearing a kilt along with combats, posing for a selfie in the mirror. Colorful tattoos covered his arms and chest, most notably the green alien head with black eyes. Then, there was the red demon on the bike that stretched from his shoulder almost down to the center of his chest. And oh, the eight ball right above his belly button was also a nice touch. Malakei was impressed and wished to have a closer look.