I clear my throat and hope the discussion can move on from this topic ASAP. “I don’t know what to tell you, Rowland. I guess she just felt this place wasn’t a good fit for her.”
He shows his whitened, tiny teeth in a nasty smile. “You weren’t a good fit for her, Brando. You lack that killer instinct. You couldn’t close the deal.”
Hearing this shit from Davis is one thing – at least I can hang up on Davis. But here on my own turf? My fist clenches at my side.
“I’m here to talk about Haley Grace Cooke,” I say, putting a little steel in my voice, enough to let Rowland know where this conversation is going.
“Who?”
“Haley Grace Cooke. The girl everybody went crazy over at the showcase a couple nights ago. Everyone’s talking about her.”
He shrugs, unimpressed. “I don’t speak to ‘everyone.’”
“Of course. Look,” I say, pulling out my phone, “she’s got a song they’re playing on regular rotation on every college station in California. She’s already getting a lot of momentum online. Listen.”
I play the song on my phone and watch Rowland’s reaction. He leans back in his chair, fingers arched in front of him, and pouts as if he’s contemplating the meaning of life.
“Nothing’s official yet,” I say, taking advantage of Rowland’s rare silence, “but she’s a lock. We can pick her up when we want. For now, though, we need to take advantage of this buzz. She’s got a demo for now, five songs – all of them potential hits. I’ve been circulating the tape and it’s already getting good feedback. Right now, though, she needs a video, and for that I need a budget.”
“Stop the song.”
I oblige, leaning forward to turn it off, and put the phone back into my pocket.
“You want a budget,” Rowland says, leaning back in his chair even further with an expression of disapproval as if I just asked for his only daughter’s hand in marriage, “for an unsigned artist, who may not even go with us—”
“I told you, she’ll sign with us when I tell her to. I can call her in right now. But this video will be an act of good faith. Trust me, she’s worth it. You already have proof,” I say, leaning forward in my chair as I try to convince him.
“Based on what?” Rowland says, a smile on his face. He can’t hide how much he enjoys playing his power games. He puts his feet up on the floor and his hands behind his head. “A few college DJs? A few industry types who wouldn’t know the street if it smacked them in the face?”
“It doesn’t have to be a big budget. She’s talented. We should make the investment while we can.”
“You mean take the risk. Then it’s my ass on the line instead of yours.”
“It’s no risk. It’s just a small amount of money that we’re sure to get back. If we capitalize on this.”
“Excuse me? Last I checked I’m the one who decides what to do with this company’s finances – my finances. And given your track record, I can’t say I have much faith in this girl. Does she even have any talent, or are you just blowing smoke up my ass for your latest flavor of the week?”
Something inside me sparks up, the thing that I suppress every time I walk into Rowland’s office. I lean forward slowly, my face blank, and say the next two words slowly.
“Fuck you.”
They taste delicious.
Every part of Rowland’s face drops. He drops his feet off the desk, puts his palms on it, and leans forward.
“I’m sorry? Did you just—”
“You heard me. You’re not deaf – although that would explain a lot of things.”
I stand up, and Rowland instinctively backs up a little.
“Who do you think you are?” he manages to say, though his voice is weak and nasal. “Have you forgotten that I’m your boss?! I pay you!”
“I know what I am. It might have taken me a while to figure it out, but I know. I also know what I’m not. I’m not a cowardly parasite that doesn’t believe in anything, or anyone. I’m not a jumped-up rich kid with an inferiority complex he has to keep hidden behind a big office and lousy power-plays.”
I turn around and start walking for the door.
“You’re fired, Brando!” Rowland calls behind me. “You’ve just made a big mistake!”
This time it’s me who raises my arms out wide as I step toward the door.
“So why do I feel fucking great?”
It’s a hell of a rush telling your boss to go screw himself. To be yourself, to listen to your heart, and to tell the truth. To tell the people who think they’re better than you what they really are. To give the doubters the finger and go it alone. To throw away years of hard work in a split second. To give up on the paycheck that’s paying your bills. To force yourself to do everything yourself, alone, with nobody to help you...wait. Fuck. What have I just done?
I step out of Rowland’s office feeling invincible, but it only takes the elevator ride down to the ground floor before the doubt starts creeping in. By the time I’m in my car it feels like Rowland might be right: This could be a huge mistake.
“Fuck it,” I say, turning the key, “add it to the list.”
It was a dumb move. Reckless, impulsive, and only momentarily satisfying. The kind of move I usually reserve for my personal life. Right about now, though, I’m losing track of where my personal life ends and my business life begins.
Yet as stupid as it was, as much as I might have fucked up my career, it feels right.
I guess even big, stupid mistakes make sense when you truly believe in something – and the one thing I believe in right now is Haley.
Before I know it, I find myself driving over to her place. I’ve never been there before, and I’m not even sure she’ll be there, but it feels like the only place left to go. I bring it up on my phone and the gps leads me down streets lined with dingy low-income apartments, where the air seems infused with the familiar, desperate, uniquely Los Angelan scent of crushed dreams. I park and take the stairs up to the third floor (the elevator’s broken, and looks like it has been for a while) and stand in front of a door hanging slightly off center.
I knock with a few fist-thumps, loud enough to be heard over the TV inside. Half a minute later the door swings open and a pretty face greets me – but it’s not Haley’s.
“Brando?” she asks. I realize I recognize her from the coffee shop.
“Jenna? You live here too?”
“God, no!” the blonde says, screwing up her face like I just asked her if she tortures cats. “I’m just hanging out with Haley.”
“Can I see her?”
“She’s in the shower now.” Jenna folds her arms.
“Okay...?”
We stand there for a few moments while I wait for her to invite me inside. Instead, she steps out into the hallway and brings the door not-quite-closed behind her. Then she puts her hands on her hips and stiffens her brow. She’s five-five but I still feel like I’m about to be talked down to.
“Look. Just be straight with me, alright? What do you want with Haley?”
I shrug. “I need to speak with her. I’ve got some news—”
“No,” she interrupts, “I mean what do you want with her, from all of this? You’re not the first person to promise Haley the world, you know. And as hot as you might be, I’ve seen her go through too much crap with guys to give you a pass.” She narrows her eyes at me, judging. Waiting. I’m touched she cares so much, and I’m glad Haley has a friend like Jenna.
“Listen.” I gently place my hands on Jenna’s shoulders and look her in the eyes, so she can see how serious I am. “I know I’m not the first person to make Haley promises, but I’m sure as hell planning to be the last. I’m not going to disappear if that’s what you think.”
Jenna’s unmoved. “It’s easy to talk the talk, but I don’t know anything about you.”
I sigh, step back, and run a hand through my hair. “If you knew what I’d just done for her, you wouldn’t be saying any of this.”
Jenna tilts her head and studies me intensely, as if squinting hard enough will allow her to read my thoughts. “I’ve known Haley for a long time now,” she says, slowly, “I’ve seen the cracks in her smile every time she comes back from another disappointing open mic. I’ve seen how much of herself she gives to her music. I’ve watched her go to hell and back for the tiniest chance at making it, and then barely keep it together when it all falls down. She might act tough, and sarcastic, and like she’s got it all under control, but that’s just how she copes. The reality is a lot more complicated.”
“You think I don’t see that?” I ask, exasperated.
“Oh I’m sure you see that,” Jenna says, leaning back against the wall, “the question is whether you care. Because if you don’t, I don’t want her seeing you. And she’ll listen to me.”
I might normally laugh this off, but I know Jenna means it. And I won’t lose Haley over this. I’m the real deal. I look over at the door, slightly ajar, as if I’ll see Haley through it.
“Jenna,” I finally say, meeting her fierce gaze, “you’re her best friend, and you’re looking out for her, and I get it. And we both know that nothing I say will convince you that I’m for real, but that’s okay, ‘cause I prefer actions to words as well. So I’m not going to try and convince you that I’m perfect, because I’m not. I’m not even going to try and persuade you that I’m a nice guy. But I’ll tell you this: I don’t do anything unless I believe in it – and I believe in Haley and her music more than anything right now.”
Jenna’s nodding. “I believe you’ll do that for her music, but what about—”
“I’ll do it for Haley, too,” I cut her off. “I’m not stupid. I can see how Haley and her music come as a package deal. I’ll support her with everything I’ve got, break down walls for her, give her anything she needs. She’ll be protected with me. I won’t let her down.”
I make a crossing motion over my heart, and give Jenna a nod. She watches me, eyes me with a slightly softer gaze. The second I finish the apartment door swings open.
“Hey, Jenna! What are you doing—” Haley cuts herself off as soon as she notices me. “Brando?”
“Hey. We were just talking about you.”
Haley glances from me to Jenna, amused confusion all over her sweet face.
“In the hallway?”
“I was just about to go,” Jenna says before looking at me. The look she gives me is brief, but it conveys plenty: she’s not totally convinced yet, but she’s willing to give me a chance. “I got a call from a casting agent, I’ve got to run.”
“Okay,” Haley nods. “Good luck! I’ll see you at work.”
“Of course,” Jenna says, giving Haley a quick hug before leaving.
Haley turns to me and I experience the short rush of blood I always get when I see her.
“Isn’t she great?” Haley beams.
“She’s something, alright,” I reply, watching Jenna disappear down the staircase.
“So what’s up? Why’d you come all the way out here?”
“I’ve got some news and I wanted to tell you in person.”
Haley waits for more, then reads my expression and drops her smile. “Good or bad?”
I hesitate. “It’s…dramatic.”
Haley nods, setting her jaw. “Alright. I’ll get my jacket.”
14
Haley
“YOU REALLY SAID all that to his face? And then he fired you?” I’m still in shock.
Brando just nods and takes another lick of his ice cream cone, totally relaxed, his smile framed against the endless ocean. The dusty-orange light of the setting sun carves out his perfectly-proportioned face so sublimely I feel like I’m living in an Instagram photo. And suddenly, I relax too.
We carry on down the boardwalk, working on our ice cream cones, feeling light and happy. Every second a perfect moment that seems to linger before it gives way to another.
“So what are you now? Are you still my manager?” I say as we start walking up the pier, almost reluctant to break the comfortable silence between us.
“I guess,” Brando says, sucking the end of his finger in a way that makes me wish he’d asked me first. “I was never that good of an A & R guy anyway. I like artists too much to exploit them.”
I laugh a little. “’Too much’ is one way of putting it… Thanks, though. I appreciate you sticking up for me.”
“I did it just as much for myself as for you. If I was really smart I’d have kissed his ass until he handed me the budget. But…”
“But that doesn’t exactly come easy to you, right?”
Brando sits on the bench at the end of the pier and looks up at me, smiling.
“I guess we’re both discovering what our limits are.”
Brando points his dark-brown eyes at me in a way I haven’t seen yet. I stand a few feet in front of him, feeling the salt air fill my lungs, enjoying his devoted attention, wondering how bad news can feel like good news when you’ve got the simple things right.
“So it’s just you and me now? We’re going it alone?” I say, having to look at him through my wind-blown hair.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s been that way from the start.”
I smile shyly and put a hand on my beach skirt as it blows against my skin. I didn’t feel like my regulation jeans and dark t-shirt today. It was a snap decision to wear this light-blue, almost see-through skirt, and a tight white tank top with a denim jacket over it. The kind of decision a girl makes much more easily when she’s getting some.
“What’s the next step then?”
“We still need a video,” Brando says, still studying me like I’m the Sistine chapel. His look makes me feel naked, but the stranger thing is that I don’t mind.
I squinch up my face. “How? You said it yourself, we have no budget. Nothing. Maybe we can borrow some equipment, but don’t we need a director? Lighting guys? A studio? I don’t know, videos seem like—”
“You look so beautiful right now,” Brando says, his voice cutting through mine like a soft punch.
I look down at my feet, wondering if it’s normal for an adult woman to blush this much.
“The way your hair falls over your face,” he continues, as if in a trance, “the way your eyes catch the light and hold it. You always look amazing, but right now, right here, out in the light, I can see the magic around you.”
I look around to see if anyone else is nearby, embarrassed but smiling like I’m guilty of getting away with something.
“Anyway…we were talking about the video?” I say, looking back at Brando. He’s holding his phone out in front of him. Filming me. “Oh no! No no no!”
“Yeah,” Brando says, standing up, his face expressing pure, mischievous glee. “About that video…”
I hide my face behind my hands, turning away and taking a few steps back down the pier. Brando follows, his hand still holding the phone steady.
“Brando! Put the phone away!” I say, but I’m laughing as I say it, and the way his eyes narrow as they flick between the screen and mine lets me know how much he’s enjoying this.
“If you look one tenth as good on film as you do in real life, this is gonna be amazing.”
“Come on!” I say, pleading as I twirl around to face him, walking backwards away from the camera, before turning back around to walk down the pier.
Brando steps in front of me, so now he’s walking backwards, and I’m walking towards the camera. He winks, and I try not to smile, try not to laugh. Try not to let Brando make me feel so playful and happy, as if this could actually happen.
“How about a little dance?” Brando says from behind the lens. I stop and give him a look that says ‘no,’ before covering my face with my hands again, hiding behind my hair. “Or act shy,” he says. “That works too.”
I continue to walk, Brando still filming me head-on as he steps backwards carefully.
“Okay,” I say, talking to the camera lens, “you win. We’ll do the vid
eo like this.” I get just close enough, and then snatch the phone away from him. He freezes on the spot, his hands still out in front of him, holding a phone that isn’t there anymore. “On one condition,” I say, raising the phone and pointing the lens at him, “you’re gonna be in it too.”
I watch him on the phone screen as he drops his hands to his side, and gives me a picture-perfect, cover-shoot sexy, incredibly photogenic smile.
“Deal.”
The rest of the evening is a heady blur of laughter and randomness. We go to a sushi place and we film each other acting goofy with our chopsticks. Brando gets sake on his shirt and we go to a clothes store to buy a new one. I force him to change in the middle of the store, on camera, making sure I catch the looks of the female onlookers, eyes wide as they bite their lips. Brando gets someone to film him surprising me by picking me up on his shoulders and running down the boardwalk. I do cartwheels on the beach, Brando takes off his clothes and emerges from the water, we film ourselves kissing against the changing colors of the sky as the sun sets.
“This…could actually turn out pretty awesome!” I say, checking the footage as we enter Brando’s apartment. “It’s no blockbuster, but it’s real. It kinda makes sense. Intimate, kinda silly, genuine. It’s perfect for the song.”
Brando walks up to me and pulls the phone from my hand. “I agree.”
“Do you think we got enough?” I say, looking up at him. “For the whole song?”
“No."
Brando’s face is sultry as he raises the camera and points it at me.
I look sideways at him, confused, but still playfully curious. “What are you doing?”
“Filming you.”
“I can see that,” I say, laughing gently. “But is this for the song? Or for yourself?”
“That depends,” he says, voice thick and full, “on how hot it gets.”
“Hot?” I say, the wetness of my lips audible in my voice. “You mean, like this?”
I ease off my denim jacket, body sideways, looking over my shoulder at the camera – at Brando. I drop the jacket to the floor and press myself back up against the wall. “Like this?” I say, arching my back, breasts pushing out against the white tank, skirt swishing from the curve my ass. Brando stalks around me with the camera like an animal, moving the lens the way his eye would across my body, lips parted like he can already taste me.
The Bet Page 10
