A Song for Julia (27 page)

None of us spoke a word. Serena met my eyes and crossed her fingers.

Murray walked to the door of the sound booth and opened it up. 

“So you guys are Morbid Obesity? I’m Ron Murray, I run Division Records.”

At first we were all silent, then we all tried to answer at once. Finally the others shut up, and I said, “Yeah, we’re Morbid Obesity. I’m Crank … this is Serena … Mark … Pathin.”

“I love the song,” he said. He held a card out to me. “Have your manager call me, today, if not sooner. We’ll do a single and see where that goes.”

I nodded and said words that rarely if ever come out of my mouth. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Murray turned and walked out of the room. The second the door was closed, Serena let out a loud scream, and then we were all yelling and laughing and cheering all at once. 

After a few minutes, Pathin said, “One problem. How are we going to pay a manager? We can’t even pay our rent.”

We all looked at each other and Serena said, “Crank, what about your girlfriend? You said she’s a business major or something? Didn’t you say she did an internship here?”

They all looked at me. I shrugged. “I’ll talk with her. Not promising anything.”

Serena put her hands on her hips and gave me the look. Yeah, that look. Like she was my mother. “I want to meet her. Bring her around tomorrow?”

You’re Being Dramatic (Julia)

On Tuesday, after I got out of class, I walked the six blocks over to the Charles Hotel, where a rental car was waiting for me. It was handy having parents with a lot of money and a good insurance policy, but it was really too bad that Crank wasn’t able to get a rental car right away. His insurance wouldn’t cover it. In any event, I picked up the car, put my directions from MapQuest on the passenger seat and headed out to Roxbury.

It took about thirty minutes to get to Crank’s place. When I got there, I wasn’t sure it was the right place. The building had the look of an abandoned warehouse in a bad neighborhood. Half of the place was covered with extensive, colorful graffiti, and several windows were broken out, replaced with plywood that had greyed with time.

I parked the car in the little side lot and locked it, then walked to the steel door. This had several locks in it. I knocked and opened it. A dark hall stretched away, with a couple of apparently abandoned offices to the left. 

“Hello?” I called out.

“Back here!” a female voice called out in an Indian English accent. That would be Serena. I walked down the hall to the end, where another door was cracked. Inside was the main warehouse floor, about forty yards long. The band’s equipment was set up at one end, surrounded by four electric space heaters, which looked to have been picked up at a flea market in the 1970s.

Pathin, who I’d seen a couple of times now, was sitting at the drums. Mark was lounging on a couch, tuning his bass. Serena stood, a guitar hanging from its strap, and she looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite interpret. Her eyes scanned me: calculating, thoughtful. Crank approached quickly and gave me a kiss on the cheek, then pulled me toward the group.

“Mark and Pathin, you’ve met Julia. Serena … meet Julia.”

“Hello,” I said. This was the closest I’d seen Serena. She was stunning, with black hair parted severely in the middle and tied in a low ponytail. She didn’t look like most of the Indian girls I knew … or really, any of the girls I knew. She wore a short leather jacket with spikes embedded in the lapels. Underneath, a white camisole, with bold black letters reading “Alpha Female.” A green and blue tattoo of a snake rose from her chest and wound around her neck. Black jeans ended in gleaming black leather boots. Another tattoo, of a butterfly, graced her forehead just at the tip of her left eyebrow. She was incredibly sexy. 

“It’s nice to meet the girl who managed to steal Crank away,” she said, her voice sounding catty.

I stiffened.

Crank snorted. “No one can steal what you didn’t have in the first place, Serena.”

Serena’s eyes fixed on him for a few seconds, then back on me. She moved like a very calm, very dangerous predator. I didn’t like the feel of this at all.

I didn’t even know why Crank had asked me to come over this afternoon, but he’d made it sound important. If it was to parade me in front of his band, I wasn’t going to be happy. Not one bit. I wasn’t interested in getting into any kind of conflict with Serena, and I didn’t know enough of their history to know what was going on here. Had Crank and Serena been involved? Or worse, had he slept with her at some point and dumped her? Or … who knew? Did I even care? I didn’t know where we were headed, if anywhere. The questions swirled in my head, and I swept them away. I wasn’t going to get wrapped up in that. Not right now. But I would certainly discuss it with Crank later. In private. And he wasn’t going to enjoy that discussion.

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Serena said, “I think we should let her hear the recording first.” She practically purred.

Crank said, “You’re being dramatic.”

She leaned her head forward, just slightly, her eyes on him. “No, I’m being serious. I want her to know exactly what we’re dealing with here.”

“Fine,” Crank said. He walked over to a stereo and pressed some buttons, then sound poured out.

I recognized the song. It was the one I’d heard that night at Bill’s Bar & Lounge…”Julia, Where Did You Go?” But it was different. That had been at a live show and the first time they’d played it. Here … they’d perfected the transitions, the timing, done some work on the chorus. It was … amazing. I’d heard all of the band’s music, but this was an order of magnitude better. The kind of song that could get hit radio play. 

When it was over, I looked at the four of them. “You’ve got a—a possible hit there. A big one.”

Serena smiled, but it still wasn’t friendly, and Pathin and Mark looked at each other. Crank stayed quiet.

Serena finally spoke. “The president of Division Records was in the studio yesterday when we did that cut. He wants to meet with our manager. To negotiate a contract.

“That’s great,” I said, feeling a little hesitant. Why had they brought me here to tell me this?

“We don’t have a manager,” she said. “And we can’t afford to hire anyone.”

Oh. No. She had to be kidding me.

“And?” I said.

“You’re a business major at Harvard. When do you graduate?”

“June.”

“Crank said you interned at Division Records?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I did. One summer. And I’ve done all the coursework I could related to the music industry.”

“Planning on going to graduate school?”

I frowned. Then answered, “I was. But honestly, I’ve been having doubts … I’m not sure I want to go in the direction my parents want. Is this a job interview?”

Crank chuckled, and Serena got a fierce grin on her face. “Think of it like that,” she said. “But don’t be acting pricey.”

“I’m a long way from being an expert on the industry.”

“That’s fine,” Serena said. She had her arms crossed over her chest, a frown on her face. “We don’t have any money to pay you. What I want to know is: do you have the balls to do it?”

I didn’t like her attitude. She acted like I was asking them for a favor, not the other way around. I stared back at her, and Crank, standing next to me, shifted uncomfortably. He’d be a lot more uncomfortable when we talked later. I didn’t appreciate being brought in here cold.

“I might,” I answered her, “if it’s worth the trouble. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“First thing, negotiate the single. Get us the best deal possible. Up until now, I’ve been handling scheduling our gigs. But you’d take that over. If the single takes off … we want to go on tour. Record a real album. Opening for someone, whatever. It would be your job to club that together. If you think you can handle it.”

I was starting to like Serena. She was being a bit of a bitch, but there was nothing wrong with that. She was confident, bold as hell. “Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this right. You want me to take my minimal experience with the music industry and your complete lack of money, and turn that into a successful band. Turn it into a successful business, rather, because that’s how you need to be thinking.”

Serena nodded. Crank squeezed my hand lightly. I thought about it for a minute. This was so far out of left field. I didn’t even know what to think. Except that it might be fun as hell. I could spend more time with Crank. I could do something completely different than what my father and mother had planned for me since I was three weeks old. 

I took a deep breath then said, “If I do this, I want to make one thing clear. You don’t treat me as Crank’s girlfriend. If I’m the band’s manager, I’m the manager. That means I’m going to be making calls some of you may not like. And unless you decide to fire me later on, you have to live with those decisions. I’ll consult with you, get your opinions and thoughts, and we’ll put major stuff to the whole group. But otherwise, I make the decisions.”

Mark sat up, back straight, and eyebrows tense. “We’re the band, we make the decisions.”

Pathin frowned. “Mark, shut up. She’s right. If we bring her on as the manager, she’s running the show. You can’t run a business by committee.”

“She doesn’t know shit about the music business. She said it.”

Serena turned contemptuous eyes on Mark. “Neither do you. I’m agreeable to her conditions. Pathin?”

Pathin nodded. “We need some organization. She said words I liked: successful business. Are we gonna kid around in the garage like a bunch of kids, or are we going somewhere? I’m on board.”

“Crank?”

Crank shrugged. “You know where I stand.”

Serena turned to face Mark, all eyes in the room on him. “Mark?”

Mark looked at me, then back at the others. Finally, he said, “All right. I’m in.”

Serena turned back to me. She still wasn’t smiling. “I’m not sure you can pull this off, Harvard chick. But we’ll give you a chance.”

I took a deep breath. They were trusting me, a relative outsider, with something precious to them all. But, as crazy as it was, it made sense. And for the first time in a long time, I was excited about something. This was an opportunity to walk away from all of the boundaries and walls my parents had set. It was an opportunity to cut my own path, to do something that mattered to me.

I looked at them. “Okay. I need everyone’s cell phone numbers and email addresses. Your rehearsal schedule. Any upcoming gigs. And Serena, I’ll need your contacts at the clubs and wherever else you’ve been playing. The first thing we’ve got to do is come up with a contract between the five of us. That, and get things going with the record company. Who do I talk to?”

And just like that, I became part of the team.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Can’t Really Talk Now (Julia)

8:58 A.M.

I’d been watching the clock. 

I’d been up since four in the morning, because I couldn’t sleep. I spent the last five hours online, searching out information about how the music industry worked, Googling topics like “How to Negotiate a Record Contract.” Variations on the same question. Reading and reading. Everybody described the process differently. Everyone had different advice. I knew a little, from the time I’d spent interning at Division and papers I’d done in various classes, but not enough to give me any confidence at all.

I did have one thing going for me. On Monday, everyone would be back on campus. Including Mitch Roark, whose dad, Allen Roark, was an A-List rock star. I’d emailed Mitch, asking to get together, and included the song as an attachment to the email. If there was any real point in going to Harvard, one of the big ones was contacts. 

I had looked over the details and financials of all of the major and minor record labels. Division was minor to medium. But of bigger concern, they were on very shaky financial footing, and the IRS was investigating Ron Murray. Which meant I needed to be very careful about the terms of whatever contract we ended up with, or Morbid Obesity would be at the mercy of a company that couldn’t deliver.

8:59 A.M.

Crank and I had dinner together after band practice was over. Nothing special, just pizza. I’d begged off early, knowing that I had the call to make this morning. Not to mention, my parents and my sisters got into town very late last night, and they would be showing up here to pick me up sometime this morning. I was desperate to see my sisters, who I genuinely missed. My dad, too, though the truth is, he’d always been a bit remote. But my mother, not so much. Also … I needed some distance, some time to think about where this thing with Crank was headed, and if I wanted it to head anywhere. I was terrified I’d already become too intertwined, too many connections, too much commitment.

Sometimes he gave me these looks … looks that scared me. Looks that said he was going to tell me he loved me. Part of me desperately wanted that. But, I knew that was dangerous. It wasn’t even Crank that scared me any more. It was me. It was losing myself. 

9:00 A.M. I picked up the phone and dialed.

It rang several times, then a chirpy, cheerful female voice answered. “Good morning, Division Records.”

“Hello,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and professional. “My name’s Julia Thompson. I’m calling Mr. Murray on behalf of Morbid Obesity. He’s expecting my call.”

“Please hold.”

Silence for just a second and then hold music. Not Musak; instead, it was a high-pitched woman screeching into the microphone. Undoubtedly one of the label’s artists. Murray probably wouldn’t take my call, and I’m sure he had no idea who I was. Interns were pretty invisible to CEOs.

After about forty-five seconds of me holding the phone a good distance away from my head, the call was picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi! My name’s Julia Thompson, I’m calling on behalf of Morbid Obesity.”

“Right. I’m Terry Woolard. Mr. Murray told me to expect your call. You’re the band’s manager?”