Career Girls (15 page)

‘Gordon’. Damn! She’d have to call and explain …

‘Ms Gordon?’ asked a respectful voice.

She spun round, and was confronted with a tall chauffeur, decked out in full uniform - peaked cap, grey suit, the works.

‘Yes, I am,’ she answered, trying not to stare.

‘Mr Oberman gave us a description, ma’am,’ he ex plhincd, taking her trolley. ‘If you’d like to follow me, I’ve got your limousine parked round the front. Mr Krebs wanted to know if you’d like to come and see him straight away, or if you’d prefer to go to the hotel first?’

‘We should just go straight to the studios,’ said Rowena. A limo!Jes,s Christ! ‘If it’s convenient for Mr Krcbs to see

me now. ‘

The chauffeur touched his cap tTespectfully and led her to the exit, Rowena walking three paces behind him in the vague hopc that everyone might stop staring at her. She couldn’t believe this. It was a message to Musica from Krcbs. When Oberman suggcsts he might send a cab, he responds … with …

Rowcna, emerging into the bright sunlight, felt her mot)th open in astonishment.

Parked in front of the rcgular car queue was the biggest, longest, most ecologically unsound car she’d ever laid eyes

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on. It stretched out in front of her, gleaming, polished and totally ostentatious. It had three back doors. The chauffeur was loading her suitcases into a vast trunk with infinite care, as if they were Louis Vuitton filled with the crown jewels instead of her scruffy Tshirts and Marks & Sparks pyjamas. As he walked round and held open the third of the back doors, she forced herself to stop gawping and try to behave naturally. What would Josh do? Probably wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

A small knot of people had gathered outside the airport doors, watching the scene curiously. Rowena felt centuries of gentlemanly Scottish restraint screaming in protest at such vulgarity. She blushed scarlet and hastily clambered into the car, shutting the doors, thankful that this monster came with one-way mirrored glass. At least nobody could see who it was in here. They’d probably assume it was Madonna …

Forty minutes later, she’d relaxed a little. The car was so smooth it felt like they were floating. She’d called London from the in-car phone, switched on the TV and tuned it to MTV-wherever you go in the world, some things stay the same - and pulled out her Walkman. Remind yourself why you’re here.

Atomic Mass’s newest, best demo flooded into her head as they spun through midtown Manhattan. Dazzled by the beauty of the city - soaring skyscrapers, vast neon billboards - she settled into her leather seat and just let herself enjoy it. Oh, she could get used to this, Rowena thought, as they turned off Times Square, h.eading for the studios. So what ifKrebs wanted to send a limo? He might still agree to $5o,ooo for a new band. After all, they were very good. And like Josh said, he was a risk-taker.

A little voice inside her head said she bad to be kidding. There was no way this was gonna work. And Oberman had told herto make it work. Jesus.

The limo purred to a halt. Rowena switched offher musi

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nd looked outside; they’d stopped in front of a square, low-slung, black granite building.

‘We’re here, ma’am,’ the chauffeur announced. ‘If you care to go inside, I’ll take your cases on to the hotel for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rowena, nervously overtipping him $2o and stepping outside.

Her reflection gazed back at her from the car: hair long and tousled, eyes tired from the flight. She should have freshened up at the hotel first. Oh well. Too late now!

Rowena took a deep breath and wlked into the reception area, automatic doors hissing open in front of her. The studio lobby was decorated in sumptuous apricot tones, a Persian rug spread on the carpet, dark mahogany furniture everywhere, soft lighting arrangements on the ceiling and

l walls giving an instantly soothing effect, and a kidney shaped reception desk bearing a huge crystal vase crammed full of White roses.

‘Can I help you?’ asked the immaculately dressed receptionist, giving Rowena a disapproving once-over. She felt hopelessly awkward, standing in this bloody palace in her crumpled clothes, with her two-bit little demo tape and pocket-change offer for Michael Krebs. Lord, even his receptionists wore Chanel.

Tm here to see Mr Krebs,’ she said, as confidently as she could. ‘He’s expecting me. My name is Rowena Gordon, from Musica Records in London.’

The girl tapped the name into her computer and gave Rowena a more friendly look. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll just let him know you’re here.’

She spoke quietly into an internal phone, then turned back to her. ‘That’s fine. If you want to walk right through those doors, someone will meet you and escort you up to his office,’ she added, giving Rowena the benefit of several thousand dollars’ worth of cosmetic dentistry. Rowena nodded briskly and went though into the main recording

complex, feeling her heartbeat speeding up.

Come on. You can do this.

‘Ms Gordon?’ asked another polite minion. ‘If you’ll just

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a

step this way - ‘ and Rowena followed the guy through three studios to the main office, where he held open the door for her with a beaming smile.

Rowena tucked her hair back behind her ears and stepped into the producer’s office. It was a large room all gleaming chrome, black leather and hi-tech luxury. Michael Krebs was working on something at a desk made entirely of cut glass, heaped with phones, faxes, an expensive-looking IBM and a range of sound equipment.

Her heart sank. Offering this guy $5o,ooo would be an insult. But that was her goddamn budget! As far as her boss would go …

‘Michael Krebs?’ she asked.

He stood up, punched a few keys on his computer and turned round to her, smiling.

‘Rowena, good to see you,’ Krebs said, walking over to her and shaking her hand warmly. She noticed the way his eyes ran qraickly over her body, checking her out. ‘Josh Oberman’s a big fan of yours. Told me everything about you, except why you’re here.’

Tm grateful you could find time to fit me in,’ Rowena replied. ‘And thank you for the car.’

She was dismayed to find herself blushing. Oh, God! Why hadn’t she gone to the hotel and changed first? He was absolutely, totally drop-dead gorgeous.

Michael Krebs was in his early forties, about twenty years older than her. He was tall, muscular and lean, with intelligent black eyes and grey hair round his temples. He carried himself with a natural air of total confidence and power; Rowena noticed he was w.earing a sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers, no Rolex or jewellery or any kind of status symbol. Even these magnificent offices had no gold or platinum discs anywhere in sight, and she knew he could have wallpapered the entire complex with them if he’d wanted to. Everything about him said I don’t need to boast.

But it was the eyes that she couldn’t get o˘er; mesmeric, gripping eyes, fringed with the most incredible thick dark lashes, lush as a woman’s. She could not break his gaze. She

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felt transparent, as if he could see right through her.

A small point of sexual heat started to burn between Rowena’s legs.

‘The car? That was nothing. We keep some on-site for the

acts that record here,’ Michael said. He waved to the black leather couch. ‘Won’t you have a seat? I hate to keep you standing up. You must be exhausted.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, sitting down and reaching for her demo. She felt sick with nerves. Michael Krebs was a world-class producer, and she’d flown across the Atlantic to ask him to work with a totally unknown act with a Mickey Mouse budget. She didn’t know where to start.

Krebs pulled a chair up opposite her and sat down, completely relaxed. What a great-looking girl. Fantastic

, hair. Very sensual lips. He had a brief vision of her giving

head with those lips. And endless legs, Jesus, a guy could get

lost in t’here. Almost made him wish he was single. It was too cute, the way she was obviously completely terrified and doing such a lousy job of hiding it. Poor kid, Oberman had probably got some crazy idea into his head and sent a stunning babe over here to do his dirty work for him.

“What had the old buzzard said? That this kid was bright, ballsy and a great talent scout? ‘A natural feel for rock music,’ wasn’t that it?

Looking like that? Sure.

‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ he asked gently. Rowena started, and fished in her bag for the demo tape. She held it out to him. ‘We’d like you to produce this band we’ve signed,’ she said. ‘We think you’d be perfect for them. They’re called Atomic Mas’s.’

Michael Krebs shook his head, perplexed. ‘Atomic Mass? Doesn’t ring any bells,’ he said. ‘I must’ve blanked out. Remind me what their last album was called.’

Rowena swallowed hard. ‘They’ve never made a record,’

she replied. ‘This would be the first.’

He stared at her. ‘Oberman wants me to work on a baby

act? Now I’ve heard everything,’ he said. ‘He’s gonna spend

that kind of money on a new band?’

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h, God, thought Rowena. ‘We could offer you’ -Josh will kill me- ‘two hundred thousand dollars.’

Krebs, amazed, broke into a huge grin. ‘Did I hear you right? Two hundred thousand?’

Rowena nodded. She was still clutching her little demo like an idiot. He hadn’t bothered to take it from her.

‘Ms Gordon, you’ve been misinformed,’ Krebs told her. ‘I do have a space in my schedule for the next two months, but the price is a million. At least. And I never work with unestablished bands.’

‘But wouldn’t you like to break a new act? From scratch? I thought you were a risk-taker, Mr Krebs,’ Rowena sai,d, rather coldly. To her surprise she was getting angry. How could he just dismiss Atomic like that when he hadn’t even heard them?

Michael heard the challenge in her voice. Interesting. Maybe the girl did have some balls after all.

‘I used to rio that. But times have changed,’ he answered, equally coldly. ‘And the price is one million dollars, minimum.’

‘We don’t have a million.’

‘I wouldn’t get out of bed for two hundred thousand.’ Rowena stood up, furious.

Too bad Oberman hadn’t bothered to explain the rules of the game to the girl, Michael thought. She seemed smart and passionate. He’d give a good report of her back to Josh when he rang him up to yell at him for wasting his time. But that was Oberman for you; the guy was completely fucking insane, he played byhis own rules.

‘I’m sorry you’ve hada wasted t.rip,’ he said, smiling at

hel’.

Rowena lost her temper. ‘Times have changed, haven’t they? You used to be a hero, Mr Krebs. A real visionary. Christ, I had articles about you on my walls at college. It’s incredible what a few platinum records will do, isn’t it?’

She threw the demo at him. ‘Take it, it’s a present. Might remind you what a bunch of teenagers who give a damn are capable of. But I guess you don’t care about music any

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more. Just the chinging of cash tills, right?’

She spraug to her feet. ‘l)on’t bother to get up. I’ll show myself out.’

Astonished, Michael Krebs watched her go.

Rowena turned rouud in the shower, letting the hard jets of water pummel her neck and shoulders, massaging away the strains in her muscles. She pushed her long wet hair down her back, squeezing the conditioner out of it, rinsing it clean.

There’s nothing like washing your hair to refresh you, she thought, switching the water offand pulling on one of the hotel’s soft white bathrobcs. The shower had made her whole body feel alive again, her nipples hard from the cool air of the room, her skin warm and vital. She would definitely go out tonight. She’d slept, and she felt good. Maybe she’d buy a copy of the Village Voice in the lobby and check out what bands were playing.

Rowena had one night in New York. She wasn’t going to waste it sitting in her room. Outside her window, Manhattan stretched in front of her, sparkling in the night, traffic laaoving through the gridlike roads in melting rivers of light. It was exciting and alive. She wanted to move into the slipstream, to be part of it.

There was a loud knock ou the door.

‘Come in,’ Rowcna yelled, belting her robe. Great. She was starving. She’d ordered a huge pastrami sandwich on

rye and a chilled beer-when in Rome, after all … ‘Hello again,’ Michael Krebs said, walking in. Rowenajumped out of her skin, automatically clutching the bathrobe tighter arouud her. ‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped.

‘We had the hotel addrcss, rcmcmbcr? We scnt your luggage ahead of you,’ he reminded her. “I thought I better

come and see you before you flew back.’

She didn’t rcply.

‘You know, it’s been a long time since somebody told me to go to hell,’ Krebs remarked, glancing at the slita lines of

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her body under the robe. Stop that! he ordered himself. ‘Oberman said you were pushy. He wasn’t wrong.’

Rowena, embarrassed, started to apologize, but the producer cut her off. ‘So I listened to your band. I was curious,’ he said. ‘They’re pretty good.’

‘Yes they are,’ she agreed, holding her breath. Was he about to say what she hoped he was? ‘OK, I’ll do it,’ Michael Krebs told her, black eyes glittering. ‘But not for two hundred thousand. If I’m gonna chance working with these boys, I want a stake in their future. Musica doesn’t pay me at all, but I get a five per cent royalty. Of the gross.’

‘Five per cent gross? That could be a lot of money,’ Rowena countered, trying to contain her excitement.

Krebs looked at her. ‘Don’t push it, kid. Do we have a deal, or what?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Rowena said, feeling triumph flood through her. ‘Thank,ou, Mr Krebs. I’m sure you won’t regret it.’

Michael Krebs! Michael Krebs was going to produce Atomic Mass! It was the coup of the fucking century!

Td better not. And you can call me Michael,’ Krebs said, enjoying her reaction. He checked her out again. His wife was visiting her parents this week, and he didn’t have to get home. And this girl was intriguing him; talented, brave, smart, a little reckless… Well, he rationalized, I’m working with her now.