I close my eyes, not even needing to look at the fretboard, it fits my hand so perfectly. The words pour out of me like birds taking flight. It’s the easiest song I’ll ever play. The acoustics of the loft, the feel of the mahogany guitar, the gentle looseness that’s still permeating through my body. The man I’m playing for. It’s too perfect. When I finish, I wonder if I’ll ever play like that again.
I open my eyes and look at Brando. His lips are parted, his eyes dreamy and lidded, as if drugged by the sound. He gazes at me for what feels like an eternity, then shakes his head slightly before speaking.
“I haven’t heard a song that moved me like that in a very long time.”
“Ah…” I smile, hoping the delight at hearing he liked it isn’t obvious, “it’s just a work in progress. I need to change the middle eight and—”
“It’s perfect,” Brando says, “you’re perfect.”
I try to speak and fail.
“Sign with me,” he continues. “Let me manage you, book you for gigs, get you into a studio with some great producers who know how to work with real artists, and I can promise you that you’ll get the acclaim you deserve. You owe it to the world to put your music out there.”
My heart is pounding in my chest, my cheeks burning with a spreading blush, but instead of jumping up and down and throwing my arms around this man who claims he can make all my dreams come true, I shake my head and push the guitar to the side.
“I…I don’t know… This all seems really fast. I need time…I need to think about it.”
“Time?” Brando says, the largeness of his voice filling the room. “There’s no ‘time’ in this business. Take your time and you’ll find yourself in the same place years later – only a little older, and a lot worse for wear. You’ve got something, here, now. If you wait even a second too long you’ll waste it.”
He stands up and paces over to the other side of the coffee table.
“You’ve only heard one song. How can you be so sure?” I say. “What if I’m not ready?”
“Is that it?” he says, stopping mid-pace. “You don’t trust my judgment?”
“I…I do. You know, it’s just…you’ve only heard a few songs, most of them in pieces.”
Brando laughs and buries a hand in his thick black hair.
“Haley, throughout that whole song I was asking myself ‘How is this girl singing at open mic nights?’ And now I remember. You can’t see an opportunity when it’s staring you in the face. You’re ready. Believe it.”
I squirm a little, looking down at the guitar and picking a few notes to avoid his eyes.
“A deal is big commitment,” I mumble, looking up at him almost apologetically.
Brando crouches in front of me, his hands on my knees. I look at him, attracted to his broad shoulders, afraid of what he’s offering, confused by the speed of it all. I feel like I’m being pulled in seventeen different directions.
“It is,” he implores, “but music’s a big commitment – life’s a big commitment. If you don’t commit, you don’t get anywhere. I see something amazing in you Haley, something very few people have. Even if it wasn’t my job, I’d have noticed it.”
I take my eyes off him – a face like his could convince anyone of anything.
“It’s just…you know… This is amazing,” I say, gesturing around me at the music-filled apartment. “Tonight was amazing. That you manage the Triangles, that I… had way too much of a good time. But…”
“The Triangles. Neon Fur. Broken Windows. The Red Leaves – I signed them all – Majestic signed them all. Any band with an ounce of real talent on the West Coast, I’ve worked with.”
“Broken Windows? They’re yours?”
“And they’re still together because of me too. You wanna know something else? I think you’ve got the potential to be bigger than any of them.”
I laugh and look into his eyes for acknowledgment of how ridiculous it sounds, but he just gazes back with disarming calm.
“I don’t know…I’ve heard a lot of stories about people who sign these ‘big’ deals who end up getting screwed. I wanna take my time.”
“So don’t sign a ‘big’ deal. Forget Majestic. I’m the one who believes in you. Sign with me. Let me manage you, get things moving. You can make up your mind about Majestic later on. If you don’t like them, we’ll get a deal somewhere else.”
I purse my lips, wishing he wasn’t so beautiful so that I could think straight.
“I…” I shake my head in confusion.
“What have you got to lose, Haley? Your job at the coffee shop? The prospect of playing to people who don’t listen at open mics? Do you feel comfortable there?”
“Of course not. It’s the most depressing, deflating, soul-draining thing I’ve ever done.”
“Because you don’t belong there,” he says, lifting up my chin so I’m forced to stare into his eyes. “You belong in front of fans who appreciate you. You belong in studios where you can express yourself fully. You know that, deep down, and that’s why you hate where you are now so much.”
I try to speak, but my mouth’s too dry.
Brando goes on, “I don’t need to spend more time with you to know that – I didn’t even need you to play me that song right now. It’s obvious in everything you do. The way you talk, the way you look, the way you dance. You’ve got something that makes you unique, special. Maybe you’re too modest, too shy, too afraid to let it out – but I’m not.”
He’s right. It’s the reason I left Santa Cruz and came to LA. It’s the reason I keep playing open mics despite each one being worse than the one before. Because this is what I was meant to do.
But something just doesn’t feel right. Everything’s exactly how I imagined it. The slick manager, the expensive lofts filled with music and instruments, the promise of support. But something just feels wrong. Off-center. I wait a few moments, for the whole thing to fall into pieces, for the whole scene to go away in a puff of smoke. When it doesn’t, I realize that this is a chance I may never get again. Brando looks into my eyes, all in, still waiting. He flashes that infectious grin and I find myself grinning back.
“Okay,” I finally say. “I’ll sign a deal.”
Chapter 5
Brando
I’m a man on a mission. A man with a goal. And I’m coming for you, Lexi. Whether you want me to or not, I’m going to make that slimy shortass hand you back to me. And on that day you’ll learn that I never lose a fight, even if I look like I’m down for the count.
I waste no time making the arrangements for Haley, pulling as many strings as I can to get everything in motion as quickly as possible. I book studio time, call in a favor with a producer friend of mine who’s worked with tons of Top 40 artists, email some studio musicians to play back up. I’ve spent years buying these people drinks, congratulating them after shows, and hooking them up with gigs (and each other), and everyone is more than happy to step in and help.
Somewhere around the time I was trying to convince Haley to take the deal it dawned on me how much of a raw deal Davis gave me with the bet. He played me for a dope, drawing me in with the one thing he could: Lexi. And like the big dumb wrecking ball that I am I walked straight into it.
The one thing Davis didn’t consider, though, is that I’m also damned good at what I do. If I pull this off, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d achieved something nobody thought I could. One month to get a single into the charts sounds impossible, but taking it one step at a time isn’t. That’s where I come into my own; getting my hands dirty, making things happen, dragging myself and everyone around me up the mountain, inch by inch.