Part 25 (2/2)

”Okay. What we're looking at is a single. Royalties of four percent. We can do an advance payment of two thousand dollars. We include a provision in the contract that if the single earns out the advance, and then doubles it, we'll offer a standard recording contract for a full alb.u.m.”

I sat back in my seat. From everything I'd read, four percent was at the bottom of what was usually offered. And the advance was almost insulting. If I knew Crank he'd jump at this in a heartbeat. But they hired me to manage, and that's what I was going to do.

”How long are the terms of the contact?”

”Five years.”

My eyes widened. ”I think on a two thousand dollar advance with such low royalties, that's asking a lot.”

”It's our standard offer for new artists.”

”Mr. Murray really liked the single. And you don't have any upfront costs ... the band already paid for the studio and editing time.”

”All right, Miss Thompson. Tell me what terms you're looking for.”

I closed my eyes. ”Ten percent. Ten thousand advance. Recording contract if the advance earns out, with a full budget for the alb.u.m. And three years.”

I could almost hear Woolard roll his eyes across the phone lines. ”Lady, either you're really new to the industry, or you think your band is the next thing to G.o.d. We don't give out contracts like that.”

I was taking a big risk here. But I pushed forward. ”Then make me a counter-offer that doesn't insult my guys. They're eating rice noodles and living in a c.r.a.ppy little warehouse in order to pay for studio time. This band's going straight up. You guys are local, I'd like to take your offer, but if it's this low?”

I let my voice trail off. And then I heard someone knocking on the door to the suite. Several knocks. Loud. Don't let that be my family. Not now, while I was on the phone.

”What's your email address?” Woolard asked. ”I'll discuss with Mr. Murray, he's back in the office on Monday. Maybe you should come by for lunch next week.”

I gave him my email address, and we agreed to meet at the offices for lunch on Wednesday. Which would mean I'd have to skip cla.s.s. But it was for a good cause.

The knocking on the door was louder. Jemi was probably at the gym. I got off the phone with Woolard as quickly as I could, then went out to the common room and opened the door.

”Julia!” shouted both of the twins, who came bouncing in, grabbing hold of me. Jessica and Sarah were fraternal twins and didn't look alike at all. Jessica had blonde hair and green eyes, and Sarah had brown, almost black hair, with very pale blue eyes. Nevertheless, my mother insisted on dressing them identically. They'd just turned six a few months ago, and I had to admit, they looked adorable, both of them in sapphire dresses with patent leather shoes.

My father stepped forward and embraced me. ”Julia,” he said, ”It's very good to see you.”

Dad looked different. For one thing, he'd grown a beard since they all came back to the States from Moscow. He was retired now and looked it, though he was dressed formally, as always. His one concession to retirement was a khaki suit instead of dark grey, black or blue. But he looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him. The beard suited him well.

My mother simply nodded to me. She looked pensive, her mouth set in a thin line, eyes darting around the common room as if looking for evidence of men or drugs.

”h.e.l.lo, Mother,” I said. She was holding little Andrea's hand. Andrea was four years old and adorably cute. She wore a green dress, which otherwise matched the twins'. I crouched down, facing her. ”h.e.l.lo, Andrea. Do I get a hug?”

Andrea was just a baby when I left for college. She looked nervous. She knew me, of course, from visits home, but to her, I was just another adult and one she rarely saw. She stepped forward and put her arms around me, and I hugged her back. ”Oh, it's so good to see you,” I said.

She stepped back and grabbed Mom's hand again. My eyes lingered for a moment. Did my mom hold my hand like that when I was her age? I think she did. I had few memories from elementary school or earlier, but some of them ... at one time, my mother and I weren't at odds.

I stood, banis.h.i.+ng the memories. Carrie and Alexandra stood in the doorway. Carrie, six feet tall at seventeen years old, was taller than anyone else in the family. She was absolutely stunning. She could have been a model, easily, but spent her time buried in science textbooks instead. She grinned, stepped forward and grabbed me. ”I've missed you so much, big sis,” she whispered. ”We've got a lot to talk about.”

Alexandra stepped forward, and Carrie and I both grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. She'd grown so much since I left for school, I barely recognized her. Twelve years old now, she was starting p.u.b.erty, and with her long brown hair and fantastically green eyes, I thought she'd end up being a beauty as well, though all of us paled beside Carrie.

I felt a small body collide with my back. It was Jessica. She shouted, ”We want hugs, too!” so I pulled her into a group hug and then reached around and tickled her side. She started squirming and laughing.

So the group hug broke up. Carrie said, ”Nice place you've got here. It's not all yours, is it?”

”No, I share with three other girls. Adriana and Linden are out of town, but I imagine Jemi will be back soon. She goes to the gym most mornings.”

”Which room is yours?” my father asked.

I directed the whole tribe into my room, which suddenly seemed a lot smaller. Alexandra led a small revolt, dragging both twins and Andrea onto the bed, where the four of them started bouncing and giggling. Sarah and Jessica held Andrea's hands as they bounced, and Alexandra let out a scream of laughter as the four of them collapsed into a pile.

I hadn't made the bed anyway.

”Girls!” my mother said. ”You know better than that.”

My father looked around, his eyes wide. ”When I went to Harvard,” he said, ”this was Radcliff College, and neither school was co-ed.”

”I think that was pretty much the Dark Ages, Dad,” Carrie responded.

”Young lady!” my mother responded.

Dad just chuckled. ”I suppose it was. I never imagined I'd have a daughter at Harvard. The whole idea of women here ... it just seems very radical to me.”

I grinned at my father. ”Times have changed, haven't they.”

By this time, my mother was peering at my desk and computer screen. ”What's this, Julia? Recording contracts?”

My father raised his eyebrows. Even the younger girls quieted a little. They always knew when something was in the air with my parents.

I answered truthfully, but found myself minimizing it. ”I've taken on a job. It's more or less part time right now. Managing a band ... their recording contracts, that sort of thing.”

My father looked puzzled, then said, ”I would have thought an interns.h.i.+p at one of the consulates or the Fletcher School would have made more sense. Speaking of which, how are your applications going? Have you settled on which graduate school yet?”

I swallowed. ”No, Dad,” I said. I didn't say that I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to go to graduate school. Or into the Foreign Service, which is what he'd long expected of me. It was just a.s.sumed. I would go to Fletcher. Carrie and Alexandra would go to law school. The twins-who knew? At six, their lives weren't fully under control yet. But that would come.

My mother gave me a long, speculative look, as if she knew what I was thinking.

To be honest, I was starting to get overwhelmed in here with three kids under six bouncing on my bed, a preteen, a teenager, me and both of my parents. My room was s.p.a.cious, but not enough for eight people.

Then my cell phone rang. It was on the desk, and rang and vibrated at the same time, buzzing and slightly moving across the surface of the desk.

”Oh, dear,” my mother said. ”I hate those things.”

”Let me grab that,” I said, reaching for the phone. I flipped it open and answered, ”h.e.l.lo!”

”Are you alone?” Crank asked, his voice heavy, almost a growl.

”Hey there,” I said. ”No, actually my family just arrived.”

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