Part 28 (1/2)
Blue Ginger (Crank) You're not really going to wear that are you?
When Julia asked me the question, I looked down at myself. I guess I hadn't really thought about it. I was wearing my Dirty Rotten Imbeciles t-s.h.i.+rt, which I happen to love, though it was faded and worn from wearing it for too many years. And my dungarees, faded and torn, were what I always wore. But my brain clicked into place that Julia was wearing a formal dress.
I coughed. ”Um ... I guess I hadn't thought of it. Where exactly are we going?”
”Blue Ginger ... it's, um ... French Asian restaurant. In Wellesley.”
Wellesley? Where the h.e.l.l was that?
”Um ... why?”
She rolled her eyes. ”My father made reservations. Apparently the chef is famous or something, they won a bunch of awards.”
”All right,” I said, ”in that case, we need to go shopping.”
”What?”
”Right ... Thanksgiving morning. Everything's going to be closed. Hold on.”
So I went to Sean. We were about the same size. He loaned me a pair of plain black slacks and a b.u.t.ton down black s.h.i.+rt. After I changed, I looked in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself. I took out several of my earrings, left just one in each ear, and dumped the rest in the pocket of my s.h.i.+rt.
I drew the line at my boots. I wasn't wearing Sean's loafers, no matter if her father was the President of the United States. Besides, Sean's feet were huge.
I got back downstairs, s.h.i.+rt all tucked in and wearing a belt and everything. So, of course, my dad had to make smart-aleck comments, but I ignored that. We hugged everyone and got out of there. Julia was driving a rental car, and the second we got in, I lit a cigarette and rolled down the window a little to let the smoke out, then asked, ”Mind if I smoke?”
She gave me a wry look and said, ”No, go ahead.”
We were on our way. No sooner had we pulled out of the driveway before I was saying, ”So ... we haven't had a chance to talk. What happened with Ron Murray?”
”Okay,” she said. ”Here's the thing. They're trying to lock you into a really bad contract. They want to pay two thousand up front, which probably isn't that bad, but they want a five-year contract. And no guarantee that you'll get a recording contract for an alb.u.m.”
”d.a.m.n,” I muttered. ”But they want the song?”
”Yeah, they want to release a single. I told him the deal wasn't good enough and made a counteroffer, which was far more than you're going to get. But I wanted to start outrageous and work our way down.”
What the h.e.l.l? Didn't she know they could shut us down? This was the biggest chance we'd had yet, and she was demanding outrageous terms?
”I wish you'd told me that before you made the counteroffer.”
”Well, we were on the phone, and I had to say something then. I'm meeting them for lunch on Wednesday. But I'll be honest with you ... I've got doubts about Division Records.”
”What kind of doubts?”
”You may end up in a five-year contract with a bankrupt company. Murray's being investigated by the IRS.”
”Oh, s.h.i.+t,” I said. ”Then we should move immediately. Get the single out while we can.”
She frowned. ”You'd be stuck after that. Give me a chance to work this, okay? It might take a few days, but ...”
”But nothing,” I said, starting to get angry. ”This is the best chance we've ever had, and you're turning your nose up at it?”
Her response was quick, and her voice had a hard edge to it. ”No. I'm negotiating. Which you and the band asked me to do.”
”Julia,” I said. ”Please don't-”
”Stop,” she interrupted. ”Either you trust me to do this, or you don't. What I said to the rest of the band applies to you. If you want me to manage this thing, then let me manage it. You're not going to control every little step just because we're ... whatever we are.”
”What's that supposed to mean?”
”Exactly what I said, Crank. I'm trying to get you a much better deal than you'd get otherwise. You can't just jump at the first offer, especially when it's an insulting one. They think you're so desperate that you'll take anything.”
”We are!”
”No. We're not. You've got real talent, Crank. You've got one h.e.l.l of a song there. Don't sell yourself short.”
I tossed my cigarette out the window and immediately lit another one. She was turning on to the Ma.s.s Pike. It would take us twenty minutes or so to get out toward Wellesley from here.
”Julia, I need you to hear me. This isn't a game for me. This is my life.”
”I know that,” she replied. ”And you're so close to it, you're so tied up in it emotionally, that you're not being rational.”
All kinds of thoughts ran through my head when she said that. I'm not being rational? Who the h.e.l.l was she to say that? And why would I want to be rational about something this important, anyway?
”For Christ's sake, Julia. I asked you to negotiate a contract with the record company, not take over my life!”
Her eyes narrowed, and she squeezed the steering wheel, her hands compressing into fists, and she said. ”No. You asked me to manage the band. Now will you let me do that?”
I furiously took a drag from my cigarette and looked out the window. Then I said, ”Maybe it's a bad idea to mix up our personal life and the band.”
”Little late for that,” she said. ”Though if you want to get the band together and fire me, feel free.”
Her voice was shaking as she said it. I didn't know if it was anger or sadness. I replied, ”What I want is for you to listen to me. Some bands spend years-many years-without ever getting an opportunity like this. This is everything I've ever dreamed of.”
She shouted, ”I know that, Crank! I know that! And I'm doing everything I can to make it work! I need you to back off and have some confidence in me, all right? Unless you were planning on doing this yourself and having me as window dressing, in which case you can take this thing and shove it up your a.s.s!”
Her phone rang. Christ. I tossed my cigarette and lit another one. I was p.i.s.sed. She fumbled with the phone for a second then flipped it open and snarled, ”h.e.l.lo?”
A moment later, she said, ”Sorry ... I was having a moment there.”
Pause. Then, in an excited voice, she said, ”Oh, my G.o.d, you did? What did he think?”
I glanced over at her. Her face was animated, excited. It was ... it was how I always wanted to see her.
A moment later, she said, ”Yes, of course. When?”
She frowned. ”I don't know if I'll be able to get a flight on that short of notice. I'll try.”
A flight? Where was she going?