A Song for Julia (28 page)

“Yes, I am,” I said. It felt really strange saying that. And really good.

“Good. I’ve got the basic terms lined up here, if you want to discuss it right now.”

“I’m ready.”

“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 album.”

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 album. 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 God. 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 crappy 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 class. 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.

“Hello, 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. “Hello, 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, banishing 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 puberty, 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 internship 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 assumed. 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 spacious, 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, “Hello!”

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

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

I realized that not only was my room crowded with two parents, the twins, a four-year-old, a twelve-year-old and my seventeen-year-old sister, but they were managing to block any exit from around the bed, and they were all watching me as I talked on the phone.

“Can’t really talk right now, guests, you know?”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll be sitting here alone. Imagining you without your clothes.”

I felt the blood rush to my head. My face and neck grew hot, even though I knew … or at least hoped … my parents couldn’t hear what he was saying. I’m fairly certain, however, that my face telegraphed some of it, because Carrie grinned at me, my father looked away, and my mother’s expression became grim. I turned away, toward the window, feeling almost naked.

I found myself hoping one of the twins would start bouncing again, or do something else to catch my parents’ attention. Maybe Sarah would break something? 

“That sounds great,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Only one question: did you talk to Murray?”

“I did … or rather his assistant, Terry Woolard. We’re having lunch next week to hammer out details.”

“So, no deal yet?”

“No, not yet. We’re going to have some negotiating to do.”

“They made an offer, though?”

“Yes. But very low. I’ll fill you in on all the details later, but I’ve got to go now.”

“All right. Tomorrow,” he said.

“Bye,” I said.

“Bye,” he replied.

I didn’t want to hang up the phone, but I did. Slowly. I snapped the phone closed and turned around to face my family. “So … let’s go?”

Too good for you (Crank)

What do you do when there’s absolutely nothing you can do? I desperately wanted to call Julia back. Get all the details of her conversation with Murray’s assistant, every nuance of the conversation. What exactly did he offer? What did she mean by ‘we have some negotiating to do’? 

I paced in my room in circles, frustrated as hell. Lunch next week? Why the hell was it going to take that long to hammer out a deal? I could go insane in a week.

Finally, agitated, I went downstairs to the studio and sat down in front of the keyboard. I’d been wrestling with the same song for nearly two weeks. Something just wasn’t working, and I hadn’t been able to even get started on anything else while this was still stuck in my head, there, but not quite there. I’d tried twenty different arrangements, but they all came down to the same thing. I needed four hands on that keyboard for this song to work.

Frustrating. I was stuck. 

“Something’s missing.” Serena spoke the words from the bottom of the stairs. I’d been so occupied, playing through the chorus over and over again, that I didn’t notice her come down.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“It’s almost there,” she responded. She was wearing a tight tank top with spaghetti straps and white capris. Enough to inspire lust in anyone, but she was safe with me. The band was more important, always had been. And now … Julia. That changed everything. Except maybe it didn’t, because the only thing Julia would commit to was confusing the hell out of me.

That didn’t mean I couldn’t look.

“What did you think of Julia?” I asked. Okay. That might have been a little passive-aggressive on my part.

Serena gave me a sour look. “You’re all tied up in her, aren’t you?”

I shrugged, trying to give away nothing.

“I didn’t want to like her,” Serena said. “I really didn’t. But I couldn’t help it. She’s smart. And I get the feeling she won’t put up with any bullshit from Mark. Or you.”

I sighed and pivoted around so I was sitting backwards on the piano bench. “What bullshit from me?”

She chuckled and looked directly at me. It was a seductive look. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t think pulling girls on stage and grabbing their tits is in your future, Crank. Or taking them home afterward.”

“That was getting old, anyway,” I said. “What do you care?”

She shrugged. “I don’t. Except, as always, how it affects the band.”

I said, “The only way I can see it affecting the band is if you let it.”

She shook her head and gave me a wry smile. “You’re very full of yourself, aren’t you?”

I snorted.

“Seriously, Crank. It’s been amusing to pretend I had a thing for you the last couple of years. But don’t ever mistake me for being serious about you.” She walked closer and sat on the bench near me.

“How am I supposed to know what to think?”

“You aren’t, Crank. That’s the point.” She rolled her eyes as she said it.

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s because you know nothing about me.”

“You never talk about anything before you came to Boston.”

“And why should I?” she asked. “It’s not as if you ever asked.”

I leaned forward and said, “I’m asking now.”

She shook her head. “I don’t have any horrible sob story to tell you, Crank. My parents emigrated from India and had me. I ran away when I was eighteen to avoid an arranged marriage. And here I am.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Did you say arranged marriage?”

“Yes. My parents wanted me to marry this obnoxious pig from Lansing. It’s common in India, but not so much here.”

“So what happened, exactly?”

She shrugged. “I broke his nose. And bought a bus ticket for Boston.”

“You broke his nose? That’s actually hilarious,” I said.

She grinned at me. “My parents didn’t think so. But we’ve been talking again recently. I may actually go see them soon.”

“So … how did you end up hanging with us? In the Pit?”

“Until Ewa was murdered, it was hard for me to imagine a safer place for a homeless eighteen year old to be. The cops didn’t mess with us much, and we had a safe group.” She shook her head then said, softly, “Safe.”

I took a sharp breath. Ewa. She and Serena used to hang out. “She was a good kid,” I said.