Memory's Door (A Well Spring Novel) (24 page)

They headed to the elevators and Brandon relaxed. Maybe nothing was wrong. Logan seemed normal, without any hint of
unease in his eyes. As they rode up the elevator, Logan kept up a monologue about the label, other labels, who would have the biggest release in the fall—the normal Logan commentary about everything and nothing.

It didn’t hit Brandon till they passed the sixth floor that this was the first time in years there wasn’t a sign at the front desk with his name on it welcoming him. He pushed the thought away. Big deal, so they forgot to put it up one time. Still . . . he tried to shake off the feeling something was off balance, but it didn’t work. He needed to get his mind off himself and onto someone else.

“How is Kevin’s single doing?”

“Record breaking.” Logan smiled. “Big records.”

“Really?”

“It’s already gone gold. Platinum looks very attainable.”

“Serious? That is so cool. Kevin didn’t tell me.”

“We’ve never had a single sell this big this fast. Everyone around here is so grateful to you for discovering Kevin.”

“My pleasure.”

The elevator doors opened and they strolled down the open, cubicle-filled ninth floor. Half the desks were filled; a few people were on the phone. Windfire’s lead cover designer glanced up, gave Brandon a quick wave, and then picked up her cell phone and dialed. On his right, Katie Bostic, Windfire’s publicist extraordinaire, met Brandon’s gaze and instantly looked away and became fixed on a file on her desk. Was the staff avoiding him, or had his imagination shifted into overdrive?

A few seconds later they reached the office of Audrey Decket, head of Windfire Records. Logan did a 180-degree spin before giving a slight bow and motioning his hand toward her door. “Here you are, Brandon.”

“Thanks, Logan. Always good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

Brandon turned, peered into Audrey’s office, and grinned.

She looked up from her desk. “Long time, stranger.”

“True.” Brandon strolled inside and gave Audrey a quick hug. A framed, blown-up cover of his latest CD hung along the wall over her mini conference table along with seven or eight other artists. Same ones as last time, and the time before that. Wait. There was a new one on the end. Kevin Kaison’s.

“You’ve already finished the cover art for K2’s album.”

“He’s on the fast track. As well as his single has done, we need to get the CD out last week.”

“Congrats.”

Audrey smiled and nodded. “How are you, Brandon?” She settled back into her chair and steepled her fingers. “You look good.”

“Is that the line today?”

“Hmmm?”

“Same thing Logan said to me.”

“There was a memo from the parent company this morning telling us to greet everyone that way.” Audrey got up and closed her door. “Ready to get to business?”

“Sure. Is there anything on the agenda other than starting talks on a new contract?” Brandon crossed his legs.

“Yes.”

Brandon bit his lip. He didn’t like the way Audrey said yes. “And that is?”

“The music industry is changing. Has changed. Is changing more.”

“Yeah.” The office seemed to grow warmer.

“Brandon, you’ve had a tremendous run. Phenomenal. But the past three albums have sold fewer units. Yes, I realize people aren’t buying albums as much anymore, but you haven’t had a breakout hit in almost two years, and no one is downloading your backlist. They used to. But the river of sales has become a trickle.”

“Hold on. My concerts have been packed for the past eight months, and six out of my next eight shows are already sold out.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Audrey walked to the window overlooking LA. “Congratulations.” She turned back to Brandon. “But we don’t
make a lot of money on the concerts, you know? You do. We need to make some cuts.”

Brandon’s gut went tight. “Define cuts.”

“Budgets have to be overhauled from time to time, to get them in line. As you know, we lost money last year. And the year before that. And the year before that.”

“You’re cutting me.”

Audrey ran her fingers over the surface of her desk. “Not really.”

“What does ‘not really’ mean? That my latest album is the last one with Windfire?”

Audrey waved her hands. “No, this is coming out sounding far worse than it is. It’s not like we’re dropping you. We’re even willing to look at a new contract. We definitely want to keep making records together, but the terms might be a little different.”

“How different? And what about support for my upcoming album?”

“Only a slight change there. We’re going to reduce the amount of marketing behind it.”

“How much?”

“A portion.”

“We’ve been together too long for games, Audrey.” Brandon stood and folded his arms. “What percentage?”

She narrowed her eyes and her tone was flat. “Eighty percent.”

“Eighty? You’re cutting my marketing budget by eighty percent?” Brandon pointed at the album covers on Audrey’s wall. “I’ve sold over eighteen million albums for this label.”

“Sold. Past tense. If this next album does better than your last one, we can look at bringing your marketing funds back up to where they were.”

“Unbelievable.” Brandon stared out the window at the Los Angeles smog. “I need to talk to K2. He’s going to take you to the mat on this one. We have a contract that clearly spells out what kind of marketing support you’ll give me.”

“No, that’s not in the contract. It’s in a memo.”

“Same thing.”

“You know it’s not and besides, it’s already done. We’ve funneled the money into a newer artist. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my decision.”

“What a crock! Maybe it wasn’t your decision, but you approved it. You could have stopped it, blocked it, you’re the head of the label.” Brandon jabbed his finger onto her desk, his voice rising with each sentence. “At least talked to me before you lit the fuse!”

“It’s been decided. As far as everyone around here is concerned, the question of whether we make the move or not is dead.”

“When Kevin gets on the phone, it will be resurrected, trust me. There’s no way he’ll let this happen.” Kevin was a superb manager and even better when he played the role of an agent. Kind? One of the kindest men he’d ever known when people were fair with him. But when they weren’t, K2 was the Tasmanian Devil. Brandon was looking forward to setting the devil loose.

“I don’t think bringing Kevin into this is a good idea.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either if I were you.” He paced between the windows and the door.

“Would you like to sit down?”

“No.” Brandon stopped and stared at Audrey’s phone. “Let’s get Kevin on the phone right now and get this thing worked out.”

“Brandon?” Audrey leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Let’s not.”

“Let’s do.” Brandon pulled out his cell phone, set it on her desk, and put his face inches from hers. “Now.”

“We’re giving the money to another artist. End of story. Listen, Brandon, we’ve been friends a long time. I think we should end this meeting before one of us says something that will damage that relationship.”

“Who is the other artist?” Brandon pulled back.

“That’s not the point.”

“Who is it?”

Audrey sighed and closed her eyes.

“What? Is it some big secret?”

She sat in her chair and pressed her lips together for a long time before opening her eyes. “It’s Kevin. And he’s okay with it.”

The words felt like he’d been hit with a medicine ball in the gut. “Wha . . . what?”

“I’m sorry.” Audrey tapped the tips of her fingers together. “After Kevin’s concert at Marymoor Park, iTunes went nuts with downloads. We have to ride this horse hard. We’re a for-profit business.”

Brandon sat stunned. It felt like every ounce of his energy had spilled onto the carpet and melted through it to the floor below. “You’re sorry? I don’t believe this.”

He left Audrey’s office in a daze. All he needed was Reece or Marcus or Doug to stab him in the back and life would be complete. By the time he reached his car and slid behind the wheel, Brandon’s numbness had morphed into a smoldering rage. As he turned out of the parking garage onto the street he pulled his cell phone out and dialed Kevin.

THIRTY-THREE

“K
EVIN
K
AISON
.”

“Why do you answer like that? You know it’s me.” Brandon spit out the words.

“You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m great. Life is excellent. Couldn’t be better. How ’bout you?”

“I’m picking up the slightest tinge of sarcasm. Want to tell me why?”

“I just called to offer my congratulations.”

“For what?”

Brandon gunned the engine of his rental car and passed two cars in front of him. One of them laid on the horn and the other screamed words that would probably scorch his paint if he got too close.

“Getting my marketing funds. Nicely done.”

“What?”

“I just finished with an interesting meeting with Audrey and she tells me you’re getting my marketing funds for your debut album. When were you going to let me in on this?”

“What? Look—”

“Playing stupid doesn’t look good on you, pal. I stood up and boldly told her, ‘Kevin won’t stand for this. He’ll fight it.’ And you’ve known about it all along. Just before leaving town I asked you if there was anything going on at the label concerning me, and you said no. Unbelievable.”

“Slow down, Brandon. Yes, I knew they were taking funds from somewhere else, but I had no clue where it was from and no clue whatsoever it was coming from another artist and no idea it was coming from your budgets. All they said was they found some additional marketing funds to promote my first album. Why would I ask where the money came from?”

“They said you were okay with it. With getting the money, which meant you knew it was coming from me.”

“Of course I told them I was okay with it. That doesn’t mean I knew it came from you!”

“You’re my manager and my agent. Don’t add traitor to your job description. You’re going to talk to Audrey and get it fixed.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re going to get my money back. You’re going to tell them you can’t take it.”

“Hang on, Brandon. We need to talk about this.”

“You want a career in this industry? You need me, so you’re going to stop talking and start acting.”

“Really? You still think I need you? Are you blind? I’m in the middle of negotiating a multi-album deal that will make me very comfortable, and I’m getting invitations from venues and promoters all over the country. Need you? You want to know the truth? It’s the fall of your career and winter is coming on fast.”

“A year ago you were scared to play one song for me. We would not be having this conversation if not for me.”

“Wow, praise Brandon. All glory to Brandon. God had nothing to do with it, huh?”

“Shut up, Kaison.”

“I appreciate what you did, I really do, but don’t make me the arsonist for a fire I didn’t set.”

Brandon pulled onto the freeway and revved his car up to seventy-five. “Get this thing fixed, Kevin, or you’re gone.”

Kevin’s voice slowed and seemed to drop an octave. “Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’? I was leaving anyway.”

Brandon wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I just moved up the timetable. You’re done as of now. You’re finished, Kaison. So is our friendship.”

He ended the call and tossed his cell phone to the floor of the passenger seat. After a few minutes he cooled and glanced at the phone. He’d call Kevin back right now. He’d lost it. Did he think Kevin was lying? No. Which meant he didn’t know about the marketing funds.

Brandon glanced at his phone again. Now? No. Wait a few days. Give them both time to cool down. Weird. One of his best friends and he’d shredded the guy without hesitation. He gripped his steering wheel harder. But Kevin had shredded right back and his words seeped into the gash Windfire had made in his soul. Maybe a few days would turn into never.

What did Reece always say? “They drop the bombs where the enemy is the strongest.” But Brandon didn’t feel strong. It felt like his career was coming apart. And that a nuclear warhead had just detonated inside his soul.

THIRTY-FOUR

T
RISTAN
B
ARROW WAS CHARMING WHEN
R
EECE
JOINED
him for their late breakfast on Friday. It didn’t surprise Reece. His demeanor on the phone had been strangely engaging and Reece didn’t expect his in-person persona to be any different.

The smell of one of the Maltby Café’s giant cinnamon rolls filled Reece’s nostrils as a waitress carried it by their table. Even someone without an acute sense of smell would know that aroma.

They’d talked for half an hour but Reece felt only inches closer to knowing the identity and nature of the man and what he was after. The words from Tristan about the work of the kingdom were right, his insights into what Reece and the Warriors were doing were penetrating and even challenging, but something didn’t ring true about the man.

“Might I ask about the favor I spoke of on the phone?” Tristan said.

“Sure,” Reece answered as he continued to work on his California eggs Benedict.

“Jotham, Orson, and I want to come to one of your training sessions at Well Spring.”

Not the favor Reece had expected Tristan to ask for. Of course this didn’t seem the type of man who was easily figured out. “And why is it that you’d like to come to Well Spring?”

“God told us to go.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

“I see.” The scrape of forks and knives on plates and conversations from all over the restaurant filled Reece’s ears. Not knowing who was listening made it more difficult to speak freely, but he hadn’t wanted to meet Barrow without others around. “We would want to know more about you before accepting any of you as students.”

“My fault.” Tristan’s fork clanked against his plate, and from the pronunciation of his words, Reece could tell the man was chewing. “I didn’t communicate well our desire. We don’t want to come as students. We want to come as support. To pray for protection for you. To counsel the trainees if needed. To fight for the success of the week in prayer as you do it through your teaching.”