Star Maker (3 page)

She
sighed and shook her head. “You should be focusing on your audition in three
hours.”

He
sighed and shook his head. “See, that’s the problem. This situation is
messing with my head. I want an answer, preferably now.”

She
shifted her eyes away. “It’s the same as I told you yesterday. I can’t do it,
Joe.”

His
caramel brown eyes narrowed. “You can’t or you don’t want to? There is a
marked difference. Be straight, Kit.”

She looked
into his eyes and felt bad. She didn’t want to take the risk of losing him
forever and she feared that would happen if they got romantically involved. “I
don’t want to. I think we’re much stronger as friends. I don’t want to mess
up our friendship. You’re one of my best buddies. We work well together and I
need that more right now. I can’t risk it.”

He
shook his head regretfully. “You’re totally scared to get into a relationship
again. You’ve shut down your heart. Why can’t you just tell me that? It’s a
more honest answer, Katie.” He sat back in his chair defiantly and folded his
arms in front of his chest, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of her
reaction.

She
glared. “Do not call me that. You know better. You know I hate it.”

He chuckled
and purposely taunted her. “Katie, Katie, Katie.” When she gave him a stern
look of warning worse than the first, he decided to back off. He held his
hands up in surrender and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
His eyes met hers. “Ok. I have my answer. You want best buddies and
colleagues. If you need that, I will give you that.”

She
sighed and reached out for his hands, taking them in hers. She stared into his
eyes and smirked. “Thank you. It will be better this way for both of us. I
can’t give you what you want. I’m not that girl, Joe. I never will be.”

He
nodded for her benefit, but was not entirely convinced. He gently squeezed her
hands and let them go. He had a feeling this conversation would come up again
at a future date with the tables turned in his favor. He hoped it wouldn’t be
too little too late. “If you say so, Kitty-Kat. You are the smart one between
us.”

She
frowned. “You’re smart.”

He
chuckled. “Ha! I do have talent, yes. I am a damn good guitarist. I’ll own
that. Top of my class at Berklee…”

She
interjected. “You should have stuck it out and graduated, Joe.” She chugged
her beer.

He
frowned. “Now see, there you go. You’re being my dad right now. Not cool.
Anyway, before you rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that I am skilled
with a guitar and social proclivities, but when it comes to common sense and
all things academic excluding music, I am an epic failure. And I’m totally ok
with that. Made my choice easy growing up. It was all about the guitar for
me.” He smiled wide.

She
surveyed him carefully. “I think you underestimate yourself.”

He
chuckled and sipped his beer. “You think way too highly of me. My accountant
would disagree with your theory. I can guarantee that. Do I have to remind
you of all the times you helped me with my homework when we were kids?”

Before
she could provide another rebuttal, Alexa walked into the room. The moment she
noticed Joe sitting at the table she screamed out at the top of her lungs with
delight and charged toward him with arms outstretched.

He
laughed and bent down to hug her. “Now, that’s what I call a greeting!” He
kissed her on the cheek and pulled back. “How are ya, Lex? I’ve missed you,
girl. It’s been way too long. Kitty tells me you’re on your way to being this
big PR guru. Grad school at USC? That’s ambitious!”

She
giggled. “A drop in the bucket when you want to build a big media empire. You
know how it goes, Mr. Guitar God.”

Kit
stood up and smiled. “And guitar god he is.” She beamed with pride. “Tell her
the news, babe.”

Joe smiled wide and Alexa’s eyes darted from him to Kit and then back
to him. She sensed it was good and squealed loudly. “What? Tell me now!”

Kit
pulled her car into the lot and parked. She glanced over at Joe and grinned.
“You ready to do this?”

He
forced a grin. Nervousness was clouding his vision. He had waited for this
moment for years and now that it was upon him, he didn’t feel completely
prepared. He chuckled. “Y’know, maybe I should just blow it off. I’d really
like to be in a band where I can contribute and be one of the primary
songwriters. I…”

She
shook her head. “Don’t do this, Joe. No more self-sabotage. This is your
dream being handed to you on a silver platter. This is your time. And if you
really want to be a songwriter, talk to them about it. If they pick you, and
there’s no doubt they will, I’ll make sure it’s written in your contract. It’s
completely workable. Don’t make excuses. It’s ok to be scared. This is big.”
She sighed and then smiled. “It’s showtime for you, Joe, and your star is on
the rise. Let’s go.”

Kit
watched proudly as Joe’s attitude shifted the moment he opened the door to the
rehearsal studio with his guitar case in hand. He had mastered the attitude of
fake it ‘til you make it and carried himself like a pro. He held his head high
and embodied an impressive presence she had never seen before. She couldn’t
help grinning from ear to ear.

He was
well received by the band. He waved her over and grinned. “Guys, this is my
manager, Kit McKenna.” He went through great pains to introduce each band
member to her before they got down to business. She could immediately tell
that none of them took her seriously, but she shrugged it off, not wanting to
create waves that may capsize Joe’s big opportunity.

As Joe
took the stage and Kit took a seat on a black, leather sofa in the back, she
glanced over and noticed a huddle of men talking in hushed tones and two female
assistants scurrying in and out of the room like nervous mice trying to dodge a
hungry cat. One of the men was talking on a large portable phone. She grinned,
recognizing exactly who they were—the record label was in the house
tonight.

She
watched them carefully and wondered if she would be like them one day, talking
on a portable phone in the late evening—a rehearsal blaring in the
background with last minute adjustments and decisions being made at lightening
speed while high stakes dollars and huge egos hung in the balance.

She
felt a charge of exhilaration thinking about all of it. Her biggest dream was
to own and run a record label and her first matter of business was learning the
music industry on a more global scale than her limited management of bands
afforded her in Philadelphia. She had yet to sign one of her bands to a label
and she was determined to change that now that she was in Los Angeles.

An hour
passed quickly and Kit continued to stare as the band huddled around Joe,
talking to him. Some of the label men were in the mix now too and before she
could entirely comprehend what was going on, she heard Joe’s voice call out to
her. “Kit! Can you come here please? I need you for a sec.”

She
nodded, smiled, and stood up. As she made her way to the stage, she felt her
stomach churn with uneasiness and noticed that her steps seemed to go in slow
motion. She tried to recall the pep talk she gave Joe before he got out of the
car earlier, but her efforts were futile. It was her turn now. The contract
shoved at her the moment she set foot into the circle of sharks reminded her it
was go time. She was in the game, instantly expected to play at the pro level,
while the huddle of men anticipated and eagerly awaited her failure.

To
their chagrin, she jumped into action reviewing the terms of the contract
carefully and asking all the right questions, pointing out clauses like a
seasoned veteran. She overheard Wilson Carmichael drawl in his English accent
to Joe. “Where did you get this bird? She’s a gorgeous secret weapon. Do you
always carry a hot barrister-manager in your back pocket, man?”

She let
a faint trace of a grin surface on her face, absorbing the comment in stride.
She was very used to being underestimated by the opposite sex. When they
looked at her all they saw was shiny, long, layered red hair, long legs, curves
and a smile that always lit up the room. They didn’t expect her to be smart.
She had the looks of a top model and her sound business acumen often threw them
off. She wanted to giggle finding the whole situation amusing, but forced
herself to remain focused as she negotiated the terms with the record
executives standing before her shooting daggers with their beady eyes.

When
she had all the information she needed, she pulled Joe aside in confidence.
Her emerald eyes bore into him. “Joe, listen to me. This contract has
everything you want and more. This isn’t just a pay to play deal. They don’t
want you as a hired gun. They want you as a new member of this band. They’ve
heard about your reputation. This wasn’t happenstance. Stan set you up here.
Wilson was at the Rainbow last night waiting to pounce.

“They
will let you contribute with the songwriting, although that won’t start until
they go into the studio for their next album, understandably. I’m advising you
to sign it if it feels right to you. They love you, Joe. They said it was no
contest. I got you good money. You have the upper hand here. Took ‘em a
little out of their comfort zone, but they can afford it. We’ve got ‘em where
we want ‘em.” She grinned and winked.

He
stared at her with wide eyes. “They’re great, Kit. What’s the drawback?”

She
grinned. “I don’t see one, but you will have to release me as your manager.
When you sign their contract, I have agreed to absolve our agreement. You will
then fall under the management they presently have. You met their manager,
Nigel, right? You like him?”

He
nodded and then frowned. “But Kit, I don’t want you to get screwed out of the
deal. If I sign you won’t get a dime.”

She
smiled. “Joe, you are such a sweetheart thinking of me. It doesn’t work like
that, though. I’ll get my cut. I worked it out with the label and it does
come out of your earnings directly. It’s a requisition fee.”

He
looked worried as he stared into her eyes. “A what? Is it a good payout? If
it isn’t, I’ll give you another cut under the table when I start getting paid
or if you need it immediately, I’ll pull it out of my trust.”

She
shook her head. “No, you won’t. It’s great. I’m totally happy with it. Do
this, Joe. If you don’t, you’re stupid. Opportunity like this only knocks
once and I’m telling ya to open the door and run through.”

He
finally smiled wide and nodded his head. “Ok. Shit! This is wild isn’t it?”
His caramel brown eyes were alive with intrigue. “My whole life is gonna
change tomorrow. Can you come to Oakland with me? Come see my first show with
them.” He chuckled. “I promise it won’t be like our last time in Vegas. I’ll
get you your own room or you can take the bed in my room. I’ll sleep on the
floor if I have to.”

She
laughed. “Ok, if you’re promising me that, I’ll definitely go. I’d love to be
there to support you. You’ve earned this, Joe. You’ve been waiting on it
since you were ten years old.”

He grinned and nodded, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the
cheek. “Thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you, Kitty-Kat.” He took a
deep breath. “So, where do I sign?”

* * *

The
frazzled server ran back into the kitchen. “Where is the order for twenty-two?
Twenty-two, not twenty-four, idiot!” His eyes stared like a laser beam of
blame.

Sully
frowned and felt his anger bubbling up. “That
is
twenty-two. Look at your ticket!” His South Side Chicago
accent came barreling through like an out of control freight train. He shook
his head, annoyed.

The
fumbling newbie server stared at the ticket. “Oh. Oh yeah. Oops.” Without
apologizing, he seized the plate and slipped off like a thief in the night.

Sully
returned to the grill and flipped over an order of steaming hash browns, wiped
his brow with his sleeve, and thought there had to be some other way. He
started daydreaming, thinking about one day when he’d be up on a stage—an
enormous stage in one of the largest arenas in the world. A grin started to
spread across his face and remained there until his boss’s angry, yelling voice
yanked him out of his self-imposed fantasyland.

“O’Sullivan!
What are you doing? That’s it. You keep burning the food you stupid dreamer!
This is the last time. You’re outta here. You’re fired!”

Sully
sighed, rolled his eyes, freed his long, brown locks from the hairnet, and took
off his apron. His steel blue eyes narrowed at his boss as he threw the apron
onto the grill. He strutted out and didn’t miss a beat as the apron erupted
into flames behind him. Job number fourteen down. He wondered how many more
to go.

He
walked out to his beat up, rusted, yellow 1971 Ford Pinto and got in. He
turned the key to start the engine and its normal routine of running and
running without turning over commenced. Frustrated, he closed his eyes and
rested his forehead on the steering wheel, hoping to will the car into
submission and resorting to silent prayers from his Catholic school days.
“C’mon, please.”