A Song For Julia Part 25

"You're a business major at Harvard. When do you graduate?"

"June."

"Crank said you interned at Division Records?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I did. One summer. And I've done all the coursework I could related to the music industry."

"Planning on going to graduate school?"

I frowned. Then answered, "I was. But honestly, I've been having doubts ... I'm not sure I want to go in the direction my parents want. Is this a job interview?"

Crank chuckled, and Serena got a fierce grin on her face. "Think of it like that," she said. "But don't be acting pricey."

"I'm a long way from being an expert on the industry."

"That's fine," Serena said. She had her arms crossed over her chest, a frown on her face. "We don't have any money to pay you. What I want to know is: do you have the b.a.l.l.s to do it?"

I didn't like her att.i.tude. She acted like I was asking them for a favor, not the other way around. I stared back at her, and Crank, standing next to me, shifted uncomfortably. He'd be a lot more uncomfortable when we talked later. I didn't appreciate being brought in here cold.

"I might," I answered her, "if it's worth the trouble. What exactly do you have in mind?"

"First thing, negotiate the single. Get us the best deal possible. Up until now, I've been handling scheduling our gigs. But you'd take that over. If the single takes off ... we want to go on tour. Record a real alb.u.m. Opening for someone, whatever. It would be your job to club that together. If you think you can handle it."

I was starting to like Serena. She was being a bit of a b.i.t.c.h, but there was nothing wrong with that. She was confident, bold as h.e.l.l. "Okay, let me make sure I've got this right. You want me to take my minimal experience with the music industry and your complete lack of money, and turn that into a successful band. Turn it into a successful business, rather, because that's how you need to be thinking."

Serena nodded. Crank squeezed my hand lightly. I thought about it for a minute. This was so far out of left field. I didn't even know what to think. Except that it might be fun as h.e.l.l. I could spend more time with Crank. I could do something completely different than what my father and mother had planned for me since I was three weeks old.

I took a deep breath then said, "If I do this, I want to make one thing clear. You don't treat me as Crank's girlfriend. If I'm the band's manager, I'm the manager. That means I'm going to be making calls some of you may not like. And unless you decide to fire me later on, you have to live with those decisions. I'll consult with you, get your opinions and thoughts, and we'll put major stuff to the whole group. But otherwise, I make the decisions."

Mark sat up, back straight, and eyebrows tense. "We're the band, we make the decisions."

Pathin frowned. "Mark, shut up. She's right. If we bring her on as the manager, she's running the show. You can't run a business by committee."

"She doesn't know s.h.i.t about the music business. She said it."

Serena turned contemptuous eyes on Mark. "Neither do you. I'm agreeable to her conditions. Pathin?"

Pathin nodded. "We need some organization. She said words I liked: successful business. Are we gonna kid around in the garage like a bunch of kids, or are we going somewhere? I'm on board."

"Crank?"

Crank shrugged. "You know where I stand."

Serena turned to face Mark, all eyes in the room on him. "Mark?"

Mark looked at me, then back at the others. Finally, he said, "All right. I'm in."

Serena turned back to me. She still wasn't smiling. "I'm not sure you can pull this off, Harvard chick. But we'll give you a chance."

I took a deep breath. They were trusting me, a relative outsider, with something precious to them all. But, as crazy as it was, it made sense. And for the first time in a long time, I was excited about something. This was an opportunity to walk away from all of the boundaries and walls my parents had set. It was an opportunity to cut my own path, to do something that mattered to me.

I looked at them. "Okay. I need everyone's cell phone numbers and email addresses. Your rehearsal schedule. Any upcoming gigs. And Serena, I'll need your contacts at the clubs and wherever else you've been playing. The first thing we've got to do is come up with a contract between the five of us. That, and get things going with the record company. Who do I talk to?"

And just like that, I became part of the team.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Can't Really Talk Now (Julia) 8:58 A.M.

I'd been watching the clock.

I'd been up since four in the morning, because I couldn't sleep. I spent the last five hours online, searching out information about how the music industry worked, Googling topics like "How to Negotiate a Record Contract." Variations on the same question. Reading and reading. Everybody described the process differently. Everyone had different advice. I knew a little, from the time I'd spent interning at Division and papers I'd done in various cla.s.ses, but not enough to give me any confidence at all.

I did have one thing going for me. On Monday, everyone would be back on campus. Including Mitch Roark, whose dad, Allen Roark, was an A-List rock star. I'd emailed Mitch, asking to get together, and included the song as an attachment to the email. If there was any real point in going to Harvard, one of the big ones was contacts.

I had looked over the details and financials of all of the major and minor record labels. Division was minor to medium. But of bigger concern, they were on very shaky financial footing, and the IRS was investigating Ron Murray. Which meant I needed to be very careful about the terms of whatever contract we ended up with, or Morbid Obesity would be at the mercy of a company that couldn't deliver.

8:59 A.M.

Crank and I had dinner together after band practice was over. Nothing special, just pizza. I'd begged off early, knowing that I had the call to make this morning. Not to mention, my parents and my sisters got into town very late last night, and they would be showing up here to pick me up sometime this morning. I was desperate to see my sisters, who I genuinely missed. My dad, too, though the truth is, he'd always been a bit remote. But my mother, not so much. Also ... I needed some distance, some time to think about where this thing with Crank was headed, and if I wanted it to head anywhere. I was terrified I'd already become too intertwined, too many connections, too much commitment.

Sometimes he gave me these looks ... looks that scared me. Looks that said he was going to tell me he loved me. Part of me desperately wanted that. But, I knew that was dangerous. It wasn't even Crank that scared me any more. It was me. It was losing myself.

9:00 A.M. I picked up the phone and dialed.

It rang several times, then a chirpy, cheerful female voice answered. "Good morning, Division Records."

"h.e.l.lo," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and professional. "My name's Julia Thompson. I'm calling Mr. Murray on behalf of Morbid Obesity. He's expecting my call."

"Please hold."

Silence for just a second and then hold music. Not Musak; instead, it was a high-pitched woman screeching into the microphone. Undoubtedly one of the label's artists. Murray probably wouldn't take my call, and I'm sure he had no idea who I was. Interns were pretty invisible to CEOs.

After about forty-five seconds of me holding the phone a good distance away from my head, the call was picked up.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi! My name's Julia Thompson, I'm calling on behalf of Morbid Obesity."

"Right. I'm Terry Woolard. Mr. Murray told me to expect your call. You're the band's manager?"

"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 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, 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 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 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 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."