Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Of course they are. It’s simple. It all comes down to sex and money. Sex sells. The more titillating snippets you give the public, the better your product does in the market. So, what’s their story? There’s got to be more to it. Maybe Declan had a relationship with one or more members of the band.”
“Maybe, but that would have been years ago.”
“So what? It might be old news to you, but a rumor about sex can do just as much damage as the real deal. Or it can help…just depends on who’s telling the story. That’s why I’m in the movie business. I like stories and I like spinning them.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, I guarantee you every music exec you’ll speak to, regardless of how big, small, or ‘indie friendly’ they are will have an angle in mind. It’s how we sell the stories. We compare new artists to old ones or bring up old scandals to conjure ideas of bad boys and rebels. The art may be fresh and new, but the methods of delivery are as old as time. The sexy story will sell tickets, albums, magazine, etcetera.”
“I get it. But what about when you don’t know what they’ll do?”
“You grab some popcorn and wait it out,” he suggested.
“I don’t want them to control Zero’s story. I’m supposed to be protecting them, not feeding them to the wolves. All they had to do was mention Declan’s name in front of Justin to discredit me.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Boohoo. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and move on to the next label.”
“You’re right. But this Declan thing bugs me. He’s rock star sexy, he’s a real musician, and he can sing. But he’s missing something. Did I tell you he asked me to be his manager?”
Dad furrowed his brow. “When?”
“Just now over an Americano with a triple shot of espresso.” I slumped in my chair and let out a dramatic sigh. “Can you even?”
“Do it.”
I threw my hands in the air. “How? I can’t manage Declan. I don’t even know if I can manage Zero.”
“You’re doing a great job, Char. Listen…if you manage them both, you control the story.” He tapped his temple and flashed a cocky grin.
“Sounds fabulous. Ky thinks I should start my own label too. Maybe you’re both right,” I joked.
“Do it,” he repeated.
“Are you working on a Nike campaign on the side? I appreciate the pep talk, but let’s keep it realistic, shall we?”
“I am. A record label is responsible for production, manufacturing, distribution, promoting…and making sure no one steals your ideas.” He straightened off the desk and moved to the window, clapping as he recited a to-do list as though it was a matter of picking up a few items at the grocery store. “Gray can help you find reputable engineers to produce your album. Distribution is mainly digital now, so you just have to get it on Apple or another platform, and you already know how to promote. You just have to widen your reach. Charlie, you can do this. Start your own company. You have one client and maybe a second one if you take on the sexy rocker. You control the story and you allow your clients to control their vision. Everyone wins!”
I was flabbergasted, gobsmacked, dumbfounded…all those fabulous adjectives. Because, really? I was doggy-paddling in the shallow end with this manager gig. What he proposed sounded like getting thrown into the ocean during a hurricane.
“That’s so…crazy. Ky said the same thing. Weird. And while I appreciate your confidence in my ability, based on…being your kid, I think…I don’t see how this is possible.”
“I already told you. Talk to Gray, begin production, and trust your instincts. I don’t care what anyone says—you’ve got this in your blood. If you think about it, it’s the perfect marriage of your papa’s musical background with my business background. You can handle this, Char. Ask Gray. He’ll tell you the same thing and—”
“Wait.” I stood slowly and leaned against his desk. “You just called Gray ‘Papa.’ You haven’t done that since I was a kid.”
“Oh. It was a slip.” Dad shrugged nonchalantly. “Hey, I think we’re on to something big and—”
“Do you still miss him?”
He stopped in his tracks and furrowed his brow. “Gray? I saw him two days ago. What kind of a question is that?”
“It’s a valid one. You love him. I know you do.”
Dad inhaled deeply, then let out his breath in a long rush of air. “I’ll always love him, Char. Not the way I did when you were little, but that’s okay. It’s different now.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He tilted his head slightly and lifted the corner of his mouth in a lazy smile. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just worry sometimes.”
“But there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Since when does that matter?” I opened my arms and gestured around the room before flying off the handle. “Worry is my middle name. It’s my drug of choice. I can’t possibly get enough worry in my life. My first barista of the day…there have been three, in case you’re curious…cut her finger on a cup holder and bled all over the counter. I’m worried about her. The sweet nurse at the clinic this morning told me her son had a horrible asthma attack last night. Guess who’s worried about him? My head is bursting with things to worry about. Bursting. Between a label for Zero, Ollie’s social anxiety, Ky, the blood work and—”