Page 46 of Patchwork
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It’s a steady, predictable acoustic melody in my ears, it’s a calming brown, and it smells like lavender and tattoo ink.
I hold that feeling in my chest as motivation for the conversation I need to have with Van, and hurry through showering and getting dressed. I pull on a vintage band tee and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees. That’s one upside of this job, at least. No one expects me to put on a fucking suit, even for professional meetings. I finish the outfit with the same pair of rainbow suspenders, hanging down loosely, that I was wearing the first time I laid eyes on Hero. It feels like a lifetime ago now.
There’s still a drizzle of rain coming down when I step out onto the sidewalk, but I do what most of the city natives do, I duck my head and just ignore the cool droplets that occasionally hit my skin as I walk the few blocks to Van’s office.
His secretary, Gina, looks surprised to see me when I step through the door.
“I have an appointment with Van this morning,” I say, suddenly unsure.
“You do.” She wipes the shock off of her face and smiles. “He’s just been in such a state over not being able to get a hold of you for weeks that I wasn’t sure you’d actually show.”
I try not to let her words pick the scab off of the guilt I’ve been harboring over ignoring his calls. It’s not my fault the record label got up his ass. My contract isn’t officially up yet. I have nothing to feel bad for; all I did was take a fucking break. But maybe I feel a little bad that his income is going to take a hit without the fat paycheck from Black Sheep.
“Can I go in?” I ask.
“Oh, yes, of course. Go right ahead.” She waves me towards Van’s door. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? A snack?”
I shake my head and try not to wince. I almost forgot how awkward it is to have people catering to your whims. Eventhough I sometimes get recognized in Fall Crosse, it’s not the same.
I step into Van’s office. He has a large window with a view of the Space Needle, and the walls are covered in memorabilia from musicians he’s represented over the years. One of the main reasons I signed with him to begin with was his obvious passion for music. The first time we met, he spent an hour regaling me with stories about the early days of his career as a roadie in the seventies. He still keeps his gray hair long, pulled back into a ponytail, and he always wears a band t-shirt under his suit jacket.
He stands up when I enter the office and comes around his desk to greet me with a handshake, clapping my shoulder roughly.
“You scared the hell out of me, kid. Where the fuck have you been for the past month?”
“I just… I needed a break after the last tour.”
“Sure, nothing wrong with that.” He looks me up and down like he’s checking for any injuries, or maybe taking stock of the new tattoos on my arms since he saw me last. “I’m sorry for leaving you so many messages. The label has been pretty anxious to get a new contract signed.” He pulls out the chair in front of his desk and waves for me to take a seat, then goes back around to his side.
My heart beats a little faster and I wipe my damp palms on my jeans.
“Yeah, so, here’s the thing…”
Van kicks his feet up onto the desk and gives me a knowing smile.
“You’re done with Black Sheep?” he guesses.
I flick my lip ring with my tongue and nod. To my surprise, his response is a deep, rumbling laugh. He lowers his feet to the floor again and swivels in his chair to grab several folders fromthe top of the filing cabinet behind him. He drops them on the desk between us.
“What…”
“I don’t know exactly what your thoughts are, if you need some time off or if you’re looking to jump right into a solo career, but I’ve been quietly meeting with labels for the past six months, laying the groundwork for potential deals. And let me tell you, you are a hot ticket, kid. I was getting ready for a cage match with the label over your Black Sheep deal, so you’re making my life a hell of a lot easier this way. I’ve got Viper Records willing to double what DMC was paying you for a three-record deal over ten years. Gigabyte is coming in with a dollar figure close to DMC’s, but they’ll also include a rider that you get paid additional royalties and keep the rights to any music you write yourself.” He rattles off a couple of the other options, pointing to each folder containing the opening bids from several different labels.
All I can do is stare. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that other labels want me as a solo artist, but I was gearing up for this to be a much bigger battle.
I clear my throat and lean forward to fold my arms on the desk.
“Okay, here’s what I want.” I hold up fingers as I rattle off each demand. “No more than one month of touring per year, I write all my own music and retain all rights to it, and a co-sponsorship from the label for a free summer music camp for teens.”
Van grins again. “You’re not even going to bicker over the dollar figure, are you?”
“Isn’t that what I have you for?”
He chuckles. “It is. Alright, I’m sure I can get that done. Let me make some phone calls and I should be able to get you a few offers to choose from by the end of next week.”
For the first time in ages, I feel the anxiety knots in my chest completely unravel. I let my shoulders sag with a sigh, and I smile at him.
