Page 30 of Drawn to You
“Err, I don’t know. I’ve never acted before. I can’t do it.”
“I’m sure he’ll have someone coach you first. It shouldn’t be difficult. I mean, you don’t have to speak or anything. It’s mostly just your face and probably your ponytail.” He chuckles.
I blush and change the subject. “Thanks for letting me know. I have news for you too. I’m going to move into the apartment you recommended.”
“What? Have you seen it already?”
“Yeah. I went to see it this morning. And it was okay.”
“Great! So we’ll be neighbors. Maybe I could even ride with you.”
“Sure thing!” I say.
“When are you going to move in?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Let me know if you need help.”
“Thanks. But I don’t think so. I don’t have much to move at all. But I’ll do some shopping after work. I don’t need any furniture. They’re even knives and pots in the kitchen. But I need some plates and bed and bath things.”
“There’s a Target on Hollywood, few blocks east of here,” he says.
“Perfect. Thanks.”
When Mason comes in, he isn’t smiling as he usually is.
He waves his cell phone to Darrell and me before even checking in.
“Some motherfucker posted my new song on YouTube, and it got some negative comments!”
“Already?” Darrell says, looking at the screen of Mason’s phone.
I stand up and crane my neck over the counter to look. It’s a video of Mason singing at Almost Famous last night. It must’ve been posted by someone at the audience. I remember seeing more than one person waving their phones at the singer. On the screen, the background is dark, and Mason’s face isn’t that visible, but still, you can tell it’s him.
The title of the video isMason Meyer singing at a bar in Hollywood.
“It’s gotten a million views already, unbelievable!” Darrell exclaims. Obviously, he isn’t concerned about the negative comments at all.
There’re thousands of likes and hundreds of dislikes.
I’m curious about what people say about the song, so I urge him to scroll down. What I see are mostly praises, including “Beautiful!” “I love Mason Meyer!” and flowers and hearts.
“These are good comments!” Darrell says as he continues to swipe the screen for more.
“Yeah, but look at this one,” Mason says and points to a few lines down. “Plagiarizedsong!”
“Uh-oh,” Darrell mutters.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why a single negative opinion matters so much to him because there’re so many good ones.
“The fucker says I copiedBrandyby Looking Glass, written in the seventies. Honestly, I didn’t even remember that song when I wrote mine.”
“So what’re you going to do about it?” Darrell asks, looking worried. “Will you be able to produce it?”
“Hell yes! I didn’t steal it from nobody! It’s not even emulation. The lyrics are different, and so are the melodies. The only thing they have in common is both are rock,” Mason says as he types on his phone and then taps on the screen.
Soon we hear a male’s husky voice singing a beautiful old song that I’ve heard a few times before. Mason is right. They don’t sound similar at all, although a look at the lyrics makes me think he might’ve emulated it after all.
