Page 11 of Uriah's Orbit
“Can we fire Frankel?” Grant asked, tapping his finger on the table. “I’d like to fire him. He’s nothing but trouble and…to be honest, his pushing Austin back and down all the time is exhausting. I want to be way more free to do what we want. Austin here has a fucking set of pipes.”
“If we fire Frankel…” I mused, but cut off.
The other five at the table watched me, and finally Angela leaned over and grabbed my hand. “It’s the six of us, son, and a saltshaker. That’s not talking to the press. Conjecture all you like, it won’t leave here.”
“We’ve been bound to this contract for records only for the whole of our careers,” I said, “Eight years. We haven’t been able to branch out and find what else we love. Not that I would ever leave the band—you guys are all the best brothers I never had—but that we might be able to take time off each year to pursue other things. I mean, Taylor, you write the most amazing stories. Imagine having six months to just write.”
“Or six months to work at the orchard,” Bryce said.
“Or time to actually visit our families without a deadline,” Luis said. “Travel, read, paint…”
Leaning back in her chair, Angela looked at me. “And you? We know that Bryce would play with the apples. Luis would travel and do his art thing. Grant would volunteer with Doctors Without Borders and Taylor would write. What about you, Austin Lowell. What do you want to do?”
Bryce smirked. “Broadway, of course. A limited run on a play or musical or its own limited run show.”
I folded my arms and stared at Bryce. “You know me too well.”
“Ihaveheard you sing, dude,” he said. “You really do have to tune it down for our music.”
“And by getting rid of Frankel,” Grant said, “I’m hoping we can open your pipes up and let you go. With music we’ve composed and has been produced by someone with half a give a damn for the fact that you—” he stabbed me in the shoulder with his pointy damn finger “—canactually fuckingsing.”
“We can all sing,” I said.
“Not like you, Hugh Jackman.”
I flipped him the bird and Angela cuffed me on the back of the head. “Public, Austin. Even if there’s no one really here to see it.”
“Sorry, Ang,” I said with a smirk.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll get a lawyer on this, have a representation contract for you all to look over and sign, and I’ll contact a few of my friends and see if I can get you a good producer.”
Grant leaned over and hugged his aunt. “Thank you, Auntie. This means the world to us.”
“I know, Grant.” She smiled. “Now, where are those pizzas. I’m starving.”
Uriah
…Three months later…
“Who?”
I spun and looked at the manager, who had his arms folded and smirk on his face.
“Austin Lowell.”
I ran a hand down my face. “Are you serious, Cesar? You’re really very serious about this?”
“He’ll be here at ten for his first fitting.”
“The kid from Up Down Left Right? The boy band that won’t stop being a boy band?”
Cesar slapped me on the back. “Yes, that’s him. Austin Lowell. Just wait, Uri. You haven’t heard him sing.”
I rolled my eyes, but sighed in resignation. “What am I costuming him for? Zoser?”
“Radames.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re giving this untested, bubble gum pop bullshit artist the malelead?”
