Chapter 15

Brando

I drive home before going to Majestic to meet Rowland, calling the small team of college students I hired to manage Haley’s website and her social media to tell them they need to get their asses to my place as soon as possible for an emergency meeting. Even though I drive with all the impatient recklessness of a man with hours left to live, they’re in the lobby by the time I arrive, laptops under their arms. I bring the five of them into my apartment, seat them in the lounge, and stand in front of them like a general about to give the briefing for a suicide mission.

“Okay, guys,” I say, clapping my hands, “listen up. The next couple of days it’s crucial we put a mark on this thing. I’m going to need all of you to work like motherfuckers right now. Whatever I’m paying you, triple it. Now we can’t stop this story from spreading, but we can try and shape the conversation a little bit.”

I point to a couple of the wide-eyed students opening their laptops hurriedly. “Steven, Jessica: You take social media. Haley is nervous about her sore throat – she still hasn’t had it checked out. She’s gutted that she missed the New York show, but the tour went great, she’s eternally grateful to her fans for their support, and can’t wait to finish off the album. Act like you don’t even know about the Rex Bentley thing, you’re above it, it’s just some dumb rumor that you’re way above even acknowledging.

“Ross, Michelle: Find the freshest, biggest articles on the story – the ones that everybody else is linking to. Make multiple accounts, and comment on them. ‘This is just a dumb misunderstanding,’ ‘how is this even news,’ ‘daughter or not, her show was still awesome,’ that kind of thing. Make it seem like the logical reaction to this is disbelief and scorn for the guys who write about it.

“Simon,” I say, looking at him with keen intent, “here’s what I want you to do. Make a fake account, and message the people I’m going to give you the email addresses for. Tell them that you’re a source close to Haley. Tell them that they’ve got the story wrong, Rex Bentley is not her father.” I pause for a second while he nods. “Mick Jagger is.”

“What?” he says, incredulous. Everybody else turns to look at me. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Exactly,” I say. “You can’t kill a story like this, but you can make it so confusing and exaggerated that nobody gives a shit anyway. Disinformation. When people don’t know what to believe, they believe none of it.”

Slowly, as the idea sinks in, Simon starts to nod, then opens his laptop with enthusiasm.

“I’m going to have a meeting at the label now, I’ll be back later,” I shout behind me as I go for the door. “Don’t let me down, guys. Haley’s counting on you.”

I slam through Rowland’s doors like a bull through the gates, the sound of his secretary confirming my appointment already behind me.

“I’m squashing the story, Rowland! Don’t make any statements from the label, my team is going to handle this. I know you think this is good for Haley but—” I’m already at his desk, standing over it with my palms on the steel when I notice. “What’s Lexi doing here?”

I turn my gaze back from her crossed legs, casually bouncing up and down, toward the concerned, almost frightened, look on Rowland’s face. He locks his fingers in front of him on the table and fidgets.

He talks slowly, carefully, like a doctor on a death ward. “I don’t really know how to say this, and I’m pretty surprised myself, to be totally honest with you, but I—”

“Haley’s getting dropped from the label,” Lexi interrupts with dark relish. “I’ve just told him. It’s me or her.”

“What?” I say, my eyes switching between the two like I’m watching a frantic tennis match. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” Rowland whispers through gritted teeth, as if Lexi wouldn’t be able to hear. He raises his helpless eyes to mine, almost like he’s begging for a way out. “Lexi’s pretty much made up her mind.”

I turn to her.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t like the way this label is run,” Lexi says, springing out of her chair and standing beside me. “What was Haley doing on my tour? She doesn’t even have a full album out! And you were supposed to be managing both of us, Brando, but I didn’t see you running to my side very often.”

“You seemed to do perfectly fine on your own,” I growl.

“Exactly. I don’t like sharing. And as long as Haley’s on the label, I know I won’t be getting all the support I could be getting. It’s me or her.”

I turn to Rowland. “This is ridiculous. Lexi signed a contract. She can’t leave, right? Isn’t that what you told me? That this whole business is about tying up artists even when they don’t want to be?”

“I’m only part artist – I’m all businesswoman,” Lexi purrs maliciously. “Anyone tries to stop me from quitting and I’ll destroy Majestic from the inside. A couple of tweets and I’d have every one of my fans boycotting your records. Maybe throw in a sexual harassment lawsuit. Yet another case of the big, bad record industry taking advantage of a poor, innocent girl. I can bring a shit storm raining down on this label that you people will never recover from.”

Rowland’s face goes white, and he jumps up from his chair. Lexi flutters her eyelashes and laughs. Now the three of us are standing around the desk.

“You see this?” he cries, despairingly. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to drop Lexi, and keep Haley!” I shout back. “She’s the one who killed on this tour, not Lexi! She’s the one with the potential to take us to another level!”

“You think I want to drop Haley? She’s fantastic, I love her! But I don’t have a choice!”

“Yes you do! Lexi’s giving you one!”

Rowland slumps back into his chair and spends a full five seconds rubbing his forehead before looking back up at me. Lexi just watches us, all self-satisfied amusement and dancing eyes—loving every second.

“Haley’s had two hits, Lexi’s had five. Haley hasn’t even released an album, Lexi’s had a number one. The tour was great, but it was still Lexi’s name on the top of it. Even when you get past the simple numbers of the thing, I don’t know what the hell is going on with Haley. One minute she’s fucking up a gig because she can’t tune a guitar, the next minute she’s pulling out of the grand finale to the tour. And now there’s a weird story connecting her to Rex Bentley that you won’t let me use to her advantage because of her ‘feelings.’” I take a step back. I know what’s coming. “I’ve made my choice, Brando. Haley’s gone.”

“Then so am I,” I say, stalking toward the door.