"ARE YOU GOING to be alright?" Marsha asked as soon as I stirred from my nap. The constant rocking of the train and the fact that I had been awake all night and through the wringer with Lucky had taken its toll on me. I had crashed, and I crashed hard.
"I'm ok," I murmured, the automatic platitude while checking the time on my cell. Three hours. I had slept for three hours. But I didn’t feel any better. I glanced out the window. The scrawl of spray painted graffiti on the buildings reflected the inner tangle of my own turmoil. But it also confirmed my guestimate that we had arrived in the city. Penn Station must be near.
"You've been awfully quiet,” Marsha stated.
"Duh, I was sleeping, Mars."
"You weren’t sleeping when we packed or while we waited half an hour for the train at the station in Boston. So why don’t you tell me what really happened between you and Lucky?"
"You know what happened.”
“I know what you've told me. And the little you have said about him speaks volumes. But I also know you, Raven. How you internalize when things get heavy. How you don’t give yourself time to process. Your guilt about Hawk. The rift with your dad. Your feelings for Lucky."
I sighed. She had me. "Sure, Lucky is gorgeous. He's sexy. He's understanding, protective and caring. And the sex with him was the best I've ever had. Period. End of story. But it’s over now, Marsha. I'm moving on. I have to move on. What more needs to be said?" No use perseverating given my present reality. "Now is not the time for romance. It’s time for action. For focus. And for figuring out the best way to deal with this disaster with JGB. Because of it the WMO offer means more to us than ever before."
"You're worried about how the meeting will turn out."
"Hell yeah, I'm worried. The VP sounded like a badass on the phone. I googled her. She's the youngest exec at the company. She moved up fast, no wonder since all the projects her name has been attached to have been so incredibly successful. She’s in her element. She knows what she’s doing. I have no earthly clue. I have almost no experience dealing with people from the entertainment industry and less than zero negotiating with someone of her caliber. I’m out of my league, Mars."
"You'll do fine." Marsha squeezed the fingers I had wrapped tightly around the worn armrest. "You're smart and capable."
"I hope that’s enough." It had to be. For both of us. But I was worried what I might have to agree to in order to close the deal. I certainly wasn’t negotiating from a position of strength. With JGB's lawsuit hanging over me, not to mention Marsha's debt and my own financial problems, I needed WMO more than they needed me. And I was pretty sure they knew it.
Once we arrived at Penn Station and tore our gawking eyes away from the domed ceiling, the sweeping staircase and the marble floors of the main cathedral-like concourse, we employed Google Maps to guide us to the Avenue of the Americas’ address of WMO’s headquarters. The beige building turned out to be well-marked and even had a retail shop with souvenirs for tourists on the ground level. We signed in at the security desk, surrendered our suitcases to be stored, donned temporary visitor badges and entered the elevator.
We glanced at each other as it whisked us up to the executive floors. Marsha’s eyes were as wide as my own. We were both jittery. I took her hand but released it when the elevator door opened.
"Miss Winters. Miss West." A twenty-something blonde wearing a precision attitude and a navy business suit to match greeted us. She spun on her serious navy pumps. They echoed her impatience as they struck the cream colored marble floors. We must have followed too slowly because she circled her hand in a tight spiral over her head motioning for us to pick up the pace. She quickly led us through a maze of glass framed offices and cubicles before stopping in front of a palatial corner office opulently decorated with polished blond wood furnishings and heavily accented with shining chrome. The toney setting made me feel even more awkward and out of place than I already did in my jeans and t-shirt. The austere demeanor of the prim middle-aged redhead who stood as we entered and regarded us like a raptor stalking mice, chilled me even more.
"Welcome," the exec gestured toward the two leather and chrome chairs in front of her intimidating desk. "Have a seat. Can I have my secretary bring you some refreshments?" She arched an inquiring brow as Marsha and I took our places.
"No, thank you." I should have remained standing. I had to arch my neck to maintain eye contact with her. I tried not to slouch, telling myself to pretend the VP with her expensive business suit that probably cost more than Marsha’s car represented no more of a threat than the principal at our old high school. I had been to Mrs. Marshall’s office plenty and had managed all right. "We're only here to talk business." I hoped the offer remained on the table. I had only spoken to her secretary after I had purchased the Amtrak tickets.
"Very well." The attractive executive gave me a firm nod accompanied by a lengthy assessing glance. "You're not exactly what I expected."
My vision swirled as I remembered the conversation with Lucky about perceptions, and what he had said so recently about me being more than he had expected. I sat up straighter, determined to be a woman who exceeded expectations. Taking responsibility for the mess with JGB was a first step toward becoming that person. I pulled in a deep breath and forged forward. "I believe you might have gotten the wrong impression about me because of the misinformation John Got Busted is perpetuating. He's a small man with an inflated ego who couldn’t handle me telling a measured amount of truth about him." I gave her an assessing look to match the one she had given me. "May I be frank with you, Ms. Smith?”
She nodded.
"It’s true, I drank too much that night, and I should never have agreed to be alone with him in that condition. Those were my mistakes. But that doesn’t justify the fact that he offered me up to his bandmates for sex without my consent. Nor does it excuse his libelous allegations of drug use on my part. I categorically deny it.”
"I appreciate your candor." The VP's hazel green eyes perceptibly softened. "However, your explanation is unnecessary since those details have already been discovered by our researchers and corroborated by reliable sources." I cocked my head to the side wondering who those sources might be. One of the Dragons?
"Charles Morris from Zenith Productions and I spoke at great length about the matter. He and the other record label execs have expressed concerns about you and their client’s potential involvement in the RFC concept. Truthfully their concerned interest has only spurred my desire to proceed. This is exactly the type of edgy programming our viewers have come to expect from us. We are ready to sign off on the deal today if you say the word. We have a small film crew on stand by and have made all the necessary arrangements for them to follow you two as you complete your journey. We are well informed and lawyered up. We will insist on nondisclosures and releases from those who agree to participate. Personally, I am intrigued by the empowerment angle of the Rock Fuck Club concept. When you are not sidetracked, you very compellingly and eloquently embody that message. You are a woman who knows what she wants. And women should be allowed the opportunity to explore their sexual interests on their own terms without judgment. I believe the project will appeal to a broad cross section of our viewership. So if you’d like," she tapped a tall stack of papers on the surface of her desk, "we can begin negotiating your contract."
I gulped. I thought that was what we had already been doing.
"The first step is to ensure a common vision for the concept. The next one will be fine tuning the parameters of that vision." She glanced at Marsha. “I'll have to insist that your friend leave the room since she is one of the finer points in contention."
"Alright." I nodded my head.
"Barbara will take her on a behind the scenes tour. She’s welcome to return once we’ve settled the matter of her involvement."
"Any of the actors from Tides of Conquest hanging around today?" I heard my bestie ask as she followed the secretary out. If I hadn’t been so nervous, I might have smiled. Mars had a thing for the actor who played the bad boy leading role.
"Very well." Smith tapped her papers with an uncapped pen. "Let's begin with the $750k signing figure."
"I already agreed to that amount."
"Yes, but I want to be sure you understand that the offer includes signing over the rights to your first two completed adventures.”
“Alright.”
“I also wanted to clarify that any legal fees you incur will be deducted as needed from that figure."
"That hardly seems fair. The JGB thing I understand, but if I’m going to continue RFC it’s likely that other guys will get their feelings hurt like he did and sue me. Not to mention the bodily danger I risk from ones who turn out to be pricks like him."
"Remember, we will obtain all of the necessary legal releases. But I won’t let that be a deal breaker. So you agree to deduct the cost of the current lawsuit but not any subsequent actions. Is that correct?”
"Yes. JGB only."
"Agreed." She scribbled some notes and put a check mark on the page in front of her.
"Before we leave the topic of the rock rapper we are going to need you to record a public response to address his accusations.
"Fine."
"And of course we’ll need you to disavow any relationship with Lucky Spencer. I presume that won’t be a problem." She scrutinized me closely while I tried not to squirm. I got the feeling that not much slipped past the executive. And what she was asking would be a problem. Denying myself a future with him was one thing. Denying him completely was another.
"Miss Winters?" she prompted. "The concept is simply not marketable otherwise."
"Agreed," I whispered feeling sick as I made the concession, feeling like I had completely and utterly betrayed Lucky and tarnished beyond repair the beauty of the night we had shared. But then wasn’t that what I always did? Lose those I cared for? Hurt the people I let close? Disappoint them? Mess everything up? Oblivious to my turmoil, the CEO recorded my response and slashed another check mark on her paper as if it were just that easy to dismiss Lucky.
"Marsha," I rasped, swallowing to moisten my throat. I was nervous, but I wanted that issue decided before this went any further. I had already gambled and spent too much emotional currency during the past twenty four hours, funds that would never be returned once I made my public denouncement of Lucky.
"She is untrained. And her credit worthiness..."
"She's talented,” I retorted. “And infinitely worthy. She’s a nonnegotiable, Ms. Smith. She can be trained. In fact, she would relish it. I’ll vouch for her credit. She is the other half to this project. I won’t do it without her."
"Very well." She scribbled on the contract again. "Your small crew of four just grew by one. We'll make her a production assistant. She'll work under the tutelage of the director. She'll need to sign her own paperwork, basically stating that she’ll maintain a proper attitude and level of responsibility such as, keeping the YouTube channel current and an online dialogue with your fans. Is that agreeable?"
I nodded, letting go of some of my tension.
"Now for the nonnegotiable part from our side. You will of course be free to choose the remaining eight rock stars, but until the final installment of the series is complete, you must agree to remain unattached romantically. You are the linchpin for the series. The entire premise demands that you be seen as a player. Eight more episodes. Eight more cities. Eight more rockers."