I’m in my condo waiting for him.

His name Carlos Cortez.

Carlos is a lawyer.

I’ve had too many coffees and my heart is racing. I don’t love this condo but I love the view, and because of that I’ll miss it. I’m standing by the window looking out, admiring the skyline as if it were a painting. The coffee mug in my hand begins to shake, so I put it down. It took me over an hour to find the heavy stack of papers that are my contracts with Ramsey Records and they’re sitting on the coffee table waiting for Carlos to look them over.

I feel embarrassed at how unorganized I am. I’ve been so grateful to be able to be able to work and live as a musician that I haven’t dared question anything. I felt like if I started asking questions the spell would be broken and I would return back to the alley Ronald had found me in. A decade has passed since that day, and I have more than earned my keep.

I’ve never looked at these papers, I’ve never had an agent, I’ve never had a lawyer. I had to think long and hard to find someone not tied to the company. I really don’t have any contacts outside of Ramsey Records. The only lawyer I could think of is the guy from the billboards and the ads on park benches. He’s everywhere. I didn’t even have to google him, his number and his tag line are etched in my brain. Call Carlos! Bright yellow ads with a picture of him giving a thumbs up. I’m happy he’s able to come on such short notice.

Ring.

When my phone rings I feel like it’s an alarm, it’s almost never good when someone’s calling. Who calls anymore? Friends text unless someone has died. This time it’s the doorman announcing Carlos. I forgot to let them know I had a guest coming, I don’t think I’ve ever remembered to do that.

“Carlos, thanks for coming on such short notice.” I shake his hand aggressively, my speech rushed.

“Not a problem,” Carlos answers.

“Please sit down,” I say to him.

Over the next few hours I tell him everything, perhaps even more than he needed to know. I was in a very rare mood where I needed to talk. I began with my first show, on my birthday at the old theater. I told him how I first met Ronald, how I went from the streets to where I am now. I told him about how I’ve fallen in love with Lael, I told him about the baby. Finally, I told how I want out of Ramsey Records and I need him to help me.

“So, this is all you have?” Carlos asks, referencing the large folder on the table in front of him.

“This is it,” I answer.

Carlos leans over and rifles through the stack of paper.

“Well Brad, it’s amazing what you can fix when you throw money at it. I assume you have an impressive bank account, you can probably buy yourself out of a contract. I will need some time to go through all of this,” he says.

“I’ve never had a bank account, I don’t have a penny, I own nothing,” I say with a tinge of shame in my voice.

“What do you mean, how do you get paid? How do you pay for things?” Carlos asks.

“I have these, I just use them as I need them,” I say, showing him my credit cards that all say Ramsey Records.

“The condo?” Carlos asks.

“Not mine,” I answer.

Carlos shakes his head in disbelief. “Okay Brad, I’m going to need time to process this. There’s a ton of information here.” He stands up and walks to the door.

“So, what do you think, can I get out of this?” I ask.

“I haven’t a clue,” he answers honestly.

When Carlos leaves, the condo feels empty. I want to see Lael.

I text her and ask if I can take her to dinner. There is a great restaurant called The Bellwether close to where she lives. Unfortunately, she is having a girl’s night with Christy, so we make plans for tomorrow evening. I tell her I love her and wish her a good night.

My bed feels awful, Lael’s bed is much more comfortable. I fall asleep and dream deeply, I dream about her.

***

Ring.

It’s morning and my phone is making that awful sound again. It’s a siren warning me another human wants to talk to me and it’s never good. I wake up but don’t make an effort to answer it.

Ring.

This must be serious, I think to myself. No voicemail and an immediate call back equals some serious stuff. I reach over to see who is so eager this morning.

Carlos Cortez is written on the screen.

I sit up and answer the call. “Carlos! What’s up?”

“Brad! Okay, so if I understand you correctly, you are a weird child-star that has never had a bank account, so obviously you never cashed a check. Right?”

I take a moment to shake off the lack of respect, then answer, “Right.”

“Okay. I’ve been up all night with this. I think we have something,” he says with some excitement.

“Great, what’s up?” I ask.

“Well, the bad news is I think you have the worst deal ever made in rock and roll history. I mean, this should be criminal, but your signature is everywhere and it’s as legal as it gets,” Carlos says.

“Okay and the good news?” I ask.

“Well, you have never been paid, like—ever. You have been treated more like a product then a person. I can guarantee almost everything you have purchased with those credit cards has been written off as a business expense.” Carlos is speaking with excitement, but I’m not sure I’m grasping the good news yet.

“Right…?”

“Right! So even though you have the shittiest deal I have ever seen, you still have never been paid your tiny percentage owed to you.”

“How much?” I ask.

“Two percent,” he answers.

“So how much is that?” I ask.

“I dunno, two percent of what ever And Then has made in the past ten years.”

Shit.

“Let’s go to the office now!”

“What? No, Brad, this stuff will take time. We’ll have to go through his lawyers. Best case scenario is we settle out of court, but even then this will be a long battle,” Carlos says.

“I’m putting on my jacket,” I tell him.

“Brad, you’re going to mess it up, don’t go down there,” Carlos begs.

“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes or I will go it alone.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll be downtown, on West 1^st and Olive, text me when you’re close,” Carlos says with defeat.

I hang up and arrange for a car. This morning I’m making history. I dress in black and wear my darkest shades.

Carlos and I walk into Ramsey Records, straight-faced and with purpose. The elevator ride to the top floor is silent, save Carlos’s remark.

“This is crazy,” he whispers.

I smile to myself as the elevator door slides open to the familiar top floor of Ramsey Records. I walk straight for Ronald’s office with Carlos in tow.

“Oh Brad, we were not expecting you! You know you need to make an appointment,” Ronald’s secretary stands and speaks with urgency.

I ignore her and open the office door. Ronald is at his desk and looks up from some papers at me with surprise obvious on his face. His secretary rushes past me.

“I am so sorry Mr. Ramsey, I tried to…”

She’s cut short by Ronald.

“It’s fine, fine, leave us,” he says. “What do you want?” Ronald asks me with a blank expression, not even interested in Carlos beside me.

“What do I want? I want out and I want what’s owed to me, and I want it to happen today,” I say in an even calm tone.

“Shut the door. Have a seat,” Ronald says. I doubt he even realizes what he just said is the name of one of our songs. That’s how out of tune with And Then he is.

Carlos shuts the office door and we both sit in the chairs in front of his desk. I take off my shades and fold them down one arm at a time.

“Who are you?” Ronald finally asks Carlos.

“Carlos Cortez, I’m Brad’s lawyer,” Carlos replies.

“Good for you. So, Brad—you want a check, and you want out. First you knock up my young impressionable daughter and now you come here and demand money from me. I took you from nothing and made you into a star. Where’s the respect, where’s the appreciation?”

“Where is the money?” I ask.

“What money?” He answers.

“I’m a multiplatinum-selling artist that has written every note of every song. CD sales, merchandise, sold-out world tours,” I tell him.

“Amazing, truly amazing. Do you realize this entire building works to make all that happen? Do you realize how much that costs? I have given you everything.”

Ronald’s face is red with anger now and he stands up and puts his fists on the desk. He yells, veins protruding from his forehead and spit flies from his mouth. “You were nothing before I made you into something!”

I stand and match his aggressive posture.

“Two percent, you don’t think I deserve two fucking percent?” My fist hits his desk on the last few syllables.

We stand off. Ronald has lost something and he knows it. He’s lost control over me and it’s driving him mad.

“I’m starting a new life and I’m done with this. I’m going to be a father. I just want what is owed to me. Nothing more,” I say.

Ronald turns his back to me and looks out the window.

“So, you want to be a family man?” he asks.

“Yes, I do,” I say with confidence.

“What kind of family man starts a war?” Ronald asks as he turns from the window to face me.

“It doesn’t have to be a war. Two percent over the last ten years, whatever that number is.” I take a step closer. “Cut it in half, write a check this afternoon, and we can part ways. We both know our lawyers will make more out of a court battle than anyone. We have one thing in common—we both love Lael, neither of us wants to hurt her. God knows she doesn’t need any stress right now. Ronald, you can think of it like you’re writing a check for your daughter and your future grandchild, because you are.”

“Half?” Carlos asks from his sunken position in his chair.

“Half should be plenty to start over,” I explain. “I don’t need to be a rich man. I just want to start over—with Lael. I realize you and the company have done a lot to get me where I am, but you have been well compensated for that.”

I walk to the door. “Carlos, it’s time to go,” I call back to him.

Carlos gets up to follow me.

“Wait,” Ronald calls to me from behind his desk. I have my hand on the door handle and my back to him. I don’t turn around, I am still and he can tell I’m listening.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” I turn to face him with my reply.

“If I let you go, are you going to go to the competition?” he asks.

“No,” I answer.

“Then what’s the plan?”

“That’s not your concern.”

“Lael is my concern.”

“I’m buying the old theater,” I answer. I step closer and closer to him. I want him to know that I’m stating a fact and not asking for permission. “Lael and I will continue to make music, independently.”

Ronald eases back into his chair. Looks at the ceiling and smiles to himself. His thoughts are unreadable.

“The old theater,” he muses.

“I know I haven’t been the best father. Look, Brad, if this is what Lael truly wants…” Ronald drops his hand submissively. “I will give you the full two percent, if Lael owns half the theater.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I could not ask for a better outcome, but I’m put off by this human side of Ronald for some reason. I can’t find the words so I say nothing.

I stand up and shake his hand. We hold eye contact, his grip is firm and he doesn’t let go. I can’t read him, I just hold my ground and wait for him to let my hand go. Finally, he does. I head to the door.

“One more condition,” he says.

I turn around and raise an eye brow.

“Name the theater after her mother,” he says, while writing something. He seems to have moved on to other business already.

“Consider it done.”

And with that, I leave Ramsey Records.

When I step outside the air feels different. I feel light on my feet.

“I’ll get a car,” I say to Carlos. “Wait, something’s up here, what does this mean?” I show Carlos the screen on my phone.

“Your credit card declined, pal,” Carlos says.

“That’s never happened. Damn, my phone isn’t working right now!” I add.

“That was fast. He canceled your credit cards and phone.” Carlos can’t help but laugh. “This is what it’s like to be mortal, friend.”

“Can you take care of the car?” I ask.

“I’ll put it on your bill. You should get what you can from your condo while you can,” Carlos says.

I think about my guitar sitting on its stand in the corner, the one Mr. Robson had given me.

Carlos insists on waiting in the car while I go up to the condo. He makes a valid point that I’ll need a ride somewhere after I grab my things. As Carlos thought would be the case, I’m already locked out. Thankfully, I’ve become close with the doorman and he agrees to let me in to grab some stuff. I grab my guitar, and throw a few things in a suitcase. I am in and out in five minutes.

“So, where ya headed?” Carlos asks.

“Sherman Oaks,” I answer.

We sit in silence for the entire ride. When we stop in front of Lael’s little house, I hand him the realtor’s card Sugar had given me.

“How are you at negotiating?” I ask.

“I’ll see what I can do. I guess you want me to handle getting that check too? If you do get the theater I assume you will have an incorporation.”

“Umm …”

“I can help you with your plans, don’t worry. I’ll be in touch very soon,” Carlos says, shaking my hand.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely.

“Wait until you see my bill,” he says out of the open window while the car drives away.

Lael’s door is locked and no one is home, so I sit on the front porch next to all my worldly possessions and wait.

I wait for the love of my life.