Nate
Everybody wants a seat on the Nate Train.
Nonetheless, I was still here. Trudging around campus, freezing my ass off when I knew I could be in sunny L.A. selling tickets, all aboard. Well, not everyone wanted a seat on the Nate Train. Or rather, they didn’t like the destination it was heading for.
I stepped out of the music building, my last class of the day finally over. It was Friday, but I didn’t have any weekend plans. Same shit, different day. Except, of course, I could sleep in and not sit in classes that threatened to numb my brain until it was rendered useless.
I didn’t mind college… at least until lately. This semester made me feel restless. Like I shouldn’t be here, but out there. You know, in the world and stuff.
The wind blew uncomfortably, the chill stinging my cheeks. It was almost spring break, but you wouldn’t know it by the weather. March in New York wasn’t spring. At least not this year. I grabbed the black beanie out of my jacket pocket and pulled it down over my head. The second I tucked my hands into my pockets and ducked against the wind to make the trek to my car, my pants started vibrating.
Kinky, right?
After glancing at the name flashing on the screen, I answered, “What’s up, cuz?”
“Dude. You need a manager. Or an agent,” Ten said into my ear.
I glanced up, surprised, and got a nice eyeful of a frigid blast of air. “Oww!” I wailed.
“Nate!” Ten said, not at all worried about my eyesight.
“I bet it’s a nice eighty degrees in L.A.,” I muttered, offended.
“Actually, it’s eighty-five.”
I gave my cell the finger. Repeatedly.
“Stop flipping off your phone,” he said, laughter in his voice.
“I wasn’t,” I argued, even though I totally was. “I’m much more mature than that.”
Ten made a sound, as if he knew I was full of turds, and shifted the conversation. “Becca got another call for you.”
“Did she give them my email?”
“Do you even check your email?” Ten wondered.
“I would if she gave it out,” I retorted.
“Dude. Big music execs don’t just send emails.”
“Their people do,” I pointed out.
“It wasn’t their people who called her. It was the big guy himself.”
“Santa Claus owns a music label!” I said, excited.
“We’ve been over this, Nate,” Ten replied, exasperated. “Your dad is Santa.”
He was a dream crusher. I pressed an icy finger into my ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“Do you want the deal or not?”
I dropped my arm. “Hit me!”
“Rolland Solberg, as in Solberg Records, CEO of the second-most-successful label in the industry, called.”
“Second only to your label,” I said, nodding. I knew all the big players in the industry.
I knew them before my cousin Ten (the hottest thing in pop since like ever, and that’s even after he became public enemy number one) came home and we got close again. Before I started working with him on his new album and a few original songs. Now that his new album wrapped, first single dropped and hit number one, and I’d sold a couple other songs to some big-name artists, I was even more fluent in the business.
“Seriously. I hear Rolland had a serious hard-on for the top spot, but he’s not going to get it. Not with my album about to drop.”
He wasn’t even being cocky. It was just the truth.
“So what does this have to do with me?”
“Apparently, they’re about to sign Aerie Boone. How the fuck they are managing that, I have no clue, and they want her first single with them to blow up the charts.”
A little bit of adrenaline started to fill my lungs. I loved it. It was the most addictive feeling I’d ever known. Music always did that to me. I could sense the words stirring around inside me. Even though I didn’t know what words were there yet, I still felt them. I could almost taste them.
“He wants a song?” I asked, my hand tightening around the phone.
“Not just a song, a Nate Roth original.”
I pumped my fist into the air and shouted. Unfortunately, I used the fist that was clutching the phone, and it fell out of my grip and landed in a lump of snow with a thud.
Oops. My fingers dove into the cold, soft matter, causing the skin at the tips to burn, telling me they were tired of being out here.
After I scooped up the phone, I shoved it back against my ear, some of the snow dripping off the bottom and hitting my shoe.
“You still there?” I asked.
“You dropped the phone again.”
I shrugged. “I was excited.”
“They want a meeting first thing Monday morning. You gotta bring your A-game. If you land this song, a whole bunch of doors are going to open wide for you.”
“I have classes Monday. Spring break starts Thursday, though. Think we can book it then?”
“That’s not how this works, man. At least not until you are so in demand you can make your own demands,” Ten said. “You gotta show up on their time.”
I knew that. I did. It was the reason I missed classes at the end of last semester when we were working on Ten’s new album, Butterfly.
If he was pissed about it then… this is going to be worse. The thought taunted the back of my mind, momentarily rendering me speechless.
“Nate,” Ten called me back to the present.
“Yeah,” I said. “So what did Becca tell them?”
“She booked the meeting. And she’s making a bunch of noise about commission for acting like your manager. I’m telling you, man. You don’t want to deal with her. You might want to get someone to handle these calls.”
I mock shuddered. “Becca the barracuda. Hiring someone might be a good call.”
“Look, my plane is already in the air for you. Fly out tonight, and we can prep this weekend.”
“You’re sending your plane?”
“Like I’d let my cousin and my girl fly commercial.” He scoffed.
“Violet?” I asked, glancing around as though I expected her to just appear.
“I haven’t seen her in almost a week,” he intoned. “Too long. Pick her up on the way to the airstrip, okay? She knows to be ready.”
I hesitated just a fraction of a second.
“Is he going to be that pissed?” Ten’s low voice filled my ear.
I felt my shoulders sag. “I’m not sure,” I replied.
“You want me to have Becca call back and cancel?”
“No!” My answer was swift. “I’ll be there.”
“You’re sure?”
“You better have extra Fruity Pebbles when I get there. Flying makes me hungry.”
Ten laughed. “Already sent my assistant out.”
Dude had an assistant to get his cereal. Lame.
“This is a really great opportunity, Nate.” His voice no longer held laughter, but was more subdued.
“Yeah,” I said solemnly. “I know.”
“Call if you need backup.”
“Thanks.”
I disconnected the call and pocketed my phone.
Remember how I said not everyone wanted a seat on the Nate Train? Specifically, I meant my dad.
He definitely didn’t want a seat, especially if it was heading to L.A.