September 21st
Wes
I’m here if you need me.
October 2nd
Wes
I’ve seen the papers. Let me know if I can do anything.
Today, 9:13 a.m.
Wes
Seriously, I’ll cause a scandal so they have something else to talk about if that will help.
He was there for me after what happened with Jamie. But one good day doesn’t undo years of damage. I have every intention of keeping things between us purely professional now that I’ve officially signed onto the tour with him. Texting is a gateway drug I can’t risk trying.
The meeting is in the usual conference room with a projector set up to present graphs and key visuals. For the first half I relax back in my seat, listening as my team breaks down the next quarter from advertisements appearances to the annual Christmas show I do at Radio City Music Hall. I’m surprised that there aren’t any major changes concerning the plans we had with Jamie.
But that starts to make sense when Emilia straightens next to me and says, “Jamie is ready to issue an apology.” The rest of the members of my team give no signs of surprise so I can only assume I’m the last to know about this development.
Using the arm rest of my chair, I prop up my chin on a fist, unimpressed. “I know having a man take accountability for his actions is novel, but I don’t see why we need to discuss it.”
“He wants to apologize to you, but the official story to the press would be that there was a misunderstanding. You were the only one who saw them, so we have some freedom with what we want to say. A lot of money and planning has gone into this engagement.” Her tone is calm and steady, as if this is a completely normal solution to everything that’s happened.
“I take it his movie isn’t doing as well as the articles say?” Interesting, but not surprising. It wouldn’t be the first time release numbers are strategically framed to bolster the achievement of a mediocre white man with unoriginal ideas.
“It could be better. He needs you and he’s acknowledged that he should have floated the idea of other sexual partners when we first drafted the agreement. This time we’re hoping to cover all the bases. He’ll continue the relationship with Harper, but with more discretion.”
“Walk me through this. He gets to clean up his image, keep his mistress, and have his name tied to mine. What am I supposedly getting out of this?” I ask.
“Based on the initial trend, we anticipate bringing in upward of ten million more than we did last quarter. And it would be good to keep you as relevant as possible going into the tour with Wesley Hart.”
Relevant. As if I stop moving for one goddamn second my entire career will disappear. I don’t want to stay relevant, constantly changing, like I’m some tech brand on the cutting edge, I want to be built to last.
But I’ve let this room of people make demands for new shiny bright producers and lyrics that follow trends, grounded in nothing but the limited attention of the public.
“Ten million,” I muse. “I thought my dignity would go for at least fifteen.”
“We understand there are some complex emotions here. Think on it, if there’s something else you want to add in the contract, the ball is in our court. We have room for negotiation.”
“I don’t think so. You see, we’ve been working together for so long that at some point I forgot something important.” I stand, sending my chair rolling back to ricochet against the wall. “I fucking hate being told what to do.” When I reach the door, I place my hand on the cool metal of the doorknob and pause. “And don’t waste your time talking about me, you’re all fired.”
I practically float out of the office. Will there be repercussions for firing my entire team? Sure. But they can’t be worse than hanging on to people who don’t see me as anything more than a walking paycheck.
I walk out of the building and keep going past the office buildings of the Financial District. My feet ache and close to an hour passes before I slow. Town homes create a welcoming corridor around me, as the early evening sun bathes the street. The bright tinny sound of a bell chirps behind me before a cyclist whizzes past.
How long has it been since I’ve wandered the city, allowing myself to get lost with no destination in mind?
The neighborhood gives way to a smattering of businesses and a hand drawn chalk board sign catches my eye:Live Music and Drinks Every Night.
Going straight inside is probably a terrible idea, so I head toward the back entrance, hoping to slip in that way. Someone must have gone inside moments before because the door is inches from closing, but it must have one of those hydraulic hinges that help reduce noise, because it moves slow enough for me to catch it with the tips of my fingers.
The interior is small with cinderblock walls emblazoned with old autographs and posters. Cigarette smoke, weed, and faint traces of fog machine haze mingle together into a familiar muskyherbal fragrance. The show is already underway, the steady thump of the drum vibrating through the floor and up my legs.
Following the sound, I reach the wings ending up next to where black clad stage crew members stand in the shadows.
