If Only in My Dreams, page 7
12
Porter
Another reason I don’t fully give in to pursuing music?
I generally hate people. And hating people leads to hating crowds, which cities that you need to visit to make music successfully, tend to have a lot of.
I avoid driving down to New York City as much as possible. It’s loud, disgusting, oversaturated, and takes forever to get anywhere. You can never concentrate straight, are always on edge, and I tend to leave for my quiet sanctuary upstate with a pounding headache.
But, of course, this is where Jay Maceval is going to set up court when he’s on the East Coast, and so down I go. When I make it to the parking garage that I put into my Google Maps, I’m appalled that I need to pay forty bucks to park for a couple of hours. I’m not cheap, but I’m not made of money, and unneeded expenses like this really grind me because parking in this city is fucking annoying.
Shit, I’m just in a bad mood, period. Traffic getting here was bad; I got stuck on the inbound bridge for half an hour due to construction and I desperately need to pee. Not to mention, when I step out of the parking garage, it smells like shit and a wind tunnel of frigid air blows between the skyscrapers.
Swallowing my rising anxiety and annoyance, I text Jay, and he messages back quickly, giving me an address. I thought we would be meeting at the restaurant; I made him book a reservation at Per Se because I knew he could, and I wanted him to take me to a place that would cost him a couple hundred dollars for lunch. But that’s definitely not the meet-up he sends me, because I specifically parked close to the famed eatery, and now I have to walk twenty minutes to go find him.
I weave between white-collar snobs on cell phones, tourists here to see the Rockefeller tree, homeless people asking for handouts, sales type people trying to shove flyers into my hands and everything in between. This city has a pulse, a heartbeat, and while I’m not a huge fan, I can’t deny its charisma.
When I get to the building in question, Jay comes strolling out of pristine glass doors encased by gold metal. He’s a middle-aged guy, though in good shape, rather tall in black trousers and a beige chunky sweater. He looks like one of these typical Wall Street guys on a date night, dressed down enough to be casual but still telling you that their money talks. His blond hair is slicked back with gel on top and shaved sides, and when he reaches to greet me, I see the Rolex squinting from his wrist.
“Porter, thanks for meeting me here.” He jovially extends a hand, which I shake.
“And here would be?” I ask him skeptically.
He chuckles. “You know, I like your grumpy exterior. Never lose that, not even when I make you a megastar.”
I roll my eyes, because he’s slipping in promises he couldn’t possibly know will come to fruition. “Where are we?”
“This is one of my label’s studios. I’ve got an artist just finishing up. I wanted to show you, let’s go up.”
And because I’m a sucker for any kind of music technology, I follow behind him. This building is sleek and ridiculous, marble and gold everywhere. He has to scan his ID badge to get us past the front desk, and then again to get us into the elevator.
“We could record here when we start laying down some of your tracks.” Jay smirks nonchalantly.
“Oh, are you signing me to a deal?” I smirk back.
I like this guy, though I’ll never tell him. He seems unbothered by my piss-poor attitude and gives me shit back. I respect that.
“You already know I’d like to.” The elevator passes by floor after floor.
“I don’t have his last name, you know.” I point out the elephant in the room.
“Never said you needed to. Sure, you were on my radar because of the book, because of how you came to be known to the world. But you’re talented Porter. All it takes to make it in this industry is a lucky break. That’s how some people go from YouTube videos to playing stadiums. Yours just happened to come in an unconventional and complicated way, but don’t shy away from it because of that. If he gave you one good thing, let it be this.”
I contemplate those words instead of letting them infuriate me like usual … and I guess he’s right. “It’s why I’m here instead of sitting at home.”
“I knew him, you know. Gregory.” Jay looks up at the numbers counting the floors.
Surprise is an emotion I can’t hide, so it’s good he isn’t looking at my face. “You did?”
He nods, looking back at me. “Everyone in this industry worshipped the ground he walked on. But I saw him in moments where no human being should act the way he did toward other people. When your book came out, I wasn’t that shocked at the revelations. Not the way the world was. It’s why I’ve worked so hard to convince you to even meet with me, Porter. Gregory was … well, he wasn’t a good human. I have a feeling, even if you try to tell me otherwise, his son is far from the apple tree.”
With that, the elevator doors ding open and he strolls out. I nearly trip over my feet trying to keep up because I’m so damn surprised at what he just said. And I know in my heart of hearts that this is the right pairing, the exec I’m supposed to start out with. It feels like, for the first time in a really long time, someone truly understands me.
My untrusting outlook begins to dim where Jay is concerned. I’m trying to tell myself to keep up my defenses, but with what he just sprung on me, it’s kind of hard.
We walk into a room and I’m struck by the muted lighting, hum of machines, and a kick-ass fucking voice.
The studio is done in dark wood and black leather, a sanctuary made up to make you forget what time of day it is. Made up to make you forget about anything other than music. The one and only time I ever saw my father make music, or him in the flesh in general, it was in a place like this.
No wonder bile seems to be creeping up my throat.
My mother had held my hand that day, stroked the top of it with her thumb to calm me down. I’d been so damn excited to meet my father for the first time that I couldn’t stand still. I will never forget the way he dismissed me, barely even flicking his gaze in my direction, and then asked my mother why she brought “the bastard.” Told her that she’d thrown off his rhythm for the recording session.
I was too young to understand a brush off then, to understand that she’d had to seek him out to get her child support checks because he’d been late the last three months.
I’m aware of the way I hurt my mother when I put out my book. She’s the only one who ever supported me, who took care of me in every way a parent should. When the book came out, she screamed at me that it wasn’t my secret to share, that I’d blasted her news to the world but also her neighbors next door.
That betrayal, evident in her eyes, is why she brushes past me on the street. Why she won’t even entertain the idea of a conversation with me. I exposed her, the person who loved me most in this world. She probably thinks I did it for clout, to gain off my father’s name in a way I never could as a child. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but she won’t even listen to it.
On that downtown Rutlend street, I rounded on the one person in the line of fire who stayed behind after my mother left. It was a wrong place, wrong time situation for Madison, but I couldn’t seem to get the words out to explain. I needed to focus on fixing the only family I have, and introducing her to my mother as what, the girl who used to sneak into our basement? It wasn’t the time for that.
I saw the dejection in her eyes, but I couldn’t smooth it away. Not when I was bleeding from the cuts my mother keeps inflicting.
I try to focus, swallow it down, and observe what’s going on around me. Two guys, one hefty and one rail thin, sit at a soundboard that glows like an alien spaceship, there are so many buttons on it. Their arms and hands are flying, tuning and perfecting as someone sings in the booth.
I recognize the voice, and when I look up, a pixie with bright blond hair is belting into the mic. Her voice suffuses the air, wrapping it in warm notes and a rasp that tickles even the coldest of hearts.
Raven, no last name, is an industry icon and one of the hottest singers on the pop charts right now. I shouldn’t be geeking out, because I’m usually the grump who fucking hates fangirls, but this is way cool. Raven’s songs are a mix of electronica and R&B, she’s a total oxymoron and I completely appreciate anyone who can do something like that.
The song is a slow, melodic rhythm that she’s absolutely beating to death. Just her vocals alone on the sullen track are a masterpiece.
“Wow.” I don’t realize I say it aloud.
“Yeah, she’s something.” Jay shakes his head slightly, looking mesmerized.
Raven has her eyes closed as she belts, and when she’s riffing at the end of the song, she finally opens them and fixates on everyone in the room on the other side of the glass.
She hops out of the booth as if floating on air, and there is something to be said about being in the room with a star. It’s true that they just glow brighter, attract the attention of every head in the building.
“That was incredible. I don’t think you even need another take.” Jay is teasing her.
“Says the guy who left in the middle.” She rolls her eyes but smiles good-naturedly.
“Ray, this is Porter Kelly. Porter, Raven,” Jay makes introductions.
“Really nice to meet you. I love your music,” I say honestly, because I give credit where it’s due.
“Do you really or are you just saying that?” She cocks her head to the side.
I laugh and it almost comes out like a nervous sound. “No, I do. ‘Tears on Metal’ is one of my favorite angry cry anthems.”
“A guy who admits to angry crying,” she assesses me, “I like it.”
“Be nice, Raven, I’m trying to sign him. This guy is the next John Mayer, but his voice is more raspy like Springsteen’s.”
“Well, this I have to hear. Want to step into the booth?” Raven asks me, smiling devilishly.
A bead of sweat drips down the back of my neck, and I find that for the first time in a very long time, I’m intimidated. Maybe this is why I don’t come to the city, why I don’t pursue music. In Rutlend, I’m always the coolest person in the room. People have always given me this respect that I command, even if I haven’t earned it. But here? I’m way out of my league and going into this industry, it’ll be like that for a very long time.
“I think I’ll pass for today. After all, no one is paying me.” I quirk an eyebrow in Jay’s direction and they all laugh.
Raven hits me on the arm like she appreciates my response. “This one has guts, Jay. I like it. Don’t lose that, Porter, a lot of people in this industry will try to take it from you.”
“Should we get to dinner?” Jay looks pleased with my interactions with his prized star.
Twenty minutes and a freezing cold six-block walk later, we’re seated at a window table at Per Se.
“That could be you, you know.” Jay fluffs his napkin out and then places it in his lap.
“A short blond bombshell with a voice better than anyone in the industry thus far? I doubt it.” I’m being a sarcastic ass, but he knows this already.
He motions to the waiter, holds up two fingers and then circles his hand around the table, and the waiter hurries off without even talking to either of us. I assume I was just ordered for, which should piss me off, but I can’t imagine anything they bring to this table could be considered bad.
“Stop playing coy, no more bullshit, Porter. I want to sign you, and you want to make music, let’s make it happen.”
I sigh heavily, because now he’s going to shoot straight with me. “What happens if I agree?”
“A twelve-song album. Name your advance price, just not an outrageous one. We’ll release next year, I’ll record it wherever you want. You want writers, I’ll hire them. You can have final say on the marketing, but we’re going with a plan that plasters your face everywhere so know that in advance. You’ll have to do events, tours, media appearances. I can limit them and have you only doing hip or alternative shows, but you can’t forgo them altogether. If you want to make music, the stardom also comes with it. Better to know that now before it starts.”
A beat passes, and Jay folds his hands before setting his chin gingerly on them. He’s waiting me out, a shark lawyer, trying to determine if he cut a good enough deal.
“No,” I say, looking down at my water glass as I trace the condensation droplets with my finger.
“No?” Jay sounds flummoxed.
“No, you won’t hire writers. I write the songs, I come up with the melodies. I want my pick of which producers I work with. I want the full rights to the album, and you better be with me every step of the way. No handing me off to some intern chump. I will do three media interviews, max, and then I’m only playing small venues for this first album. No bullshit, no trickery. I want to record songs, make an album, and go about my life.”
We’re squaring our shoulders, ready for a negotiation.
“Fine,” Jay relents, a small smile playing on his lips. “I already knew you’d ask for pretty much all of those.”
I snort as a bottle of red wine is set between us, uncorked, and then poured into our glasses for us to swirl.
“To your album.” Jay holds up his glass and I clink mine to it.
My hands begin to sweat, and the room seems too hot. I feel like maybe I just sold my soul to the devil, but there is no conviction behind that emotion. This feels like it’s been inevitable, something I’ve been running headlong into since I found out who my father was.
“You’re not fucking with me? This seems too simple.” My heart is racing and I’m already coming up with lyrics in my head.
“You said no bullshit, and I’ve been trying to sign you for close to a year. You wouldn’t take my calls up until a month ago. Hell, I even sent a fruit basket way back when.”
The memory clicks in my mind. “You sent those peaches?”
“Yes, I did.” He chuckles.
A plate with rice balls, steaming in a broth of vodka sauce, is placed in front of us.
“You know you’ll have to get on social media.” This is his final blow, the one he didn’t land before, because he wanted me to agree to all of the other things.
“Fucking hell … no,” I mutter, taking a rice ball and putting it on my appetizer plate.
“Porter, it’s part of the deal. We can’t have an artist who doesn’t interact with his fans. I’ve seen you do it plenty on YouTube, responding to comments.”
Fuck, busted. I actually do enjoy doing that. It’s the only musician thing I did do besides produce songs.
“We’ll see. But hell no am I dancing on TikTok.”
“I’d like to see you eat those words one day.” Jay’s smile is Cheshire as he cuts into our appetizer and steam rises over his face.
13
Madison
“Yo, fam jam!”
Matthew’s voice echoes through the foyer of the house, and I roll my eyes at his language.
“In here, you poor imitation of Jamie Kennedy,” I call out.
My laptop is in front of me, tracking trends and examining posts I have set to go out in the coming days. My job is a lot of data examination, seeing what hits and what doesn’t. Pairing which posts can be directly correlated to a spike in sales.
“Oh shit, is that new product? Come on, we have to sample it!” My brother bounds into the room, not unlike Porter’s golden retriever, and makes a grab for the case I have sitting on Dad’s desk.
He’s letting me use his office while I’m here, considering he doesn’t do much work other than at the cafe and on the trains.
“Good to see you too. Please, come in and use me for my job perks.” I roll my eyes again, but brandish two glasses that were included with the case.
Matthew plops down in the overstuffed armchair on the other side of the room while I go to work unscrewing one of the bottles and pouring amber liquid into the Arson-etched highballs.
“Damn, I need this. That drive was a bitch; the roads have snow and ice all over them. And I had Janelle screaming in my ear half the ride over the phone.” My brother shakes his head and takes a glass.
He’s underage, but this is our parent’s house and none of us are oblivious to the fact that he’s getting wasted every weekend. And most weekdays. Hell, I’m a goody-two-shoes compared to him and was drinking vodka out of water bottles when I was a freshman in college.
“How is Janelle?” I ask carefully, because I know the exact consequences of a toxic relationship.
Or one you didn’t even guess was toxic. Maybe I was blind and oblivious to some things in my life.
“Pissed off that I won’t talk about moving to Atlanta with her for her internship this summer. What the fuck am I going to do there? I don’t have an internship yet, plus, I want one in film production in New York. She’s so needy and clingy and I’m just over it.”
“Maybe you should break up.” I shrug, because suddenly my filter is off.
“What, you don’t like her?” He immediately sits up in the chair where he was just slouching.
I take a sip of my tequila, knowing it’s barely one in the afternoon and not caring at all.
He’s getting defensive, just like Gigi pointed out I would have if they’d said anything about William when we were married.
I’ve been hiding out in the house ever since Porter gave me a tongue lashing on the street. Sure, some might call it cowering, but I do have a lot of work to do before I’m off for two weeks at the holidays. Plus, besides Gigi, who else do I need to see? I even convinced Mom to let me have a few days off from train rides because I couldn’t stand the thought of occupying a moving vehicle with my ex …
Ex what? God, I don’t want to even think about it anymore. I don’t want to think about all of it, which is why this tequila sure is going to help.
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying you are young and there seems to be more drama than positives in your relationship. Take it from someone who spent a lot of years with a person who ended up leaving them anyway; relationships aren’t supposed to be so much work. I know society dictates it like that, that if you want to be with a person, you’ll go through the challenges. But you’re supposed to walk through challenges together, not have the relationship be the challenge. I don’t know, Matt, you can do whatever you want. But I only seem to hear you complain about Janelle more than talk about how much you love being with her. Take this with whatever grain of salt you want, but no one told me how much of an asshole my ex-husband was and look how that turned out. Sometimes I wish you guys had said something before I had to find out for myself.”
