Brando 2 (13 page)

After
about a half hour in which the sound of speed-typing and phones
ringing never stops, my own phone rings.

“Take
it,”
Jessica
says without peeling her eyes from the screen.
“I’ll
upload the ones we’ve
pulled from it already.”

“Thanks,”
I
say, as I pull the cable out and take the phone into the bedroom.
“Hello?”

“Haley,”
says
the serious voice on the other end.
“It’s
Rowland. Look—”

I
don’t
give him a chance to beat around the bush. “I
know you’re
dropping me.”

There’s
a pause. “Brando
told you already, huh?”

“Yeah,
but…I
don’t
understand how this is going to go. With the contract, the tour, the
album.”

“It’s
done already. I’ve
just had my lawyer draw up the termination. You’ll
have to sign it –
but
that’s
only a formality.”

I
sigh deeply, cover my eyes with my hand, and drop my ass onto the
bed.

“I
don’t
understand…I
just did a whole tour for you, the album is supposed to come out in a
few months, and what about the royalties? I…”

“It’s
a clean break, Haley,”
says
Rowland, and I can’t
tell from his monotone whether he means that to sound like a good
thing or a bad thing. “You’ll
continue to get the same royalties from the two singles you released
under our label, but that’s
all.”

“But
that’s
not fair!”
I
wail into the phone. “I
just busted my ass on the road for a whole month!”

“And
we’ve
also been paying for studio time for an album we haven’t
even heard yet. We supplied you with the bus, the booking, the
planning for you to get your name out there –
and
don’t
forget, Haley, you weren’t
even the headliner. As far as I’m
concerned, we’re
even.”

I
stand up, my despair turning into cold, frustrated anger.

“You
can’t
get away with this! There must be something I can do.”

“Sure
there is,”
Rowland
says, continuing to talk as calmly as if he’s
ordering a pizza, “you
can hire yourself a lawyer, and try to get us to uphold the contract.
We would end up tearing each other to shreds, and it would cost both
of us more money than we were even making from each other. Plus, and
usually I enjoy saying this, but not now; unless you know the
second-best lawyer in Los Angeles, you’ll
just bury yourself deeper –
because
I happen to hire the best myself.”

I
don’t
speak for a few seconds as I try to process all of it, the sudden
loss of everything I built my life around for these past couple of
months—
no, years. I think about the high-rent lease I signed on for, the
almost-finished album with no label to distribute it, the reputation
I built up so hard on the road turning into gossip-fodder, and wonder
if I’m
actually worse off than when I was just playing open mics, serving
coffee, and crashing with people I only barely called friends.

Then
I hear the door of the apartment open, and quickly hang up on Rowland
to see who it is. I’m
not the only one: the entire loft is silent now, as the team puts all
of their focus on the man at the door in a ripped shirt, with cuts
and bruises all over his torso, waiting for some sense of reality to
reappear.

“Brando?”
I
say, rushing toward him and inspecting the cuts. “What
the hell happened to you? Where did you go?”

“You
guys can stop now,”
he
says to the team seated around his coffee table. “You’ve
all done a great job, but I need you to get out of here. I’ll
call everyone tomorrow. Thanks.”

Too
stunned and frightened to ask anything else, they pick up their
laptops and file past us one by one, Simon closing the door behind
him and leaving just the two of us alone. Brando looks at me, his
eyes loaded with whatever it is he just went through.

“What
happened?”
I
repeat, this time in a whisper.

He
puts a hand against my cheek, and brings my chin up to look at him
face-to-face.

“I
spoke to Rex,”
he
says, leaving a long pause for my reaction. Instead of freaking out,
I keep my expression neutral, even though it feels like someone just
punched me in the gut. Brando’s
clearly been through enough today already. He continues, “He’s
going to deny the rumors. Coming from him, it should bury them for
good. He’s
been doing this a long time. He’s
got a great PR team. He knows who to trust, how to get a point
across.”

I
step back and turn away, unable to look at him –
at
anyone. I feel like I’m
falling into myself, the same as I always do when I think about Rex
Bentley, as if I’m
eleven years old still, trapped there, never growing up.

“He’ll
probably frame it as a joke,”
Brando
says, his voice getting a little closer as he says it. “Make
it sound casual, and like he doesn’t
really care what people believe. Because the truth is, he has no
reason to. That’s
why everyone will buy it when he says it.”

I
feel Brando’s
hand rest on my shoulder, and close my eyes.

“Did
he…” I
say, my voice shaking, “Um
…
did he say anything else?”

Brando
takes a long time before answering, “He
asked about you.”

I
tense my body, press my eyelids together, trying to stem the
impending tears. I turn around and Brando squeezes me against his
chest. I hear him breathe in sharply through his teeth.

“Sorry,”
I
mutter, pushing my emotions away.
“Are
you hurt?”

“I’m
fine,” he
says, gazing down at me as I rest my chin on his chest.

“What
happened to you?”
I
say, tracing a light finger across the dirt and blood on his forearm.

“Getting
in to see Rex was a little tougher than I thought,”
Brando
says, before adding slowly, “getting
through to him was even tougher.”

I
look up at Brando’s
sympathetic eyes.

“He’s
an asshole, right?”

Brando
nods regretfully.

“I’m
sorry. He kind of is. Do you think you’d
ever want to meet him?”

“You
know,” I
say, taking Brando’s
hand and leading him over to the couch, where we both drop ourselves
next to each other, “it’s
funny. Before all of this, the records, the tour,
you,
I
would have done anything just to speak to him one time.
Anything
.
But now…I
dunno. I don’t
really care. It is what it is, and I’m
done pushing to change it.”

Brando
smiles warmly as he brushes my hair back, his big, bloody arm
stretched across the back of the couch.

“Maybe
now that you’ve
done so much on your own, you realize that you don’t
need anyone else,”
he
says.

I
laugh, and rub a hand up his thigh affectionately.

“None
of that is true. I didn’t
do it alone. And I
definitely
need a certain someone,”
I say,
my tongue on my teeth. “Rowland
called me while you were gone. Told me that I’ve
pretty much been dropped already –
a
‘clean
break,’ as
he put it.”

“So
we’re
back to square one,”
Brando
says, grinning as he shuffles a little closer.

“We
did it before though, didn’t
we?”

“And
this time we have a whole album.”

I
sigh. “No
we don’t.
Majestic paid for the studio time –
and
for Josh. The album’s
theirs.”

Brando’s
brow creases. “Have
they heard any of the songs?”

I
shake my head. “No.
They weren’t
quite done yet.”

“Right.”
He
pauses, thinking. “Don’t
forget,
I’m
the one who managed you for Majestic. They only paid for your studio
time, nothing else. They’re
only interested in finished products, and up until that point, they
don’t
care – for
better and for worse. If I know Josh, he’s
keeping those master tapes close to his chest, and he’d
sooner burn them than hand them over to a label and screw an artist
over.”

As
I process Brando’s
words, it starts to dawn on me. I’m
not as screwed as I thought. “So
does this mean …
we can still release it ourselves?”

“Right,”
Brando
says, as his hand curls around my waist. “Just
you and me again.”

“Oh
my God! This is amazing!”
I
can’t
help squealing as I climb up into Brando’s
lap. “Do
you still have that video camera?”
I
whisper huskily as I press my cheek against his.

“That
depends on what you want it for,”
Brando
says, his voice soft in my ear. “Is
this about music, or about us?”

“Oh,
this time it’s
about us. Absolutely.”

Brando

Even
though we’re
sitting in an auditorium of thousands, even though the biggest
musicians in the world are here, even though there are cameras
everywhere, even though I’ve
been in this situation many times, I can’t
take my eyes away from Haley sitting next to me.

Tonight,
she’s
ditched the leather jacket and tight black jeans for a slim-fitting,
light blue dress that makes her look hot in a way I’ve
never seen before, and which is driving me crazy with lust. She even
wore her wild, crazy hair up tonight. I never thought I’d
see her do that, but then again, this
is
the
Grammys.

I
pretend to pay attention to the stage a little more, but as soon as
the audience starts clapping I push my hand toward the slit in her
dress, fingers venturing between soft silk and even softer skin.

Haley
pulls my hand away and continues clapping. Out of the corner of her
mouth, barely moving her lips lest a camera settle on her, she speaks
to me.

“Brando,
I’m
going to kill you when we get out of here!”

“I
know,” I
say, without trying to hide it, “and
that dress is already torturing me.”

The
clapping stops and the host cranks up into another introduction.

I
turn from Haley to my other side, where Jax and Lizzie are sitting.
The seats were reserved for Haley’s
mom and Josh, but I should have known both of them would rather watch
the Grammys on TV than attend it.

“Thanks
for coming at such short notice, both of you.”

“Are
you kidding?”
Lizzie
says, leaning across Jax. “I
wouldn’t
miss this for the world. I’m
probably more excited than Haley!”

“You’ve
come a long way, dude,”
Jax
adds, nodding slightly.

“It
feels like we’re
just starting.”

Jax
and Lizzie look at each other, their eyes seeming to bounce light off
each other.

“It
always does,”
Jax
says.

Haley
grabs my hand and squeezes it so hard I feel like she’s
going to tear it off. I turn back toward her.

“I’m
so fucking nervous,”
she
says with her weird, side-mouth, gritted-teeth ventriloquist’s
smile.

It’s
been a fast year. A roller coaster. And it still feels like we’re
accelerating, pinned to our chairs at the Grammys, wondering how many
more thrilling drops there are going to be. Even when I was hustling
on the streets, things weren’t
as hectic as managing Haley –
if
I can even call it management. Everything she’s
touched has spun wildly out of control, beyond either of our
expectations. It’s
like watching a butterfly wing’s
flap turn into a tornado before our very eyes.

Once
the label dropped Haley, and Rex Bentley answered a question about
their kinship with a ‘Haley
Who?’
followed
by saying he was ‘flattered,
but clean enough during the eighties to remember something like
that,’ we
were in freefall for a while. Haley put the finishing touches on the
album at Josh’s
own house, while I set up a new independent label of my own (and
managed to sign the band that covered for her in New York).

We
put the album out, and another single using some cobbled-together
footage of her in the studio and on tour. Then we took a long-needed
weekend away at her mom’s
(I found her mom’s
album, eventually, using an old connection in New York –
so
that’s
one parent who approves of me at least). On the Monday after, we
returned to LA and turned our phones back on. That’s
when we saw the record had gone gold. A few months later, it went
platinum.

“Relax,”
I
urge her, leaning over. “You’re
going to win. I just know you will.”

“That’s
what I’m
fucking nervous about!”

“You’ll
be fine. Just don’t
think too much about it.”

“I’m
gonna stumble on the steps, I just know it! And I’m
gonna sound so dumb during the speech. I’ll
probably wet myself while I’m
up there.”

As
people start clapping wildly again, I put my hand on Haley’s
cheek, and bring her face around to look at me.

“Haley,
when you get up there, just find me, and keep your eyes on me. Okay?
It’s
just you and me –
like
always. Remember the showcase?”

“Of
course.”

“Just
like that.”

As
if on cue, the clapping stops, and the host begins ramping up to one
of Haley’s
categories: Best New Artist.

After
an intro that seems to go on forever, another singer coming on stage
to present the award, a video reel of the nominations, and some more
blather, the red envelope appears –
and
Haley crushes my hands with a strength that could crack a walnut.

“And
so
…
the winner for Best New Artist is…”
I
hold my breath as the tuxedo-wearing host fumbles with the paper, and
somehow feel like I’m
about to suffocate when he finally calls out, “Haley
Grace Cooke!”

We
stand up and tightly clutch each other. I can feel the electric
energy of Haley’s
excitement emanating from her. She kisses me quickly, and exchanges a
couple of quick hugs with Jax and Lizzie, before stepping out into
the aisle and making her way to the stairs without a single misstep.
I clap, almost absent-minded as I watch her. Haley is more beautiful
than all the girls here combined, worth more than any award can truly
show, stronger than anybody else in this entire auditorium will ever
know. The audience goes wild with hooting and clapping, it sounds
like the entire world is admiring her, and it’s
still less than she deserves. I watch her take the final, last step
and sigh with relief. I feel proud, and lucky, and like a miracle
happened to put her in my life, to make her mine.