Everyone kept saying that the meeting with Falcon Records was just a formality and that the contract had been on the table for years. Mason’s mom, Audra Abelman-Wilder, and her sister, Kira Abelman-Navarro, were the daughters of record mogul Ron Abelman, who owned the label behind Immortal Angel. This meeting had been a long time coming, on both sides. It was hard to believe the day was finally here.
Mr. Abelman held an imposing presence whether behind the desk in his impressive Park Avenue office or sitting across the table at one of Mason’s family functions. He was a formal man, always in a suit and tie and not overly chatty, except when it came to money and business. Like today. Mr. Abelman had more to say this morning than Lucas had heard the man say in the collective years they’d been in the same room, and the man wore his first genuine smile.
“I’ve waited for this day for a long time. Look at the three of you, sitting there just like your parents had done almost 25 years ago.” Mr. Abelman closed his eyes for a brief moment while he reminisced. “All you need is a sour-faced kid with a blue Mohawk and I’d swear I was looking at Immortal Angel the first day they walked into my office. Lucas, you are a reincarnation of Tommy Blade. The resemblance isn’t just superficial. You have his brilliant mind and his unsurpassed talent. I never thought I would see anyone who could play the guitar like him, and here you sit brandishing the same gift. And then we have Tessa, a born rock star with flair and know-how.” He leaned forward to address her directly. “You have the vocal power of a giant.” When his gaze rested on Mason, his chest grew broader. “I don’t think I need to reiterate what my grandson can do on the drums.” Mr. Abelman leaned back in his chair and eyed everyone in the room, which included Lucas’ parents and Mason’s parents, all wearing glowing smiles. “There is so much talent in this room right now.”
Mr. Abelman brought his hands down on the desk. “I have big plans for Prodigy, with a top of the line marketing team in place. Tessa, we’re going to drop your first name and use your middle name, so we’ll be promoting you as Blade Garcia for recognition, and we want you to dye your hair bright pink like your mother. It’ll be flashy and also bring an additional connection to Immortal Angel. We plan to utilize the association as much as possible to gain notoriety.” He opened the manila folder in front of him and pushed it across the desk. “Here’s your contract. You can have your lawyers go over it, of course, but I assure you Falcon Records has made a top-dollar offer. Prodigy is a goldmine because of your last names alone. Blade. Garcia. Wilder. I want to be the one to officially offer a recording contract to the next generation of Immortal Angel.”
Lucas focused on Mr. Abelman’s words and comparisons. Phrases like “next generation” and “connection to Immortal Angel”, grated on him. It all sounded like bullshit. Lucas didn’t want a recording contract handed to him because of his last name and association with Immortal Angel. He wanted to earn it. He wanted to shine because of his own talent. He knew that Prodigy could catapult to the top of the charts on their own merit.
He glanced at Tessa, and then at Mason, and wondered why they looked so excited. Tessa was practically bouncing in her seat, and Mason wore an animated grin. Why didn’t it click with them? Why weren’t they hearing what he just heard? Lucas’ eyes shifted to his parents. First to his dad, then to Papi, lastly to his mom. They were all beaming, as proud as any parent could be. But what did they have to be proud of?
“Congratulations.” Ron Abelman stood up and extended his hand toward Lucas.
“No.” Everyone in the room turned toward Lucas at the same time, but no one seemed more surprised than Ron Abelman.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Abelman asked in a gruff voice.
“I don’t want it like this. I want a genuine offer. I want a contract because you believe in us as artists, not because of who our parents are. I’m not riding Immortal Angel’s coattails.”
“That’s hogwash,” Ron Abelman barked.
“Son.” Lucas’ dad stepped forward and placed a hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “You’re getting this contract because Prodigy deserves it, not because of us. Anyone can see how well the three of you play together. You’re all very talented musicians. The dynamic you have is unprecedented.”
That part was true. Lucas, Tessa, and Mason knew each other’s quirks, professionally and personally, and they shined in one another’s presence. They were in sync with one another and knew what worked and what didn’t work for each other. There were no qualms. No egos. No rivalry. No bickering. But Lucas still wasn’t convinced. “Then why didn’t he ask for our demo?” Lucas tossed the CD onto Mr. Abelman’s desk. “Here it is, Mr. Abelman. Isn’t it customary to listen to a band’s demo before offering them a contract?”
Ron Abelman exhaled a thunderous sigh, took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Deep crevices lined his brow with frustration. “Young man, I suggest you shake my hand and consummate this deal because you will not get a better offer. From anyone. If you’re holding out for more money—”
“Money has nothing to do with this. I don’t need your money. None of us do.”
“Lucas!” his mother exclaimed. “Don’t be disrespectful.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I appreciate the offer Mr. Abelman. Just not like this. You’re offering us this recording contract for all the wrong reasons.”
The questioning faces in the room glared at him with confusion. No one understood. He at least expected Tessa to get it, but she looked as shocked as everyone else. Like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he did, because what sane person turned down a recording contract with Falcon Records? “I’m sorry. I need time to think about this. It’s not sitting right with me, and I know once I sign that paper I can’t back out. I want to make the right decision.” He looked pointedly at Tessa and Mason. “For all of us. For the band.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Tessa asked, her expression full of reproach. “This is all we’ve been talking about since we were kids. When we played our first gig in one of the neighborhood bars we talked about how we couldn’t wait to be on the big stage, backed by Falcon Records. Don’t you remember that?”
“Yeah, I do. But—”
“What about when we got on stage and played with Immortal Angel and how we talked about performing our own concert and doing it ourselves?”
“That’s it!” Lucas pointed his finger at Tessa and bounced in the seat of his chair. “Right there. Do it ourselves. You just said it. This isn’t doing it ourselves.”
Mason leaned forward in his seat, more disturbed than Lucas had ever seen him. “Look, man. I get where you’re coming from, but you’re not thinking straight. You’re reading too much into it. Let’s take the damn deal.”
Mason was a drumming god and had already proved himself to the world. Lucas had been sitting on his career because he had to finish college. He wanted to make a name for himself and earn the recognition he deserved. “Don’t you see that we’re getting handed a contract because of our parents? He wants us to be a carbon copy of Immortal Angel.”
Mason shook his head. “I don’t see that at all.”
“Me neither,” Tessa agreed. “Why are you blowing this for all of us?”
“I’m not blowing anything. I need time to think. I don’t want to jump into signing a contract when it feels wrong.”
Tessa sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, while Mason kept shaking his head. Audra was soothing Ron Abelman’s bruised ego, assuring her father that Lucas would sign the contract once he had a chance to think it over, while Lucas’ three parents and Mason’s dad talked amongst themselves in total disbelief at Lucas’ reluctance.
The room was in an uproar, but Lucas couldn’t ignore his gut feeling that this was wrong. He sympathized with Tessa the most because she probably wanted this more than anyone. But he felt worse about disappointing his best friend. Mason was a sought-after commodity. He was touted as one of the best drummers in the world. Offers to join world-famous bands were constantly on the table. Mason had infinite opportunities in front of him at all times. He didn’t need to play with Prodigy. He wanted to.
Ron Abelman cleared his throat with annoyance. “I’m a busy man, Mr. Blade.”
