“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s kind of late in the game, but I can see. I just don’t know.”
I was about to press back on that—how long does it take to add a credit to a CD booklet?—but then Ryan got a call from her dad. She picked up the phone and walked away.
I was not feeling great in that moment. I had no money, my screenplay was dead, another one of my creative pieces had been ripped off by someone who I thought cared about me, and Ryan hadn’t saved my poem.
That one stung the most.
I sat there and stared at the laptop screen and worked myself up into this fury. And then, suddenly, the answer to at least one of those questions became clear.
I opened up an email to myself on Ryan’s laptop and made it happen.
Thirteen
Mari
How much of Justin’s story are you actually including? Because he does not get to make this about him. He does not deserve whatever platform you’re already giving him by devoting even an ounce of attention to what he did.
I don’t want to spend too much time on this for multiple reasons—one being that it was a difficult time in my life as well—but Ryan was gutted by Justin’s betrayal. I kept calling her that morning until I got through; I think she was in crisis mode with Skip and Jas for most of the day.
“How bad is it?” I remember asking. “Can you still launch the album if it’s only three songs?”
“We’re pushing back the release date,” she said. And then, “Mari, I can’t talk. I think I need to take some time off to clear my head.”
And I said, “Okay, of course. This is a lot to deal with. Let me know how I can help; I’m here for you.”
But she closed herself off instead.
Skip
I mean, talk about a mess. That idiot Justin had sold the tracks to some skeevy music-sharing site—he probably got a fraction of what he could have if he’d shared it with a proper black-market dealer.
We could’ve released the album on schedule as planned, but the awkward thing was that our whole marketing campaign was based around the tracks being a secret. I mean, it doesn’t sound very artistic to say, but Ryan was truly starting to have a “brand,” so to speak, and the music videos, graphics, everything, was informed by her call. We were happy to give her that creative power.
Two of the three established, released singles had music videos; we were wrapping up editing for the third that would drop after the album. She liked to do things in trilogies, thoughDiatribe’s videos were more subtly connected thanFirebird’s were. “Count Your Days” was stylized like a ’50s sock hop; Ryan’s love interest takes her to the dance but then leaves with another girl, soshechallengeshimto a rumble. A lot of fun cameos in the sock hop—Kylie was there again, Mari, Jas even got in on the fun. And Justin, unfortunately—I would’ve had Serge cut his frames if we’d had our own crystal ball.
We filmed a scene with Ryan in a greaser look, leather jacket and bright-red lip down below the First and Sixth Street bridges where theGreasecar race was filmed. They end up opting for a game of chicken, and he swerves first, but Ryan keeps driving.
Then you have “White Lace,” which seems to be set later on in the ’60s, but Ryan drives up to a fortune teller in a beat-up car that’s the same one from the end of “Count Your Days.” You can just see her leather jacket in the back seat if you’re looking closely too.
The other Easter eggs I can remember were aboutFirebird; I mean, the car is a 1967 Pontiac Firebird, so it was anachronistic, but that was the point ... The fortune teller has all these papers and charts hung up behind her, so there was a lot of opportunity there. We had the secret messages from the debut album’s packaging up there; we had Polaroidsfrom the tours and ticket stubs and press clippings all connected by red threads. Some early footage from “Angeline” flashed through the crystal ball when Ryan bent over it, trying to learn if her character would find true love.
Anyway, all that is to say we built the campaign around all this mysterious fortune-teller imagery. What’s coming? What’s going to happen next? The graphics all had ornate question marks and a bit of a tarot feel—without going so far as to ruffle feathers of people who still remembered the satanic panic.
So, the mystique was somewhat ruined.
Jasmine
Albums can perform just fine after a leak, and I’m still not convinced we did the right thing by pushing it back. But we could all feel that the momentum had stalled.
In a team crisis-control meeting Skip called, he said that Justin could be subject to a civil lawsuit for what he did. “It’s theft, plain and simple,” he said. “And Ryan, you probably have plenty of evidence on your side.”
Ryan shook her head, looking numb. “He deleted the email he sent himself from my account,” she said. “I don’t know if I can prove he did it.”
“Oh, he’ll crack.” Skip rubbed his hands together—I’d rarely seen him so vindictive, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was relishing the idea of bringing Justin to the breaking point.
“No,” Ryan said, and for a moment everyone was quiet as we looked at her. “Call Anaheim Studios.” I’ll never forget the hard look she had on her face. Usually Ryan is quick to smile, but that day her expression was completely rigid.
Skip asked, “Who’s that?”
