“Then let’s make your fucking music, dammit! Are you going to make me a hit, or are we going to die of dehydration in here?”
“I-I’m making you a hit, ma’am.”
“That’s what I want to hear.” I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna be the next big thing, Stephen Shale.”
“P-please stop saying my name like that, ma’am.”
“Okay, let’s go! 808s! Snares! Tell me your vision, Stephen Shale!”
He whimpered, but he complied. I saw what Kingmaker was talking about. This kid didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. But I’d said he would be a hit, and so help me god, he was going to be a hit.
Two hours later, we didn’t have one, and as much as I wanted to lock him in there and keep him at it until we did, I could only afford to book the room for two hours, so we got kicked out. But he was getting somewhere. He had a pretty good voice, could sing and rap, even if he had no sense of rhythm, but I’d make him have one by sheer force of will. He looked at me once we’d finished like he was happy with what he was doing but scared I was going to hit him, so I let him off easy with a clap on the shoulder.
“All right, so you’re not complete shit,” I said. “Good work. We’ll come back tomorrow.”
“T-tomorrow?”
“I’d keep you locked up in here until we’re done, but I’ve got business to do.” I had to make enough deliveries to pay for another booking.
“But I, uh, I was supposed to meet up with some guys tomorrow…”
“Tell them the studio is too engrossed with your hit to spare you, Stephen Shale! Greatness requires sacrifice!”
He whimpered and nodded and agreed that it did and that he’d be back tomorrow, and I waited until we were out in the lobby—and the studio attendant looking at me weirdly meant she had an idea how much of a fit I’d been throwing at Stephen Shale—before I caught him at the door.
“Hey, Stephen, wait up,” I said, and he shrank away. “Relax. I’m not gonna hit you. You got the schedule?”
“Uh, yeah, be here tomorrow.”
I put my hands on my hips. “What time, Stephen Shale?”
“Uh, tomorrow?” He looked like a deer in the headlights.
“What am I gonna do with you? Get the app.” I showed him—turned my phone around to let him see the flashy display on Jewel, which, Krysten had outdone herself, it was a pretty app. He nodded.
“Oh, uh, okay.”
“It’s a proprietary app for managing talent relationships. I’m a partner with the creator, which means we get some special bonuses. I’ll be your official agent, manage your schedule. All good, Stephen Shale?”
“Yes, momma. I mean—I mean, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. All good, ma’am.”
I waved him off. “Get outta here, Stephen Shale. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hiked his backpack up on his shoulders and went out the door, and the studio attendant, a white girl with green hair and a septum ring, came over to me with a curious look.
“You’re about to give that poor kid a heart attack.”
“Ah, he’ll live. Kid needed a push.” I leaned against the wall, a hand in my pocket. “Thanks for loaning out the space. You work for Sean?”
Insider knowledge did the trick of making me look more important than I was. She nodded. “Yeah, been working here three years now. Name’s Amber.”
“Julie. I’m a talent agent. Nice meeting you, Amber. You the one I heard of who keeps things running around here?”
I was just making it up because people liked to be flattered, but it worked. She chuckled, hands in her pockets, slouching. “Sorta. I’m good with the audio engineering shit, so I’ve saved Sean’s ass a couple times.”
“Glad I could get through to the real heart of the organization. Figuring if I want to work with this studio more often, wanna get my workflow integrated. You got a second to chat about my friend’s talent management app? We’ve got an insider program where the whole studio could adopt it at a big discount from other scheduling and management software and get some good connection perks out of it, and it’s gonna make life easier for me and anyone else I’m sending this way.”
She shrugged. “I don’t have the authority to talk on stuff like that.”
