He dropped his feet on the floor, standing up. “Just one thing,” he said, and he jabbed a thumb towards his corkboard where he had my, uh, case files posted up. “Looked up that Helena Warrick girl, and she seems like trouble. Might be right to steer clear.”
Oh, god, I didn’t want to steer clear. Half the reason I was staying in this city was because I was deluding myself into thinking I might see her again. And it was a big half. “Uh, you think?” I said, playing it cool, scratching the back of my head. “How, uh, how come?”
“Her daddy’s in a bit of tough business right now. Might be going downhill fast. Shit hits the fan, they’ll be looking to shift the problems onto someone else. You don’t wanna be too close when that happens.”
“Oh, uh… I guess I could see that.” She had mentioned some pressure from Shanghai. But was it too much to ask to just see her alittlebit? Maybe just a few texts where we kind of… flirted? If things went badly, I mean, I’d let Helena Warrick kill me in ritual sacrifice, if she smiled at me while she did it. Maybe that was the problem. “Yeah, I’ll, um… be careful. Focus on the work. Uh, say, do you know any good resources on songwriting? I mean—” I scratched my head again. “Since I’m locking in on working with Stephen Shale.”
“Good call. I think I can get you in with a mentor.”
“Uh, I can’t afford a mentor.”
“Nah, nah. This girl Sheila is trying to get her foot in the door, she’s desperate, she’ll do it for a good testimonial.”
“Do you know everyone in this city who’s desperate?”
He chuckled. “C’mon. We’ve got lessons to do.”
What the hell was I going to learn about etiquette from Kingmaker, of all people? How to prey on the desperate and the vulnerable?
Well, whatever. My social graces couldn’t get worse.
I followed along with him, and he was nothing if not quick with his timetable. It was a Sunday, but New York didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was a weekend. He had me tag along with some of his networking operations, and I felt like the world’s shittiest sidekick to the world’s shittiest supervillain showing up to a mixer in the Bronx next to Kingmaker, and I awkwardly wanted to tell everyone I met that working with him didn’t mean I endorsed the shitty durag, but I kept my mouth shut.
Kingmaker, I was pretty sure by now, did not have other clients—he made up stories about them, but he always got evasive on the details when pressed—but he had a network, that much was for sure. And it turned outetiquette lessons for the modern erameant helping him pressure people into his weird deals. I was pretty sure I was just doing unpaid labor for the guy,but I guess that made him an entrepreneur getting internship labor from me. He told me a lot ofrules of engagementfor how to get the most out of my interactions with other people, and I was pretty sure most of it was bullshit, but there was something to be said for practicing the talking and negotiating skills in a rapid-fire environment where nobody was paying that much attention to me anyway, and where the stakes just meant I came across almost as weird as Kingmaker.
I was exhausted to my bones by the time we got back to the studio and I met Stephen Shale, but we got to the music. He accidentally called me his mom a total of three times, hid behind a microphone stand once, and stutteredwait a minute hold on I did that wrong I can do betterlike it was all one word about fifteen times, but he was starting to sound a bit less like a reedy and nervous kid and more like a performer. Slightly. Still had a long way to go. Amber was there in the studio again, and I introduced her and Stephen, which led to an unspecified time to go grab drinks together, even though I suspected Stephen was as much a lightweight as I was. Hauled myself onto my moped afterwards even though I felt like I was dying, and I hit the streets, back to my routine of deliveries and harassing recording professionals.
And once again, I got home and dragged myself through the nighttime routine that I guess I had now, and I curled up in bed and tried to write another line of my song. After much deliberation, I put something down, and I felt good about it, and then in the morning I realized it didn’t fit the meter of the first line, so I deleted it.
Whatever.
The next day hit the same notes—squeezing in as many deliveries as I could, harassing as many industry professionals as I could get to listen to me, and then back in the studio with Stephen Shale, and straight from there to helping Kingmakerwith his chores. Spontaneously, I found myself meeting Amber again once the studio closed, grabbing drinks together again, and I did as Kingmaker had advised and took it easier this time, asking more about her and the studio work instead of trying to sell her on Jewel.
Tuesday, I paid my rent, feeling like I pulled a piece of my soul out when I handed over that much money. Kingmaker took me after work to meet with Daniel again, and I panicked worrying he was going to get me to take on some more debt, but Kingmaker and Daniel both assured me that ongoing consultation was part of the initial fee. He took a look at my hair and my skin to recommend some adjustments in the routines now that I’d been doing it for a bit, gave me some shopping recommendations for more clothes beyond my one good outfit, and when Kingmaker was out of the room, Daniel gave me a smile that was just on the kinder side of patronizing.
“You’re a bit hard up for money right now, aren’t you?”
“I-I’m good.” I didn’t know why I said that. I was very definitively not good.
“If you’re late on a payment, don’t worry too much about it. I won’t send the creditors after you.”
I committed to being cool and chill and fine, and I immediately teared up, blubbering. “Um… thanks.”
“I have complete confidence you can move mountains, Julie,” he said. “Trust in yourself, and it will show.”
“I… I really appreciate it.”
“I’m still expecting the payment at some point, though.”
“Y-yeah, I, uh, I know. I got it.”
But maybe he was onto something, because I carried myself with a bit more confidence, and then the next day, Amber met me and Stephen on our way out of the studio, Stephen having relaxed a little bit now and laughing along with me oversomething, and she stepped out of the control room and flagged me down.
“Hey, Julie, Stephen,” she said. “Wanted to catch you before you ran. You really going to just book this room every day?”
I elbowed Stephen. “Tell her, Stephen Shale.”
He was learning, in time, because he stood rigidly and said, with all the presence and power of a sickly dormouse, “Until I’ve got my big hit.”
