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Bowing her head, she drew herself behind Randy as the interns filed out, lining up in chairs in the conference room and waiting in silence for Quentin to join them. Maggie stood quietly at the head of the large gray conference table, her hands wrapped at the top of the rolling chair, gripping too tightly. Her eyes danced across Charlotte’s face, branding her. What did she know?
The wine continued its sloshing around her head, dipping from ear to ear, it seemed. Charlotte brimmed with sudden expectation. She no longer held the fear she initially had, at least with this alcohol confidence. She half-wanted to toss her head back in raucous laughter at the ridiculous nature of it all. Two weeks before, she’d been passed out in her father and mother’s backyard hammock, daydreaming about the day she’d finally have a feature in MMM. Now, she was facing off with the boss and ex-rock star—a man who’d decided, just off-handedly, that she no longer existed.
Finally, Quentin burst into the room, standing taller than Charlotte remembered, his broad shoulders firm and strong as he strutted toward the front, near Maggie. A skinnier, more rugged man came along with him, his beard long and curled, and a black hat perched upon his head. Charlotte recognized him immediately as the lead singer of Thick Soled.
“Hello, interns. I wanted to introduce you to Keith, here, the lead singer of Thick Soled,” Quentin said, not even glancing toward Charlotte. “We just had a pretty wonderful chat, wouldn’t you say, Keith? And in the hours that follow, I’m going to show you how I’m taking that conversation and honing it into a story. It’s what we do here, professionally, at MMM, and I would be remiss not to clue you into my technique.”
“Good to meet you all,” Keith, the singer said. His voice was quieter, more demure than Quentin’s. Charlotte felt sure that he didn’t like being in front of crowds. “Quentin, it was wonderful to hang out with you again, but I think I might hit the road.” He stretched out his arm and shook Quentin’s hand, almost as if this moment was for show, for the other interns. Quentin just wanted to impress them with the big names he knew, just to reinstate his power over them.
Perhaps that was it?
Charlotte couldn’t tell.
As Keith left, Quentin smacked his palms together, causing a quiver of nerves to ease through the seated interns. Their boss made them anxious. Each face revealed tension. They didn’t want to fuck up.
“Now, as you all probably know, Thick Soled has been up and coming for about a year, especially in the Brooklyn area. Can anyone tell me who they opened for that got them noticed by a top-selling label?”
The room was quiet, with Maggie shifting her weight uncomfortably. Pamela stared at her hands, and Randy swiped the sweat from his forehead, visibly shaken. Charlotte’s heart hammered with the answer. She knew it! Didn’t anyone else?
Fueled with wine, she thrust her hand into the air. Quentin’s eyes danced around it, not wanting to call on her.
“Anyone?” he asked.
Randy pointed toward Charlotte with a child-like finger. “I think Charlotte knows.”
Finally, Quentin nodded, without looking at her. His eyes were far above her head, drilling into the wall behind her. “All right. Which band?” His voice was stern, reminiscent of her father’s.
“They opened for the White Rabbits, last year in a June basement show, when a member of the label Thayers was watching. They signed them shortly thereafter, although they fought with them briefly about wanting to replace the drummer. A kind of Beatles-ish dilemma, I suppose. But Thick Soled refused.” Charlotte’s words were confident. Her eyes danced around Quentin’s face, trying to connect with him. Her pussy seemed to press against her insides, beating with insistence, knowing he was so close.
“Shit,” Randy breathed, clearly impressed. He’d hardly heard of the band, Charlotte knew. She was revving with dictionary-like knowledge of the music scene.
Quentin nodded slowly, not wanting to acknowledge how informed she was. His avoidance of her was making Charlotte feel cold, alien.
“Sure. That’s a pretty good assessment,” Quentin said.
“I’ll say,” Maggie blurted. Quentin gave her a stern look, causing her to bow her head. The tension in the room grew. Did Quentin want to squash Charlotte out, like a bug?
“Anyway, throughout the meeting with them today, we discussed several elements of their future trajectory, along with their recently released album. For the article, then, I want to plot their career path, from tiny indie grunge artists, all the way to their expected, top-tier status. In essence, then, I want to tell the future of them, based on what we know about these bands’ trajectories. And I think you’ll see, from the dialogue transcripts, that the content’s there for this type of article…” Quentin began to lift his notes from his side pocket, his movements cocky.
