From the Top - Chapter 39

We’d ended up playing until almost midnight the night before because the crowd was so into it. With some help from a few kids from the A/V club who happened to be there, he’d pumped the music out through the TVs outside and it had become a whole party. By the time we called it at midnight, half the parking lot was still full of people partying. The atmosphere was great, but it was also a Wednesday night and most of us had school and work in the morning.

I hadn’t gotten home until almost one, and six-thirty had come very early. I, and a good percentage of my classmates, were dragging all morning, which was okay, because Mr. Jensen looked like he’d been hit by a bus. I’d noticed him drinking through the night, but I didn’t think it had been too much for the hangover he had, but he was also like forty, and maybe alcohol really hit harder when you got older.

We ended up skipping the lecture and just having quiet study time by ourselves. It was surreal seeing a physical effect from my choices on the people around me. About ten minutes before class ended, a runner from the front office came in and handed a note to Mr. Jensen.

After reading it, he looked up and said, “Looks like they need you in the front office, Charlie. Maybe they want to know why everyone in school is so tired.”

Everyone laughed, and he might not be wrong. I’d seen a lot of the school there last night, and if everyone was dragging like this, it would definitely come to the attention of the administration. Not that I was worried. Everyone made their choices, so it wasn’t my fault exactly, and Dr. Wallace was generally pretty reasonable.

Mrs. Morgan waved me through toward Dr. Wallace’s open door, which meant they’d been waiting on me. I stepped into the doorway and froze. Normally I’d see just Dr. Wallace sitting behind his desk, a clutter of papers in front of him. This time, he was standing in the middle of the room with the town mayor and Kat’s father.

My first instinct upon seeing Kat’s father was that I was about to get screwed. The man hated me and I knew he blamed me for what happened with Kat and his terrible relationship with her, ignoring everything he did to her. It gave me flashbacks to walking in and seeing Mr. Packer and Aaron’s father together, conspiring and ready to pronounce sentence.

Except, Dr. Wallace had never shown himself to be like that, and if that was happening, Mayor Mullins didn’t seem like the kind of person to put himself in the middle of that. I’d never talked to the man, but he always seemed very conscientious of his public perception, and considering what happened to Aaron’s father, I couldn’t imagine he’d want to get mixed up in something.

“Charlie! Come on in. I wanted you to meet Mayor Mullins and Mr. Moore,” Dr. Wallace said with a smile, waving me inside.

I walked over and shook their hands. “Nice to meet you, Mayor. Mr. Moore.”

I had to swallow back bile to shake Kat’s dad’s hand, and he must have felt the same because he pulled his hand back like he’d been bitten by a snake. With the mayor here, this was clearly important and I decided starting off by being rude or whatever to Kat’s dad, who was maybe one of the most prominent people in town, even after people found out about what he’d done, was a bad idea.

“We were just talking about that big viewing party at the Blue Ridge last night!” Mayor Mullins exclaimed. “Sounds like the whole dang town was there! I tell you, ever since that camera crew came through a few months ago, people have been buzzing. We haven’t had this much excitement since Sam had that pool put in at the high school.”

“It is exciting,” I said, still not sure what they wanted from me.

“So from what I hear, you’re going to win this whole damn thing next week. Is that right?”

“I really can’t say anything about the results.” I held up my hands. “They made all the contestants sign NDAs swearing we wouldn’t reveal details before the episodes air.”

He waved away the thought as if it didn’t matter.

“Well, whether you win or lose, clearly this is a big deal for our little town, and we were thinking we could maybe make something of it. We were hoping we could organize some kind of town event around the final episode, which I’m told is going to have the judging and performances all together this time. Maybe screen it on a big projector out at the football field. Make it a real community celebration.”

“I suppose we could do something like that,” I said slowly. “I know Chef was planning to do a watch party at the Blue Ridge again, but screening it for more people could be cool.”

I did feel bad that he might not get that extra business, but the fire marshal had almost shut us down last night, and if this thing kept growing, it was going to be way too much for the restaurant anyway.

“Excellent!” Mayor Mullins clapped me on the back. “We’ll get the field set up with a big screen and sound system. Maybe you could even do a little concert afterward if enough folks turn out.”

I chuckled uncomfortably. “Uh, sure, I could do that.”

“Which brings me to my other thought,” the mayor said. “If we turn out the same crowd you folks had at the Blue Ridge, it seems a shame not to try and raise some funds while we have everyone together. The town’s been struggling a bit with finances lately, and this is a great opportunity, especially since the football field is already set up to take tickets and whatnot. We might even open up the concession stand, make sure folks get fed.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea...” I started to say, before the Mayor ran right over me.

“Nonsense!” the mayor blustered. “Folks’ll be happy to chip in a few bucks for a good cause, ‘specially with such a big event happening.”

“The town has had real financial trouble lately,” Mr. Moore said, speaking for the first time since I came in. “I know you’re familiar with some of the burdens the town and the entire county has had to deal with since this summer.”

He was referring to my suing the county for Mr. Campbell’s actions as DA, trying to charge me with my parents’ deaths. Besides firing him, they’d ended up paying me a fairly large amount of money. That had been through the county, but I didn’t really understand how finances at that level worked or how it could have affected Wellsville. I wasn’t ashamed that I’d sued the county, since they hadn’t taken the chance to do the right thing before I sued them, but I also didn’t want the town to suffer.

“I appreciate the offer,” I began slowly. “And I’m happy to perform after the screening if enough people come. But if this is going to be a fundraiser or something formal, I do have some concerns.”

“What’s on your mind?” the mayor said, suddenly getting serious.

“A few things. For one, I wouldn’t feel right charging people a lot for this. Tickets should be affordable if it’s about bringing the community together.”

Mayor Mullins nodded. “That’s fair. We can keep ticket prices low, just enough to cover expenses.”

“And I’d want to make sure that at least half the proceeds go to a good cause, like a charity. I know the town has struggled financially, but it would leave a bad taste if I was seen as profiting too much off this event when the focus should be community and charity.”

The mayor and Mr. Moore exchanged a glance. I could tell the idea of splitting proceeds wasn’t what they’d had in mind.

“How about a quarter of the net proceeds?” Mr. Moore suggested.

I shook my head. “Half. And it should go somewhere impactful, somewhere that really needs support like the children’s hospital or domestic violence shelter. I want to decide where the money goes, and I’ll have my business manager follow up on it.”

They were already seeming a little uncomfortable, which is why I’d said ‘business manager’ instead of lawyer, even though Mr. Eaves wasn’t my business manager. I figured they wouldn’t question it, and as long as I knew no one was weaseling money from a charity, I was happy.

Both men looked displeased about the news, especially Mr. Moore, who I think got the subtle jab when I’d said ‘domestic violence shelter.’

“Very well,” the mayor conceded. “Half to charity. Was there anything else?”

“I don’t play by myself, and I need to pay my band and my managers, so you’ll have to pay us our going rate,” I said.

Mayor Mullins smiled, and I think he was thinking I was being greedy, speaking his language, trying to make money off of it after all, even with my insistence about giving to a charity. In reality, I just wanted to make sure Lyla and Seth got paid.

“Okay,” he said.

“Just one more request. I’d like to bring Cole Madison as a guest performer.” At their blank looks, I added, “He was a contestant on the show with me. An incredibly talented musician. It would mean a lot if he could play too.”

“And I suppose he will also expect compensation?” Mr. Moore asked dryly.

“He would need to get paid the same rate I do. It’s only fair.”

Both men frowned, and it was pretty easy to tell I’d stepped a little too far. They’d gone from getting a haul to a small fraction after everyone was paid out.

“However,” I said, not waiting for them to say no. “I’m willing to reduce my fee by however much you pay Cole. You still need to pay out what my guys would be making if we were getting paid in full, but I’ll reduce our fee by whatever my cut is. That way the overall performer budget stays the same.”

“Fine,” the mayor said. “We can do that.”

***

As soon as I got out of school and was heading toward my car, I pulled out my phone to call Cole and let him know what was happening. Thankfully, we’d exchanged numbers before heading our separate ways; otherwise, I’m not sure how I would have gotten hold of him to tell him about the gig. I probably should have checked with him before I started negotiating gigs, but it seemed like an opportunity and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to recreate it if I tried to go back to the mayor later.

“Charlie?” Cole said, sounding confused.

“Yeah, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No. Man, I didn’t think I’d hear from you again after the show ended.”

“Hey, I told you I’d call, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said.

“So how’s it going?”

“It’s okay,” he said, not sounding convincing at all.

“You sure?” I said.

“Yeah. I’m just... the show’s got me messed up. The audition episode was alright, but these last two, they edited me to look like an idiot. I swear, I’m afraid of how they’re going to make me look next week. And on top of that, the one time I did really good, Marissa and I got completely overshadowed.”

“Ooh,” I said. “I’m really sorry about that. You guys did so good, and yeah, they only showed a tiny bit of the work you put in.”

“Nah, it’s not your fault, man,” he said hastily. “You can’t decide what the producers decide, and the thing with Amanda was good drama, so it makes sense they’d want to put it on TV. I think I’m just grousing a little that things haven’t taken off more now that it’s airing. It could be worse. I don’t think Amanda or Candi will book anything after people see them. They made Amanda look like a straight alcoholic.”

“Isn’t that the truth. So how have the bookings been going since you started appearing on TV?”

“You were right, man,” Cole replied. “Even with the crappy editing, I’ve actually booked a few small gigs since my episodes started airing. They’re still mostly at small clubs, but it’s more than I was getting before the show. I’m just worried it won’t last once I’m off TV.”

“Just keep at it. Use it to get enough name recognition locally that you can use even after the show ends,” I said. “Funnily enough, that’s actually why I’m calling. I have a gig for you.”

Cole sounded surprised. “Really? For me?”

“Yep. My hometown is throwing this big viewing party for the finale episode. They’re selling tickets and raising money for charity. After the episode airs, they’re going to throw a concert for everyone, which is the thing people are actually paying for, I guess. Anyway, they want you to perform a short set.”

“Me?” he asked, his surprise shifting into skepticism. “Why me? Wait, you’re playing after, right?”

“I am, so yes, you’d kind of be opening for me. But it’s a paid gig, and I know some music industry folks from Nashville and Asheville will be there. Might be a good chance for some Nashville people to see you play, considering the genre you do.”

“Whoa, that’s awesome!” Cole said enthusiastically, and then fell silent.

He was quiet for long enough I thought we might have gotten disconnected.

“You still there?” I asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” Cole said, sounding hesitant. “I appreciate the offer, man, I really do. But I can’t take a gig all the way out in North Carolina. I just... I don’t have the money for a plane ticket right now. And my car’s not really in any shape to make that kind of drive.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get you a plane ticket out here. Least I can do if I’m dragging you out to my tiny little nowhere town for a gig.”

“No. No way I can ask you to do that. Plane tickets aren’t cheap!”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Seriously, Cole, I already promised the mayor’s office and everything that you’d be part of this. I can’t really go back to them now and be like, ‘Oh hey, sorry, my friend can’t actually make it.’ It would kind of make me look bad.”

I could almost hear him wrestling with the decision over the phone. It sounded like he needed the work, but he was the kind of guy who didn’t like taking charity, so I hoped making it sound like he was doing me a favor would work.

“Cole, let me do this. Friends help friends out sometimes,” I said when he still didn’t answer. “I want us both to get something good out of this opportunity.”

“Yeah, alright,” he said, still sounding a little unsure. “But I’m going to make it up to you one day.”

“If that’s what you need to do, but I’m not asking for anything. I really want you to come out here and be part of this, and it’s not like I checked with you before I set it up. So that’s on me. Besides, I want to show you around my little town, meet my friends.”

“Okay, fine. You convinced me. Hell, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” I said.

***

On Friday, Mr. Eaves sent me a message that I had the introductory call with Benjamin Levine, the entertainment lawyer he’d found, so as soon as I was out of school on Monday, I headed home so I wouldn’t be disturbed. I was a little nervous, mostly because of how Mr. Eaves had described him, and I still wasn’t sure of what I was getting into. All I knew was this was someone else wanting a chunk of my earnings.

Right on time, almost to the second, my phone rang with what I thought was a California area code.

“Charlie! Benny Levine here. Arthur said he told you to expect my call,” a loud voice said when I answered.

It was loud enough I had to pull my phone slightly away from my ear.

“Uh, yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Levine.”

“Ha! No, no, none of that ‘mister’ stuff. Everyone calls me Benny - my clients, my partners, even my damn kids. So just Benny is fine,” he said with a barking laugh.

“Oh, okay. Benny it is then.”

“Great! So let’s get down to it. Arthur filled me in on your situation, and I’ve done a little digging on my own. Your audition episode pulled in a respectable five point eight million viewers. Not huge for network prime time, but solid. Your duet episode was a tick higher at seven million, and last week’s cracked seven point five million.”

I blinked, trying to keep up with everything he just threw at me.

“I don’t really know what any of that means.”

“It means you’re building momentum. Now here’s the thing - typically, a singing competition show contestant might get ten to fifteen minutes of screen time before they’re eliminated. But you’ve already doubled that, and you’re headed to the live finals next week. That means several more hours of airtime focused on you over the next month. Millions more viewers getting to know your voice, your style, your story. You follow me so far?”

“I think so,” I said. “More viewers means more potential fans.”

“Fan acquisition,” Benny said, snapping loud enough for me to hear it through the phone. “That’s the name of the game, right? Raw numbers. And you’ve got maybe the hottest hand of anyone from that crop of nobodies they dredged up for this show.”

“I’m not sure I would call the other contestants that, but sure, I get where you’re coming from, and that’s all great for my manager finding me work, but it’s been made very clear to me that an entertainment lawyer and a manager are very different things. So why does my getting screen time mean I should hire you?”

I still wasn’t one hundred percent sold on needing a lawyer who specialized in entertainment, especially after Mr. Eaves’ lecture on how that has nothing to do with actually booking jobs. He’d done a good job negotiating contracts so far, and I’d hoped part of this call would help me figure out if I really needed someone else to step into that. He’d had me on my back foot since the call started, which was probably a good thing if he was negotiating a deal, but I needed to take some control of this call.

“Let me ask you something. Do you know where past winners ended up? How their careers fared after the show’s spotlight dimmed?”

“Well, the girl who won season one, she hit it big. I know her first album went platinum and she’s still selling out shows.”

“Good. Right. And how about the guy who won season two? The girl who won season three?”

“I … um,” I stammered as I tried to remember anything about those two beyond their appearances on the show.

“Exactly my point,” Benny said. “The first season, they’re finding their feet, so they have the show and the big prize, but they haven’t worked out yet how they’re going to capitalize on it, so that person always gets their bag. After these shows have a big season one and the big-name winner everyone gets excited about, the producers get a feel for it and start making changes. Contracts are put in place that take advantage of people desperate for their big shot, mostly kids who aren’t really familiar with the industry. They get signed to all kinds of things that maximize what the label behind the show can make, but limits opportunities for the performers. The labels slap ‘em in three-sixty deals before they can blink, then toss ‘em aside when the next batch comes along.”

“My last contract was a three-sixty deal,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, Arthur sent me over a copy of the contract, and that’s what I’m talking about. It’s all gravy when it works out, but what happens when something isn’t working and they pull the plug? I heard about your predicament. I also heard how that first tour manager of yours went. And this was a label not trying to recoup the expense of running a major show. They put you in small clubs and expected you to slowly work up to your potential. Imagine the same deal, but with pressure to earn now, today, and the studio trying to pull every lever they could to bleed that last dollar.”

Considering how things ended with MAC, I could see what he was talking about. Other than assigning me Brent and taking a cut, they were pretty hands off. When they did get hands-on, they definitely didn’t have my best interests in mind.

“I can see that,” I said.

“It becomes a self-fulfilling cycle. The label misses out on the dough from the first winner and then strangles the rest, until everyone realizes the show’s no good for their career and moves on. So the shows get worse and worse talent, or at least more boring talent, and its popularity fades until a new show takes its place. That’s how these things go.”

“So how do we avoid this? I’m already on the show.”

“Right, but not signed to a contract, because they don’t want to lock down people who aren’t going to make it. They’ll wait, sign the winner and usually one or two others who become fan favorites. Everyone else is dead weight, and they don’t want that on their books.”

“I’m not sure I love you calling them dead weight.”

For a guy who fought for entertainers, he didn’t seem to like them very much.

“You’ll get over it. What I’m saying is, you need to know what to look for in contracts, where the problem areas are that would keep you from earning, and know when the deal is bad. More importantly, you have to be willing to walk away from that bad deal and try to capitalize on it yourself if it comes to that. That’s where I come in. Arthur is a good lawyer, a damn good one, but this isn’t what he does. I’m not trying to talk down about the guy, but look at that contract you signed with MAC. I would have never let you sign a three-sixty deal. That’s what I bring to the table. I’ll tell you which deals are bad, which are okay, where you’ll end up making the most money. And I’ll be your attack dog if they ever try to break their agreements.”

“I think we did okay with MAC. We got my rights back and a payout from them,” I pointed out.

“Like I said, you got lucky.”

“Sure,” I said. “So, if you were to start getting me better deals, what would it cost?”

“While the industry standard is five percent, I charge seven. I say that so you understand you’re getting premium work, not just a guy who hung up his shingle.”

“Seven percent is a huge number, especially after I pay everyone else. I’m all for paying people what they’re worth, but a... what, forty percent increase isn’t just premium, it’s highway robbery. I’d get it if you said five and a half or six, but seven’s nuts. Yeah, you’ll get me stronger deals, but how much I make is coming from my agent and manager, not a lawyer after the deal is done and we’re doing contracts.”

“You’ve got a pair on you, I’ll give you that! But let’s step into the real world here for a minute. The only reason I’m even giving you the time of day right now is because of all that buzz you’ve managed to stir up. You’ve captured people’s attention, and that gives you leverage. Leverage to make some real money, if you play your cards right. Now, if I thought you were going to be satisfied going back to playing at holes in the wall for peanuts like MAC had you doing, I wouldn’t waste my breath. But I can see you’ve got ambition, and I like that. You want to play with the big boys, and if you want to swim in those waters, you’re going to need someone like me.”

“We’ve been doing okay,” I said.

We both knew that wasn’t true, or at least wasn’t true before the reality show. I’d gotten something back from MAC, but he wasn’t wrong. They’d made me pay for it in the long run.

“Kid, this isn’t open mic night at Bubba’s Five and Dime or whatever the hell you mountain folk call your little clubs. These are going to be major studios that churn out multi-million dollar deals and are designed to squeeze every last drop of profit out of people like you. Which is why you need someone like me who can spot the traps in those contracts and make sure you get your fair share. And for that expertise, I charge my premium rate. Take it or leave it.”

When Mr. Eaves said this guy was an asshole, he really wasn’t kidding. He’d also said this was the guy I needed and, after the whole thing with MAC and seeing how the show treated contestants, it was also clear Benny was right. It looked like I was going to manage to pull out of the box they’d put me in, but it didn’t seem likely I’d get a second chance if this happened again.

“Okay, seven percent it is,” I conceded.

“Ha! Knew you were a smart one. We’re going to do good work together.”

“So what’s the next step here?” I asked. “Do I need to sign something?”

“I’ll let Arthur know and he’ll send over the paperwork in the morning for you to sign off on formally bringing me on board. After that, once your guys start setting up deals, you’ll send them to me, or put me in touch with their legal department, and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Great. One last thing. If you win this thing, or really any time these guys think they can make some money off you, they’ll put some paperwork in front of you. They’ll play nice, act like it ain’t no big deal, just something they need for ‘the file.’ It’s all bull. You sign something without knowing what’s in it and you could end up letting them bend you every which way for years. This is my one, unbreakable rule. Do not sign anything, and I mean anything, a studio, network, or lawyer gives you. Ever. Even if they just want your initials. Everything comes through my office. You start letting them talk you into signing stuff because ‘they need it real quick,’ and we’ll be done, because I can’t help you.”

“Got it,” I said. “Don’t sign anything without you guys reviewing it first.”

“Attaboy. We’re going to do good work together, kid. I can feel it. Anyway, gotta run. I’ll get that paperwork over to Arthur and he’ll be in touch. And remember what I said!”

“I will,” I said, barely getting the words out before he hung up.