Stupid and Contagious (27 page)

“To buy things off eBay?” I ask, because this is why
I
have a PayPal account.

“Nope,” Sydney says, total y serious. “Guess again?”

“I real y have no idea.”

“I’ve just set up a Boob Fund,” she announces proudly. I take the phone away from my ear and look at it. Why I do this, I don’t know. I guess to amuse myself. When I put the phone back she is stil talking.

“—so for my twenty-sixth birthday, as a gift to myself, I’ve decided to buy myself a new set of boobs.”

“Oh my . . .” I say.

“But I don’t have enough money, so I’ve set up a Web site where people can donate to the Sydney’s New Boobs Fund and I put a link to it on my Friendster page and my MySpace page.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope, I’m total y serious. And people have already donated! Can you believe it? There’s $153.67 in the account.”

“No, I real y can’t. And who would donate sixty-seven cents, is what I wanna know.”

“Who cares? It’s so cool. Why didn’t I think of this before?”

“Because you were
sane
?”

“Pot . . . kettle . . .
hello,
” she says. “Anyway . . .

how’s la la land?”

“It’s good. We’re having fun.”

“If you can cal having Darren Rosenthal parade bloated rock stars before your potential band
fun,
it’s fun,” Brady shouts.

“What’s he yel ing about? Darren Rosenthal,
your
Darren Rosenthal?” Syd asks.

“No, not
my
Darren Rosenthal, but yes, the one you know.”

“Oh, yes it is
her
Darren Rosenthal,” Brady contests. “You’l be happy to know that Heaven and Darren were reunited!” and he starts singing the seventies song by Peaches and Herb, “‘Reunited and it feeeels so gooood!’”

“What?” Sydney asks.

“Can you shut up?” I say to Brady. “It was nothing,” I say into the phone. “Look, Brady is meeting with the band in a few minutes, so let me cal you back.”

I hang up the phone and stare at Brady, who is driving and looking straight ahead.

“What is wrong with you?” I say.

“Besides
everything
?”he says back.

“What did I tel you before? Stop stressing. You’re gonna get this deal. You wil walk away from this meeting with a deal.”

“Yeah . . . so you say.”

“I believe in you,” I say, and he looks over at me for the first time. “It’s gonna happen. I promise.”

“Thanks,” he says. We pul into the Hyatt driveway, where Strummer and I jump out, and he drives off to meet the band.

Brady

You know how you see those movies about the music and entertainment business and you think, Wow, that seems like a real y cool job. Wel , it’s not. It’s nearly fucking impossible to have any kind of success.

There’s
one
Lester Bangs for every tril ion wannabe music critics. There’s
one
Clive Davis or David Geffen for every zil ion A&R dudes. And any way you look at it, Cameron Crowe is just one lucky motherfucker. Sure, he’s talented as shit, but who gets to write for
Rolling Stone
magazine at age fifteen? Who gets to write genius movies like
Fast
Times at Ridgemont High, Say Anything, Singles,
and
Almost Famous
? Ever hear of a flop, Cameron?

And my
God,
the guy even got to marry the hot chick from Heart! (Oh, I forgot about
Vanilla Sky.
Guess Cameron Crowe
isn’t
untouchable. Stil . . . the dude’s had a pretty good run so far.)

Wel , I sit on the
other
side of the fence, in the house on the
wrong
side of the tracks. (Cue the soundtrack from
Some Kind of Wonderful.
) Where I sit, I have three hundred sixty-four dol ars in my business bank account, a psycho-woman who may or may not be carrying my child, no Top 20 albums on my label—or even Top 1,000 for that matter—and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my hair.

I pul up to where I’m meeting the band, and they’re al peering into my car.

“Dude . . . what the fuck?” Sam says.

“Oh, this?” I say when I realize they are talking about the many bags of snacks that have taken over the car.

I explain about my long-lost foods, and they al start cracking up.

“How are you getting this stuff home?” Justin asks.

“I guess I need to ship it. Because from here I’m actual y going to Seattle.”

“What’s in Seattle?” Sam asks. I don’t want to tel him about Howard Schultz and my Cinnamilk get-rich plan, because I want him to think I’m committed to the label. And I am. If he would just give me a reason to
stay
committed. I’m pretty much hanging my hopes on this band. But that’s too much pressure to put on them. I get out of the car and walk with the band into their rehearsal space.

“Just visiting some friends up there,” I say.

“Cool. So listen,” Sam says. “Darren offered us ten thousand dol ars to record some demos.”

“That’s a lot of money,” I say as my heart sinks into my stomach and the bile crawls up my throat.

“Just so I understand correctly . . . is that an advance that he’s offered to
pay
you guys or is that money he’s going to put into studio time?”

“Studio time,” Sam says. “Look, we al real y like you,” he goes on to say, and I feel like I’m getting dumped. It always feels the same. Suddenly I’m in the fifth grade, standing on the playground in my orange and blue plaid pants, and Daniel e Boranski is tel ing me that Stuart Armstrong gave her his peanut butter and jel y sandwich, so she’s going to be his girlfriend starting right after lunch. “But the thing is, Darren has the money to back up the promises.” And I’m wishing I had a peanut butter and jel y sandwich to offer Sam.

“We real y do like you, though, dude.”

“Thanks,” I say. I mean, what do you fucking say when you have only three hundred sixty-four dol ars in your business account? “Look . . . I know it seems real y cool that you got to hang out with Pearl Jam last night, and that Darren is al slick and trying to give you a taste of the good life,” I say. “But the fact stil remains that Darren is going to have to walk into his boss’s office at the end of the year, and if you haven’t met the quota they had in mind—you’re done.” They look at each other and start to get uneasy. This is the one thing I stil have going for me. My loyalty.

“Yeah, we know,” Ethan says. “That’s the one scary thing.”

“Wel , that’s not going to happen with me. As I’ve told you, I’l start from the ground up and make it happen for you guys. I have faith that we’l make it on the first time out, but if not, there’l be a second and a third chance. As many as it takes. When you’re done recording, I’l get you set up with a good booking agent. Plus, with my contacts, I have no doubt I’l be able to get you set up on some good tours and
that’s
where you’l develop a wider fan base.”

“We’re into
that,
” Sam says, and they al nod in agreement.

“I’l set up a big grassroots, street-team marketing campaign al over the country,” I continue. “And as far as the record goes, I’l get it into al the stores, targeting the places you need to be . . . al of the major online retailers, al major chains, and the super-cool indies. And mom-and-pops too, which major labels sometimes neglect. Plus, I’l place the record in overseas stores and retail programs, and we can also secure separate overseas deals for you—which could mean more advance money that goes directly to you guys.”

“That sounds cool,” they al agree.

“Plus, I don’t know if you’re into it, but we could place your music in TV or movies—”

“Car commercials?” Justin says.

“No car commercials,” Sam says. And then he adds, “Unless the price is right.” They al high-five.

“Brady, we total y dig your vibe. For real. But seriously, dude, it’s the ten grand.”

Al of these things are the same as what Darren is offering them. But the difference is, there’s a chain of command in Darren’s world that’s nonexistent in mine. He has to answer to someone, and I don’t.

Therefore, if Darren’s boss says to get rid of them . . .

he wil . I’ve got loyalty to offer. A guaranteed home.

Everybody wants to feel safe, and that safety is the one thing that I can offer that Darren can’t.

“Are you tel ing me that if it wasn’t for Darren Rosenthal offering you guys ten thousand dol ars worth of recording time, you’d sign with me?”

“Absolutely,” Sam says, and they al nod to back him.

“Real y?” I ask.

“Total y,” they al say. I think about it. I think about it long and hard—for at least thirty-seven seconds.

“I’l match it,” I say. “I’l put ten grand into recording your demos, too. And I can even pul some favors and get enough studio time to record your whole album.”

“Cool,” Sam says. “Then we’re in.”

“Yeah?” I say, so happy that I want to cry. Final y something is going right. So what if I just promised ten grand that I don’t have.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “We were hoping you’d say that.

It wasn’t at al about you. It was just that we needed to make sure we could have the same opportunities in the studio.”

“I’l do you guys proud,” I say. “I promise.” And when I say “I promise,” I think about the fact that those were the last words Heaven said to me before she got out of the car. She promised me it would work out with the band, and she was right. I don’t know how
she
had so much faith, because I was barely hanging on by my fingernails, but I can’t wait to tel her.

I start wondering if she’s even in the hotel room.

The last time I left her she wound up in bed with Darren Rosenthal. My heart starts racing at the thought of it. It’s fucking nuts. I’m either keeping an eye on Heaven so
she
doesn’t end up with Darren or keeping an eye on the band so
they
don’t end up with Darren. This dude is a serious pain in my ass.

But Superhero just agreed to sign with me, so at least I know I can relax about that. Fuck. It’s like I can final y exhale on that one.

“And, dude . . .” Sam says. “You’re driving around Los Angeles buying up al the Funyons and shit. We could just have my mom send you a box of them once a month, so you don’t have to be like this crazy guy with al these groceries in his car.”

“That would be awesome. I’l just take a few for the road then.”

“Whatever you need, bro,” Sam says.

And then I say something before it even occurs to me that I’m thinking about Heaven. “Hey—this is kind of random, but—do you happen to know if it’s possible to get Tab out here?”

“Yeah, my mom drinks that,” Justin says.

“Real y?”

“Yeah. I might even have some in the house. You want a can?”

“It can’t be that easy,” I say aloud, though it was real y to myself.

“You want it?” he asks again.

“Could I?”

“
I
don’t drink the shit. Sure.” Justin takes off and shows up moments later with a pink/maroon can with the white Tab logo on it. That logo real y is one of the coolest logos ever created. But it’s even sweeter to look at, knowing how excited Heaven is going to be when
she
sees it. That is, if she’s not having sex with Darren right now.

When I drive away from the band there’s about seven seconds where I’m total y elated. I got the deal.

They’re signing with
me.
They are my band. Life is good.

And then it sinks in a little more clearly. I just promised ten thousand dol ars that I do not have. But there’s
got
to be some way. Think, Brady . . . think. A loan . . . but
how
? What do I have of value? Aside from things banks don’t have any way of appreciating . . .

like my signed Johnny Cash train whistle or my original-issue
Land of the Lost
lunch box.

I’m starting to get that clammy, sick feeling again.

So I try to think of things that make me happy.

Puppies? Paychecks? Heaven?
Bacon.
Bacon is a safer bet. I love bacon. I love bacon so much that I could write a poem about it. I’m also a big fan of cheese. A world without cheese . . . that’s a world I just wouldn’t want to live in.

This isn’t working. I’m sweating, and I have the AC

on ful blast. Of course the AC doesn’t work. It’s just a massive gust of air pouring in my direction, and it’s not helping. Everything is fine, I just need to breathe.

And calm myself down. I know this business. You can talk about deal points, publishing, advancing gigs, and booking tours until you’re blue in the face, but it al means nothing without a good relationship with the artist.

There

needs

to

be

respect,

open

communication, and an overal good vibe between you and your band. To me, this is the only way it can work. And so far, I think I have that with Superhero.

Minus, of course, the whole thing about me lying about being in a band back in the day. And having ten thousand dol ars.

It’s like back in school when the teacher would say,

“You’re al starting with an A. Now al you have to do is keep it.” We al have an A right now. The band has an A. I have an A. Everything is cool.

Until I’m up at al hours of the night listening to why their girlfriends don’t want them to go on tour. Or when right before the start of a tour they al of a sudden want a
tour bus
as opposed to an Econoline van . . .