9. Easton
9
EASTON
I liked Bea before.
I really did.
She was classy, poised, funny, smart, and of course, absolutely beautiful. But now, after watching her up there, it’s like I’d never really seen her, not really. Not who she was inside. When she sat in front of that piano, she came alive .
I’d been looking at a Picasso hanging in a smoky old hotel.
I just saw the masterpiece on display in an exhibit at the Louvre.
What baffles me is, when her song was clearly the best, why didn’t she win? “She was robbed,” I say.
“I agree,” Emerson says. “Do you know what happened?” He turns toward Jake, who’s sitting on his other side. “I’m not a musician, but wasn’t hers the best?”
Jake’s frowning.
“I won’t say anything when she comes down here,” Emerson says. “But I think they picked that other kid just because?— ”
“Jingles are strange,” Jake says, “but I watched the people in front of me, and the people over there.” He tosses his head to his left. “They were all voting for her.”
“See?” Emerson shakes his head. “Something weird’s going on.”
“Winning runner-up is still pretty amazing,” I say. “They said there were over two hundred and fifty applicants.”
“And all the finalists were good,” Emerson says. “But still.”
But then Bea’s climbing down the steps near the stage, and she’s walking toward us. We scramble to leave the seats and greet her, but as she gets closer, it’s clear that she’s trying really hard to act like she’s fine when she’s not. I may not know her very well yet, but even I can see that.
“You were robbed,” Emerson says.
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. The competitors’ songs all sounded amazing.”
“Still.” Jake wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Yours was the best. Everyone around us agreed. Maybe next time you’ll actually let me take you shopping before so you look the part.”
Bea frowns. “If they can’t recognize my music because my dress cost thirty bucks at Ross Dress for Less, then they should?—”
“Whoa,” Emerson says. “Your super rich brother offered to get you something nicer and you turned him down?” He shakes his head. “That guy who won was wearing some kind of designer, I’m sure.”
“Versace,” I say.
“Right.” Emerson smacks his forehead. “I forgot we have the king of couture right here with us.”
“Hardly,” I say. “I run the business side. ”
“But you’re wearing a Givenchy suit,” Jake says.
“That’s because I never know when I might be photographed,” I say. “There’s an actual designer responsible for curating my wardrobe, and most of it comes from our lines.” I lift my arm. “Like these cuff links.” I can’t help chuckling. “I’m a walking billboard.”
Bea looks pained. I can’t believe I’m standing here talking about our cuff links when she’s been cheated.
“Sorry,” I say. “The point is that all three of us agreed. Your song was amazing, and the real loser today is Jello.”
“That’s true.” Emerson drops to a hissed whisper so loud he may as well have just kept talking. “Doesn’t it violate their duty to Jello? I mean, if this song is worse, won’t their sales be worse too?”
Bea’s smile this time looks real. “Actually, we all had to sign something saying that whoever submits gives them permission to use their song, so they could still use mine.”
“That’s crap,” I say. “If they use yours, you should sue them.”
Jake arches one eyebrow. “I bet they do use yours, though. It was catchier, and I’m not just saying that because I stayed up half the night working on it with you.”
I really hate that guy. It’s like he takes every opportunity to. . .wait. “You were up half the night with her?”
“I mean, that’s normal, though.” Jake’s smile is smug. “We live together. You did know that, right?” He drags Bea just a little closer. “Hornet’s a pretty decent cook, so when Emerson got married, I told her if she kept cooking, I’d pay Emerson’s share of the rent and mine.”
“You also kind of made his room your second closet.” Bea shoves his arm off. “So, you know. I don’t feel guilty about it.”
“I do help her with her stuff when she needs it,” Jake says. “And this jingle was really good.” He shrugs. “Maybe you should have had me sing it.”
“Speaking of singing, you said you don’t sing well,” I say. “But you sounded great.”
“I tell her that all the time,” Emerson says. “She’s not an opera singer like that other lady, but she has a great voice.”
“I’m really fine,” Bea says. “I got five hundred bucks, which is the most money my songs have ever made.”
“How much of that do I get?” Jake asks. “Like, a third?” He bites his lip, his expression boyishly impudent. I can see why all the girls gush about him, but I don’t have to like it.
“Stop badgering her,” Emerson says. “As if you’d take any of her money.”
“Beatrice, right?” The guy who won swaggers by. “There’s a big party in the room next door. You should stay and celebrate, too. Your song was really great.”
“Better than yours,” Jake says. “Must be nice to have people on the inside.”
“Wait,” the guy says, his jaw dangling for a moment. “Are you—Jake Priest ?”
Jake frowns.
“What’re you doing here?” The guy beams. “You should definitely come to the party.”
Jake rolls his eyes. “My girl, Bea wouldn’t?—”
Bea jabs him with her elbow. “Thanks for letting us know. We’ll definitely head over. And huge congratulations to you.”
“Wait, is Jake Priest your boyfriend?” the guy asks. “That’s insane . ”
“He’s my brother,” Bea says.
“ Foster brother,” Jake says, slinging his arm around her shoulders again. “And roommate.”
Bea rolls her eyes, but doesn’t shove him away again. “We’ll be there in just a minute. Congrats again.”
The guy’s still staring at Jake, but he does finally walk away.
“That must get annoying,” I say. “Having people recognize you everywhere.”
“It’s even worse when it’s a gaggle of girls,” Bea says. “They cling.”
“Can you believe her? We even live together, and she could just tell people she’s my girlfriend so they’d leave me alone, but she refuses to help me out.”
“One day you’ll have a real girlfriend,” Bea says. “And she wouldn’t appreciate me pretending that you have one now.”
“Doubtful,” Jake says.
She ducks under his arm and heads for the side door the guy just disappeared through. I take my chance to circle around Emerson and Jake and take a spot at her side. “You seem to handle disappointment pretty well.”
She looks at me sideways, her lips twisted. “I’ve had a lot of experience, and I’ve had plenty of examples of how unattractive it is when someone doesn’t take things well.”
“Jake?” I can’t help imagining what Jake throwing a tantrum looks like.
“She’s talking about her mom,” Emerson says. “Her birth mother.”
She shrugs. “Not a surprise that I have a birth mom who’s a mess, probably, since you know they’re my foster brothers. ”
“Well, I thought it was impressive. A lot of people would be too bummed out to go to a party.”
She frowns then. “I didn’t say I’m not bummed, but I’m too angry to get depressed.”
“Angry?” I wouldn’t have thought she was mad. She looks fine. “Why?” I lean closer. “Do you think something weird happened?”
Jake grabs two drinks off a tray and offers her one.
Bea, who’s quite small and has always seemed quite reserved, knocks the martini back in one smooth motion. “Thanks.”
Jake looks floored, like he didn’t expect she’d take it.
She hands it back to him and grabs the second drink too. “I needed that.” She looks right at him. “That woman who was the emcee?”
“She sang like. . .” Jake whistles. “I’ve never heard a voice like that.”
“Well.” Bea swears under her breath. “She told me that my song was the best, and that I would have won, but she intentionally voted me last.”
Jake’s entire face falls. “She—what?” His voice is way, way too loud. Plenty of people are looking our way now.
“Unless you’d like to broadcast this,” Emerson says, “we should take this down quite a lot.”
“Right.” Bea takes a small sip from her second martini. “Anyway, she told me that I’m too good for jingles.” She swears again. “Can you believe that?”
“I knew something was weird,” Jake says. “I do think you ought to sue them, especially if they use your song for their ad campaign. That’s not her decision to make.”
“I mean, technically, it’s exactly her decision to make,” Bea says.
“But if you want to do jingles, you should be able to do them. That’s so unfair.” Emerson grabs a bright pink drink off a tray.
I grab one, too.
“Those are mocktails.” Emerson points at a sign. “I don’t drink, but you might want something else.”
“I’m fine with a mocktail,” I say. “But why did that woman say Bea’s too good? Don’t they want people who are good? I don’t understand.”
“Jingles are. . .” Jake sighs. “In the musical world, jingles are usually written by people who lack talent, or at least, that’s the reputation they have.”
“They’re for people who have given up on making it writing real music,” Emerson says. “Which is stupid. Plenty of people like jingles, and sometimes they’re better known than most any other song on the radio.”
“Right?” Jake asks. “Where does she get off saying you should be doing something else? You entered the contest, and it’s a free country.”
“But,” I say. “If that’s true—do you really want to do jingles?”
Bea lifts her head slowly. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you doing them instead of writing regular songs? Yours was the best—so could she be right? You’re young. You’re certainly not out of time. And you have a job.”
“You have some nerve,” Jake says. “You barely know her.”
“I’ve wanted to do jingles for a while,” Bea says.
“If you knew her at all, you’d already know that,” Jake says.
“But Emerson just said they’re usually for people who have given up on their dreams.” I’m not looking at the guys. I’m looking at Bea, and she’s staring down at her feet, the hand holding the martini a little loose. In fact, the edge of the glass is a little slanted, with the liquid approaching the edge. “That’s not you, right? You haven’t given up?”
“Hey.” Jake steps closer, his chest puffed out. “You need to watch your mouth.”
“Why?” I’m still watching Bea. “Am I right? It seems to me that the woman up there might know more than I do about music, and maybe she saw something in Bea or her song that made her feel like she needed a push.”
“Giving the win to someone who doesn’t deserve it isn’t a magnanimous act,” Emerson says. “It’s an assault, and Bea doesn’t like singing in front of people, unless she’s in a group. She would never want to perform her own music, and that’s how the industry works.”
“I’m just saying that sometimes the people who know us the best don’t realize what we really need.” Bea’s still looking at the ground, but I think I might be right. Maybe the reason she’s so upset is the woman was right. “Is there another contest you could enter?” I ask. “Or maybe—” I spin around to face Jake, who looks ready to clock me on the jaw. “You must have contacts. You could help her find someone?—”
“You think I haven’t offered?” Jake shakes his head. “Hornet doesn’t want any of that. It’s not who she is, so back off before I back you off.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m not trying to pick a fight here, but. . .it looks like all of you have already decided what she needs. Sometimes we don’t know what we can do until we try.”
“Thanks so much for the pep talk,” Jake says. “As foster kids, we really needed your silver-spoon brand of cheerleading so we could aim high and really fulfill our potential. ”
“Alright,” Emerson says. “That’s enough insults. Easton just met Bea—and me too, for that matter—and he means well.”
“I do,” I say. “And I think that lady did, too. Just something to think about.”
“I’ve thought about it,” Bea says softly, finally lifting her face. “But Jake’s right.” She grimaces a little. “I’m—my voice—I’m good at jingles, and it’s a good fit for me. I’m happy writing them, and I’d love to have a job doing it.” She shrugs. “She was wrong.” She downs the second martini.
And then two more.
Given that she weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, I’m guessing she shouldn’t have had four. When she reaches for a fifth, I intervene. “Whoa there, thirsty. Let’s see how those hit you before downing another, huh?”
Jake had one drink and hasn’t had another sip. “I’ve got this, Richie Rich. You can go.”
“Is this a habit for her?” I can’t help wondering.
“I’ve never seen her drink before,” Jake says. “Which is why I’ve got this .”
“Wait, she never drinks?” So that woman really did upset her.
“Her mom—” Jake shakes his head. “Actually.” He snorts. “It’s not really any of your business.”
“I don’t mind taking her home,” I say. “I have a great hangover?—”
Bea bends in half and throws up, right next to my shoes.
Jake laughs. “Go on. Tell us about how good your egg and molasses milkshake is, Richie.”
I roll my eyes .
“Okay, Hornet. Time to go.” Jake reaches for her, but she shoves him away.
I want to ask why he calls her hornet, but I feel like it’s one of those things I’ll eventually figure out. That’s when it hits me—Bea. Bee. Not very creative, but it has the feel of something that probably started back when they were kids.
She shocks all of us when she reaches for me. “Easton.”
I straighten and let her grab my arm, being sure to flex my forearm just a bit. You know, it can’t hurt to put my best arm forward. “Yes?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“You do?” She nods, and then she straightens, sort of, her head canted to the side. “Over there.” She points at the corner, and then swivels around. “And then you’ll take me home, right Jakey?”
Jake snorts. “Of course.”
Bea starts walking, but she looks a little less than steady, so I take her arm and steer her toward the corner she pointed out. “Alright,” I say. “We’re here. What did you need to tell me?” I stupidly hope it’s something. . .well. Something good.
“You asked before.” She looks up at me. “How I do it.”
Huh?
“At work.” She nods slowly. “I told you it’s a secret, but it’s not. Not really.”
Does she mean how she chooses what food for which person?
“I work at a place where pretty much everything is good. When I have one of the not-good chefs, I refuse to do it.”
I suppress my laugh. “Okay. ”
“People just want to be special.”
She’s right about that.
She presses her hand against my chest, looking up at my face. “I wanted to be special .”
I want to tell her that she is. I want to tell her just how special I think she is, but I doubt she’ll remember a word of it.
“But for the people.” She frowns. “After I rule out everything they’re allergic to, I usually give them something they never had the guts to try—as long as it’s good, because they’ll love it.” She shrugs. “Easy peasy.”
“But if they never had the guts to try it, they could hate it.”
She shrugs. “Sometimes they do.” She presses her finger against her mouth. “Shhhh.”
I chuckle this time.
“But usually people eat that weird thing they haven’t had because it’s good .” She leans against me again, her hand surprisingly soft. “You have a really nice stomach.”
Two pack for the win.
I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. “Do I?”
“It’s pretty special.” She’s frowning. “I can’t go out with you, though, because you are special.” She leans even closer. “It’s the same reason I don’t write music.”
“Why?” I had no idea she’d hand me the keys to Bea Cipriani while drunk, or I’d have tried to booze her up sooner.
“Everyone wants to be special, but the only special thing about me is that I can disappear.”
“Disappear?”
“I’m so not-special that I just. . .” She snaps. “I’m invisible. People don’t even notice me. I’m really good at that. It’s why I’m a good waitress.”
She can’t really think that. “None of the other waitresses could do what you do—and you had the best jingle. You’re not invisible. You’re spectacular.”
“The other waitresses that tried to copy me were really stupid.” She’s beaming now. “I mean, a little bit, you have to be able to read the room. But mostly it’s just that my gimmick makes them feel special.” She hiccups. “And the food has to be good. Did I say that?” She shrugs. “That’s it.” Then she sighs, leans against me, and closes her eyes. “You really do have a special chest.” Her hands flatten against me. “And your stomach is nice.”
“I think it’s time for Sleeping Beauty to head home.” Jake grabs her arms, and she swivels.
“Jakey.” She smiles. “Yes, let’s go home to sleep.”
He pats her back. “I think it’s a good thing you never drink, Hornet.” Before I can say a word, he slings her up over his shoulder and carries her out, her shoes dangling from her toes, but miraculously not falling.
It’s not how I thought the night would go, but at least I have a goal, now. The next day at the office, I call an emergency meeting of the board.
“I’ve had an idea for branching out,” I say. “And I think you’re going to love it.”
“I don’t love being summoned here like I’m your secretary,” Mr. Dressel says.
“What couldn’t wait for next week?” Mrs. Yaltzinger asks.
“What’s the number one rule for couture?” I ask. “More than anything else, you find success if you have this one thing.”
“Exclusivity?” Mr. Dressel asks.
“Endorsements,” Mr. Jimenez says. “Celebrity endorsements.”
“None of those things hurt,” I say. “But the reason exclusivity matters, is that people want to feel special . The reason celebrity endorsements work is that people think celebrities are special, so they want to be like them too. . .so they can also feel special.”
The entire board stares.
“Think about it.” I stand up and start to pace. “When we limit releases, it’s not because we only want to sell a hundred of something, or a thousand. We’d always like to sell a million of everything. But for most of our products, there aren’t a million people who could afford them. To sell that many, we’d have to lower the price so everyone could afford them. And if it’s a watch or a men’s dress shoe that everyone can afford?”
“No one wants it,” Mr. Dressel says. “That’s the problem with any kind of discount brand. The lower you make the price, the more you sell. The more you sell, the less exclusive it becomes, and the less people will pay, cannibalizing your profit.”
I nod. “You’ve all heard of personal shoppers. It was a huge fad for a while, and in fact, there were lots of online companies capitalizing on it. They offered ‘online shoppers’ for any budget. They’re trying to turn a profit from people who have less money to spend, but they want them to spend it on the products those shoppers choose.”
“Sure,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “High-end stores like Nordstrom and Saks have always had personal shoppers.”
I nod slowly. “So we’re going to offer to partner, on an invite only basis, with several of the best women’s lines, and we’re going to tell them we want thirty percent of their gross revenue. . .”
“Why would they partner with us?” Mr. Jimenez asks. “We’re their competition.”
“Not for women’s goods, we’re not. Instead of having our own line, we’re going to offer a very exclusive service to women that’s only available to those who are sponsored by a man in their life who’s an existing client of ours.” I smile.
“How will we do that?” Mrs. Yaltzinger frowns.
“We’ll send emails only to people who have placed an order with us, and if someone’s wife wants this service, she’ll encourage her husband?—”
“To buy from our men’s line,” Mrs. Yaltzinger is smiling now. “So it will increase existing sales and create a new revenue stream.”
“Exactly,” I say.
“And it’s exclusive,” Mr. Dressel says.
“They have to be ‘special’ to even be eligible for this service,” I say. “And once the women have been matched, they’ll meet with one of our elite team of magic makers.”
“Magic makers?” Mrs. Yaltzinger frowns. “That sounds like a Disney thing.”
“Fine. Pick another name.” I wave my hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. Each one of them, and there won’t be many, will be stylish, well-versed on every single item we’re able to sell, and will be trained to find things that will be flattering for every body shape.”
“How will that differ from any other service that Nordstrom or Saks offers, other than being more limited in their selection?” Mr. Jimenez looks skeptical.
“Those people are peddling outfits. We’re going to promise people that we’ll create a new look for them. If we select them as a client, they will stand out at whatever event they choose to attend. We could even call it Rough Diamonds.” I beam. “I love that, actually.”
“How can you be sure it’ll work?” Mr. Dressel asks. “What if people hate it? ”
“We’ll have a full refund guarantee,” I say, “because we’ll demand that from our suppliers.”
“Who would agree to that?” Mr. Jimenez frowns.
“Who wouldn’t, if their products are really as amazing as they say?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “I doubt they’ll be keen to accept returns on things people have already worn.”
“They already do,” I say. “Nordstrom has one of the most generous return policies in the world, which is how used designer heels wind up at Nordstrom Rack.”
“But—”
I shake my head. “We have zero responsibility for coming up with our own lines, our own production, or our own products. We get to skim the profits off of others, and in the future, we can certainly roll out our products, one line at a time should we choose to incorporate them.”
“The upside seems good,” Mr. Jimenez says. “If you think you can convince the other designers to partner with us.”
“I know people who run almost every team, and one thing they’ve all been saying is that competition has been fierce lately. I think they’ll fall all over themselves to be chosen.” I lift my eyebrows. “Why?”
“It’s also external validation that they’re special,” Mr. Dressel says.
I nod slowly. “Now you’re getting it.”
It’s interesting that Bea gave me the idea for our new women’s fashion revenue stream, which will hopefully allow us to leverage our good name for men’s clothing, jewelry, and accessories, to make a profit from women as well. She may think she’s invisible, but she’s the opposite .
She shines.
I intend to show her just how stunning she really is.
Sometimes the only thing standing between invisible and show-stopping is the spotlight.