Summer Encore (Summers of Seaside)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Laredo

“ T his is more like it,” I mutter to myself as I step into the impressive, sparkling, large conference room. I resist the temptation to press my nose against the clear floor-to-ceiling windows as my scuffed Converse sneakers tap the floor to a beat only I hear. Tall skyscrapers fill my view, but none of them are as high as I am. I soar above them all—right where I belong. Sixty-three floors up, in the rarified air reserved for top executives and their VIP rock-star clients.

It’s about to happen.

“The team should be right in, Mr. Williams.”

I push my hands deep into my ripped jeans pocket to hide the shake. “Laredo,” I say, spinning to face Alice, the attractive administrator in the navy two-piece power suit. Blonde curls, red lipstick, and a cute button nose would normally be enough to distract me, but not today. “You can call me Laredo, even after I become rich and famous.” I give her my well-rehearsed rock-star smirk, the one I typically serve up from the stage after nailing an impressive guitar solo.

I spot the humor in her eyes behind the cloud of doubt. She’s heard it before. But not from me. “Of course, Mr. Williams.”

I nod, and she disappears down the hall. She’ll learn. Before all is said and done, they all will remember my name. And it all starts today.

I’m in Chicago, summoned from Indiana to meet with the executives at my record label. My record label. I still can’t believe it’s taken me this long to land a deal. Rather, this long for someone to recognize my greatness. About freaking time.

For the last few months, I’ve been working on my debut solo album and have been sending tracks to my handler one at a time. He’s provided notes back to me, which I’ve generally ignored. He’ll understand the theme and what I’m doing when he listens to the entire album from beginning to end.

The fact that he’s summoned me to Chicago to meet with the extended team must mean he’s shared the tracks, and they recognize my genius. I’m sure I’m here to learn they’ve assembled a marketing team to rush production and discuss a release date. A tour is destined to follow.

“Today’s the day.” I pump my fist and tug on the rubber wrist bracelet from my brother, Adam.

Lead with kindness. His words, not mine. Adam is a kind soul who also happens to be my twin. We swapped matching bracelets at a bar when we celebrated my signing the record deal months ago. Both of us agreed to wear each other’s bracelets until my album’s release. Something about me needing to spread kindness into the universe to lay the foundation for a happy life or some crap like that.

His arm now sports the words Bow in my presence. He absolutely got the better of the deal.

“Two more minutes,” the sweet voice of my office escort returns, and I wonder if she’ll be joining us at the bar this evening to celebrate. I spin, anticipating a way to pass the time with her until my team joins us, my curiosity is immediately piqued by something even more captivating. Resting in her hands is a tiny bowl with a vibrant betta fish, its sunshine-yellow color catching the light. High school memories flood my head, same fish, in electric blue.

“Friend of yours?” I flirt with her—occupational habit.

As she looks down at the bustling fish, a smile of delight spreads across her lips. “This? No. My colleague is going out on vacation, and she asked me to fish-sit for her. I have a red one just like it. One of our clients gifted it to us last week.”

I close the distance between us, striding around the ginormous conference room table so that I don’t need to shout.

“My poor fish looks so lonely. I figure I’ll put the two of them together, so he’ll have a playmate.”

I shake my head to warn her, but her attention is diverted by activity down the hall. I look through the sparkling glass walls and see what she sees. My team. Rather, my team multiplied by three. Nine people, only three that I recognize.

The corners of my mouth rise in anticipation. They’ve pulled out the big guns for me. Next stop, top of the charts.

Jonah, my A&R rep, is the first one through the door. I lift my hand for our usual high five and am met with his extended hand for a formal handshake. I twist my neck and shake his hand. Must be an office protocol thing, whatever.

“Laredo, take a seat, and let me introduce the team.”

“I like the sound of that—the team.” I’m floating. This is a high I’ve only experienced before on the stage after nailing a difficult guitar solo in front of a mesmerized audience. Bow down in my presence, indeed. I march to the head of the polished mahogany table and feel like I’m the chairman of Waystar Royco in Succession .

Jonah shrugs at one of his colleagues in a suit as my team slips into the crisp leather high-back seats. “Right, let’s get right to it.” Jonah leads the conversation, and I press my elbows to the cool tabletop. I give him my complete attention, ignoring the sound of cash registers ringing in my head. He quickly runs through introductions. The table is staffed with members from market research, legal, sales and promotion, artist development, and a vice president.

“Looks like I have the A team,” I joke to relax the room. Five of the nine are wearing suits and look as if they could use a drink.

Jonah lowers his gaze to the top of the table, immediately shifting the tone of the room. A room that is now completely stone silent.

“Laredo, we haven’t met before. I’m Dale Anderson, regional vice president for our Midwest and Central Division. We called you in to discuss your album. I won’t mince words—we’re placing it on hold.”

“Hold?” I scratch three-day-old stubble on my cheek and wonder if I should’ve followed Adam’s advice and shaved. “How is that your decision? It’s nearly complete. Have you listened to my tracks?”

“We have.” I pivot to face another skeptical face, another matching gray suit. At least this one belongs to a person not born before they invented the internet. “I’m in charge of our pop and rock categories. What you’ve sent is not releasable.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I turn my attention from him to Jonah, who continues to stare into the top of the desk. “Would you even recognize what a great rock song sounds like?”

“I do, which is why I recognized tracks two and six as poor derivatives of songs by Trains on the Tracks and CloudFlare. “We don’t like being sued,” he bites back, nailing both.

“It’s called inspiration. All the greats do it.” I return his attitude in hopes he doesn’t see my confidence faltering. After signing my contract, I spent a month celebrating. I hit up every bar and club within a fifty-mile radius of my hometown. By the time I got to work on the album, I was weeks behind. Those two tracks were put together in one afternoon—a riff on rock songs that fans would find familiar.

I wave a hand. “They were filler tracks. I can have them replaced within a week.” I scoff at the words as if their criticism means nothing. “You must admit, track three is a hit. No one’s heard anything like that since Hendrix.” My voice fills with the confidence I always project. Track three is the gem of the album.

“An eight-minute and thirty-seven-second guitar solo.” The soft voice of the lone female in the room captures my attention. I lean forward—finally, someone who understands music. She fingers a stack of papers in a manila envelope in front of her. “Unmarketable.”

Her one word is like an anchor smashing through the soft underbelly of the deck of a sinking boat. “It’s brilliant,” I counter.

“No one in their right mind would release that,” Mr. Market Research chimes in to defend Miss Mouse, and I suspect the two of them must be an item.

“Says who?” I swing wildly.

She pushes the stack of papers to the center of the table. Pages fly out from the force of her shove. “Says every person we conducted market research with.”

“Laredo…” Jonah says my name as if it’s taken every ounce of strength. “That was the one song I thought was original and might have promise. I asked you for weeks to shorten it. Make it more accessible.”

“Accessible? It’s music. It’s art. I don’t write music based on approved guidance from a committee of nameless, faceless, soulless bureaucrats.”

Jonah ignores my targeted slight at him and his team. His short nod gives me hope. “Which is why I fought for it. It costs the firm nearly twenty thousand dollars to conduct the market research.”

I snatch a handful of pages that landed near me. Quickly scanning the yellow highlighted items. What is this crap? He’s no Lynyrd Skynyrd. I’m filing a lawsuit. You’ve just stolen ten minutes of my life from me.

A shaky breath escapes from my parted lips as I lean back in the chair.

“It’s not all bad news.” A preppy kid with excited eyes leans forward. Jonah gives him a short head shake that I don’t miss.

“Don’t,” he whisper warns.

I lift my hand. “I’d like to hear it,” I say, and Jonah drops his head to his chest.

“Hailey Williams.” He utters my sister’s name with the sinister grin you’d associate with a stalker.

My fist pounds on the desk. “Hell no!”

A threatening silence hangs in the air like a dangerous ocean foghorn during a storm. Eight pairs of eyes find their way to Dale.

“One song.” He says it as if it’s the answer to world hunger. “A duet. Hell, we’d even entertain having your brother play bass if that’s what it takes. You need your sister on your album.”

I bite my lower lip so hard I’m shocked I don’t taste blood. This is the opposite of everything Jonah and I have ever discussed. Every other label that I contacted started the conversation with the mention of my sister.

Most of my life, I played in a family band. Me, my brother Adam, and my sister Hailey. Six months ago, at a summer music festival in Oregon, Hailey performed a solo song at the closing night concert. She was signed to a record deal that same night, her song and album fast-tracked. The album is already double platinum, with two top-ten songs and another single releasing next week. Her fans’ appetite is insatiable. Her label is throwing together a tour for her next summer, while mine is giving me the deep freeze.

I won’t get ahead by standing on the shoulders of my sister. She’s sacrificed so much already to make sure Adam and I were taken care of. I will not distract her from the spotlight she’s worked so hard to earn. Jonah said he understood this when I signed.

I press both elbows hard onto the tabletop and lean as far forward as I can, knowing they’ll see this is a nonstarter. “Next option.”

Dale doesn’t break eye contact with me. He doesn’t scan for input from his team. He’s the big dog. “Mr. Williams.”

I grit my teeth and bark back, “the name is Laredo.” Dale isn’t the only dog in this yard.

“Mr. Williams … we are at an impasse. We can’t afford to invest any more time or resources with you. You are under contract. Feel free to work on your own time. Jonah has more promising clients that deserve his focus. I think we’re done here.” He dismisses me as if I’m a piece of annoying gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

My fingers snap the rubber wrist bracelet. This team does not deserve kindness. “Dale, you’re married, right?” I point to the gold wedding band on his finger. “Happily married, I assume you believe.”

Fire appears in his eyes, which is the reaction I’m seeking. I stand and tug on the bottom of my denim jacket. “I won’t be put in the back of the discount rack at K-Mart. You may not see my greatness, but others will recognize it, and you will regret this day.” I tap the back of each chair as I approach Dale. “You will release me from my contract.”

Dale scoffs, still not connecting the pieces. His colleague from legal leans toward him, but Dale lifts a hand to halt him. “Why would I do that? We own you.”

“Wow, you went there.” I mask my shaky voice behind laughter. “You obviously don’t read your contracts. You guys insisted on putting in a morality clause in my contract based on my reputation.” I twist my neck to Jonah. When he recruited me, he took me to a different club every trip. He’s nearly as wild as me. “I saw it as a badge of honor.” I tower over Dale, pushing into his personal space.

He leans back uncomfortably in his seat. “And I believe if I sleep with your wife, that might be grounds for breaking that clause.” When he doesn’t flinch, I wonder whether he even likes his wife. So I double down. “Or maybe your daughter.” He squeezes the armrests as if it’s the only thing keeping him from tossing me out the window. Direct hit. “Yeah, definitely the daughter.”

“I will kill you!” He hops to his feet, and his legal colleague pulls on his arms.

I spin away from him, my arms sweeping wide like I’m in a freaking musical. “Eight witnesses. Not very smart, Dale.” My voice drips with contempt. I push buttons as a side gig. Bullies and boyfriends have all taken swings at me, and I’m still standing. “I think I have enough for breach of contract. The top executive has threatened to kill me. When he realizes that he might wind up in jail, he decides to murder my career by putting my album in purgatory.” I resurrect my junior high school production skills, my voice shifting to an annoying falsetto. “Hey, mister lawyer man, do I have enough? Is this contract terminated, or do I really need to sleep with his daughter?”

“I will rip off your head. I eat pieces of shit like you for breakfast.” It takes three people to hold Dale back this time. It doesn’t matter because I’m on the other side of the table. Dale would need to run the equivalent of a quarter of a mile to catch me.

“Did you hear that? Your fearless leader eats doggie doo for breakfast.” I can’t help but poke the bear. The big bear with the power to release me from my contract.

“Enough, Laredo.” Jonah finally finds his backbone and speaks up. “What do you want?”

I pause next to the door. “I think I’ve made myself clear. Cancel the contract. All rights and materials revert to me, or the next time I call Dale will be from his daughter’s dorm bed.”

My hand frames the door, and I lock my gaze with Dale. I don’t flinch. Dale has no clue what I’m capable of. All they have to go on is my reputation. A disruptive force that doesn’t play well with others and who picks up women in every town he’s ever visited. Good. That narrative is a positive for me, for once.

“Dale?” Jonah squeaks from across the table. Neither one of us reacts.

The corner of Dale’s eyes tightens, and his face begins to shift to an angry shade of red. He doesn’t like to lose. No one who chases success does.

“If I ever see your face…” Dale blinks first.

I don’t wait for the rest of his scolding and push out the conference with my feeble victory. I steal a final glance through the glass. Dale is shouting, fists raised, fingers pointing, mumbled shouts through the glass. I’ve just given them their most interesting meeting of the month.

I pace past Alice’s cubicle, pausing when I see the matching fishbowls. Two beautiful betta fish, one yellow, one red.

“Mr. Williams. That was quick. Must’ve been good news.” Alice looks up from her keyboard.

“One for the books. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.” I divert my attention to the fish. “Don’t put the two of them in the same bowl.” With a slight stretch, I extend my arm over the cubicle barrier and grasp one of the fishbowls, the sound of water sloshing filling the air. I place it atop the filing cabinet, which spans the length of the corridor. “They shouldn’t really be in line of sight of each other. They’re stunningly beautiful, much like you. And just like you, they are deadly dangerous.” Her eyes fill with a look of curiosity I know well. “They’re called betta fish, but they have another name, Japanese fighting fish. If you put them in the same space, they will attack. They don’t exactly play nice with others.”

Alice pushes back from her desk and stands. She glances down the hall at the sound of raised voices as people filter out the conference room. “Sounds like you speak from experience, Mr. Williams.”

“Ask Dale.” I give her a wave, push back my shoulders and stride head high to the exit. With her words of "Mr. Williams" still lingering in my ear, I press the elevator button.

That’s fine. Next time our paths cross, she’ll call me Laredo.

Someday soon, everyone will know my name.