Chapter 15 #2
If that weren’t the case, I wouldn’t have agreed to work with him in the first place.
“The whole visual concept for this album, the ad campaign, everything we’ve been building, it’s built around a very specific image,” he says, spreading his hands to his sides. “You, coming out of the harsh light of the hardcore scene into a dark, mythic, uniquely feminine power. A sexy power.”
I arch a brow. “Are you saying pregnant women aren’t sexy? Because the guy I was fucking a few nights ago would beg to differ.”
Checkers’ eyes widen.
It’s not the kind of thing I would normally say, but then I’m not normally fighting for my right to be pregnant and who I am as an artist right now.
“That’s awesome,” Checkers finally says.
But he doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s awesome.
Not awesome at all. He actually sounds a little queasy as he adds, “But that’s not the way most people think.
Not even other women. I did my research, Bea, and the research says this isn’t gonna fly.
We put a pregnant woman on this album and on the ad push, and we might as well throw a bunch of money in a trash can down on Bourbon Street and set it on fire.
So…I’ve canceled the photo shoot. Sorry, but it was the only logical thing to do.
We can move forward with an object cover.
Or maybe an old photo from when you were a kid or something.
Nostalgia always sells. I’ll circle the wagons with the team and get back to you. ”
I press my lips together, fighting to swallow past the rage tightening my throat.
This is such complete and utter horseshit.
I’ve never been one to play the looks card first—I’m too much of a music nerd for that—but he and I both know I’m a beautiful woman.
And not just beautiful, but uniquely beautiful, in that fragile, big-eyed fairytale princess way that has always attracted attention.
Pregnancy hasn’t taken that away. It’s added to it, matured it.
I’m not fragile anymore; I’m lush and curvy and overflowing with life.
With power. My eyes glitter, my cheeks are always pink, and my hair is a glossy mane so goddamned gorgeous I almost feel guilty wearing it braided.
In the dresses we chose for the shoot, with my hair down to my ass on that haunted bayou set, I will be extraordinary.
Or I would have been extraordinary…
It’s becoming pretty clear that Checkers has decided his “reality” is the only one that matters.
Still, I tamp down my anger and try one last time, “Respectfully, you’re wrong, Checkers.
The concept is better with me pregnant, not worse.
Can’t you see that? I mean, what says ‘unique feminine power’ more than a woman creating life?
Right?” I laugh, the truth so obvious I can’t believe I have to spell it out for him.
“I can sell it. I promise I can. Let’s just do the shoot.
Everything’s already in place—wardrobe, set, makeup, the whole thing.
Let me show you the kind of images I know we can get.
Sexy, powerful, ad-friendly images that—”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe you could get some good stuff.
But good for who? Not for our core demo,” Checkers says, an edge in his voice now, his patience apparently wearing thin.
“We need women eighteen to twenty-eight on board here. Those are the people who buy tickets to concerts. They’re also a generation of women who don’t want kids, Bea.
They want sovereignty and stability first, romance second, and kids…
maybe later. Maybe. If the world doesn’t burn down before they can save up enough cash in their emergency fund. ”
“But I—”
“I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.” Checkers cuts me off before I can tell him that sovereignty is what I’m all about, what I’ve been fighting for.
I’m no less “sovereign” because I decided to become a mother. If anything, I’m more sovereign for choosing to walk this path alone, just me and my baby against the world.
“And just from a boots-on-the-ground perspective,” he adds, “the girls I talked to last night at the open mic night were not into this, Bea. When I asked them what they think about pictures of super pregnant women, sexy and exciting weren’t the words they used.
The most common responses were ‘scary’ and ‘kind of gross.’ And ‘scary’ and ‘kind of gross’ don’t sell albums.”
My jaw drops, and a strangled sound emerges from my throat.
How could he?
How could he say any of that with a straight face?
“Well, tough, because I’m not going to hide my body. Not on the album or anywhere else,” I say. “My body is part of everything I’m going through right now, as a woman and as an artist, and I’m not ashamed of it.”
He sighs. “Well, then…I think I’m out, Bea.”
“So that’s it?” I ask, hating the wobble in my voice. “You want out of our contract because some random girls at an open mic night told you what you wanted to hear?”
“It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. It was the truth.”
I huff. “Right. Come on, Checkers. They wanted to go home with the hot, successful music producer. You think they’re going to tell him they want kids or that pregnancy is sexy?
Women aren’t stupid. They know that would be an express ticket to the back of the line to suck your dick.
Though, honestly, I’m not sure why they’re so hot for the opportunity.
I am sure, however, that they aren’t my key demographic. ”
His eyes narrow, but before he can clap back, Marcus breezes in the door, furiously texting, his headphones around his neck. “Hey guys, what’s up? Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was crazy gnarly.”
Marcus has worked with Checkers for six years. He was still a senior in high school back then, but already a genius on the board. We’ve become friends, too. He likes me, a fact he proves when he finally looks up from his phone and lets out a whoop of surprise as his arms open wide.
“Oh my God, Beatrice. What the hell, girl! Congrats!” He leans in, giving me a tight, but careful hug before pulling away. He glances down with a laugh. “Wow, you are pregnant, woman. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this pregnant.”
I fight the urge to wince. Marcus is just being his sweet, genuine self. Just being playful and happy for me. He has no idea he couldn’t have said something more detrimental to my case if he’d tried.
Checkers meets my gaze with the smug expression of a man who just had his argument made for him.
For a moment, I’m tempted to remind him that we have a contract, and that it’s illegal to discriminate against a woman because she’s pregnant.
But I also know that the contract and the promotional commitments we’ve made are all null and void if I fundamentally change the album before release without his consent.
And I’m going to change it, with or without him on board. I don’t need his consent. I was careful to have final track approval written into our contract, as well, and if he’s going to be a short-sighted jerk about this…
Well, an easy out might be my best option, even if it means going it alone.
Hell, I’m already launching a family on my own.
Why not an album?
I know it’s not that easy. I know it’s probably a death sentence to my solo career, but I also know it’s right.
“Okay, then,” I say, forcing a smile. “Then, I’ll have my lawyer call yours? Get the contract dissolved so we can both move forward?”
Regret flashes in Checkers’ eyes. “I think that’s best, but I can’t give you the rights to my masters, Bea. Not if we’re no longer working together. Sorry about that, but that’s a no-go for me.”
I reply just as quickly, giving him a taste of what it feels like to be disposable. “That’s fine. I was going to ask for significant changes to your tracks anyway.”
His brows shoot up in a way that makes it clear he thinks that’s a dumb call, but after a beat, he nods again.
“Okay, then we’ll be good. Have your people call my people and…
I’ll see you around, I guess. Good luck with the album and the baby and everything.
And, for what it’s worth, I hope I’m wrong.
I hope, if you decide to go for this solo, it slays for you. I really do.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying to be grateful for a peaceful parting of ways.
Trying not to let the anger burning in my gut show as he heads for the door, calling over his shoulder to Marcus, “We’re going to be in the rehearsal room first today, Marc. Savannah and the girls will be here in fifteen.”
Fifteen. Wow.
He really didn’t expect it to take long to get rid of me, did he?
“Yeah, totally,” Marcus says, his big brown eyes sad beneath his shock of floppy blond hair. “Be there in a few, man. Just going to say bye to Bea.”
Checkers shoots back a chill, “Cool,” and then he’s gone.
As the door shuts with a snick, leaving Marcus and me alone in the oppressive quiet, I’m suddenly not sure if I’m going to cry or start throwing things. Either way, I should definitely be far away from here before it happens.
“I’m sorry, Bea,” Marcus says. “Dude, I feel like shit. I should have kept my mouth shut, huh?”
I force a smile. “No way. It’s fine. Checkers already had his mind made up. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Okay, but still, this is such a bummer.” His lips turn down almost comically at the edges.
“I’m going to miss seeing you. And working with you.
I loved that new stuff you sent from Scotland.
” He glances over his shoulder before turning back to add in a confidential tone, “I’m pretty sure Checkers wouldn’t have been game to shift the sound that much on the early tracks, but I dug it, man.
I could already hear how good they would sound.
Once we stripped ‘em back, rubbed off the gloss. Gave ‘em teeth again, you know?”