Chapter 9 #2
I ran myself ragged visiting five more studios over the course of the day, turned away at the door of each one, and I was pretty sure I looked like I hadn’t slept in a thousand years by the time I met Amber over drinks in a cozy joint in Queens, but she was nice.
Heard me out patiently while I talked about Jewel and how it could help them, and at length, she said she’d talk to Sean about it, which I took as a win.
Even treated myself to a second beer with her as a celebration, even though I was calculating what percentage it was of my next payment as I ordered it.
I got back to my complex, made sure nobody was looking as I went in the back, said hi to Harold, and barely even had the energy to get my clothes off for my shower, but then, as these things usually went, I couldn’t sleep once my head hit the pillow.
Maybe because some jackass was running all three dryers right on the other side of my wall a quarter to midnight. City that never sleeps. Yeah, I could see why. A room in Missouri wouldn’t have some asshole running laundry six inches from my head while I was trying to sleep.
What would even happen if I just left? The landlord wouldn’t be able to take me to court for not paying rent on this sleazy thing. Would Daniel still track me down for payments? Maybe I’d take a hit on my credit rating, but like, what fucking credit rating?
I could very well just go. I’d had my larger-than-life New-York-state-of-mind experience. That party had been what I’d dreamed of, and then I could go.
But then Helena would still be waiting for Stephen Shale’s hit song.
Was I really going to stick it out because of a girl I met once, who was infinitely out of my league, and who told me to stop talking to her? Maybe… just a bit longer.
I rolled over, and I picked up my phone, opening my notes app and writing a line.
In all my devastation, you’re my one and only liberation
“That’s good,” I said to myself, and I hit enter and went to write the next line, and that was how I found out songwriting was hard. What the hell did I say next?
The dryer picked up on the other side of the wall, banging against it like a jackhammer having angry sex, and I groaned, rolling back over and shoving a pillow over my ear.
∞∞∞
“Ah, shit, Julie, nah, you weirded her out,” Kingmaker said when I met him at his office the next day and recounted the story of Amber, and with one swift blow, he took the wind out of my sails.
“What? I did not. She said she was gonna talk to Sean about it. She seemed interested.”
He put his hands out. “Nah, nah. She was being polite.”
“Fuck off. You weren’t there, you don’t know. Man, you were supposed to be happy for me. I’m doing what a king does.”
He grinned, leaning back in his chair and kicking his grimy-ass shoes up on the desk. I recoiled slightly. “Our plan’s moving along. You’re learning the king’s mindset. But it’s more than just the mindset, Julie. It’s how you show up in life.”
“This is you telling me I’m an asshole.”
“We’re getting you those etiquette lessons, yeah? Gonna make sure you’ve got a king’s grace.”
“I thought grace was the queen’s mindset.”
His worldview briefly fractured as he, I think, remembered just then that he’d said that, but then he recovered, shaking his head.
“Nah, that’s… it’s complicated. Kings got grace too.
You think only queens have grace?” He laughed.
“Nah, nah. This is why you’re still so fresh. But don’t worry. You’ll learn.”
“Okay, fine, but I’m working with Stephen Shale again at four, so don’t take too long.”
“You still working with that kid?”
“Look, I said I was going to do it, so I’m going to do it. Etiquette lessons, Kingmaker. Are we making me… kingly graceful, or what?”
He dropped his feet on the floor, standing up. “Just one thing,” he said, and he jabbed a thumb towards his corkboard where he had my, uh, case files posted up. “Looked up that Helena Warrick girl, and she seems like trouble. Might be right to steer clear.”
Oh, god, I didn’t want to steer clear. Half the reason I was staying in this city was because I was deluding myself into thinking I might see her again. And it was a big half. “Uh, you think?” I said, playing it cool, scratching the back of my head. “How, uh, how come?”
“Her daddy’s in a bit of tough business right now. Might be going downhill fast. Shit hits the fan, they’ll be looking to shift the problems onto someone else. You don’t wanna be too close when that happens.”
“Oh, uh… I guess I could see that.” She had mentioned some pressure from Shanghai.
But was it too much to ask to just see her a little bit?
Maybe just a few texts where we kind of…
flirted? If things went badly, I mean, I’d let Helena Warrick kill me in ritual sacrifice, if she smiled at me while she did it.
Maybe that was the problem. “Yeah, I’ll, um…
be careful. Focus on the work. Uh, say, do you know any good resources on songwriting?
I mean—” I scratched my head again. “Since I’m locking in on working with Stephen Shale. ”
“Good call. I think I can get you in with a mentor.”
“Uh, I can’t afford a mentor.”
“Nah, nah. This girl Sheila is trying to get her foot in the door, she’s desperate, she’ll do it for a good testimonial.”
“Do you know everyone in this city who’s desperate?”
He chuckled. “C’mon. We’ve got lessons to do.”
What the hell was I going to learn about etiquette from Kingmaker, of all people? How to prey on the desperate and the vulnerable?
Well, whatever. My social graces couldn’t get worse.
I followed along with him, and he was nothing if not quick with his timetable.
It was a Sunday, but New York didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was a weekend.
He had me tag along with some of his networking operations, and I felt like the world’s shittiest sidekick to the world’s shittiest supervillain showing up to a mixer in the Bronx next to Kingmaker, and I awkwardly wanted to tell everyone I met that working with him didn’t mean I endorsed the shitty durag, but I kept my mouth shut.
Kingmaker, I was pretty sure by now, did not have other clients—he made up stories about them, but he always got evasive on the details when pressed—but he had a network, that much was for sure.
And it turned out etiquette lessons for the modern era meant helping him pressure people into his weird deals.
I was pretty sure I was just doing unpaid labor for the guy, but I guess that made him an entrepreneur getting internship labor from me.
He told me a lot of rules of engagement for how to get the most out of my interactions with other people, and I was pretty sure most of it was bullshit, but there was something to be said for practicing the talking and negotiating skills in a rapid-fire environment where nobody was paying that much attention to me anyway, and where the stakes just meant I came across almost as weird as Kingmaker.
I was exhausted to my bones by the time we got back to the studio and I met Stephen Shale, but we got to the music.
He accidentally called me his mom a total of three times, hid behind a microphone stand once, and stuttered wait a minute hold on I did that wrong I can do better like it was all one word about fifteen times, but he was starting to sound a bit less like a reedy and nervous kid and more like a performer.
Slightly. Still had a long way to go. Amber was there in the studio again, and I introduced her and Stephen, which led to an unspecified time to go grab drinks together, even though I suspected Stephen was as much a lightweight as I was.
Hauled myself onto my moped afterwards even though I felt like I was dying, and I hit the streets, back to my routine of deliveries and harassing recording professionals.
And once again, I got home and dragged myself through the nighttime routine that I guess I had now, and I curled up in bed and tried to write another line of my song.
After much deliberation, I put something down, and I felt good about it, and then in the morning I realized it didn’t fit the meter of the first line, so I deleted it.
Whatever.
The next day hit the same notes—squeezing in as many deliveries as I could, harassing as many industry professionals as I could get to listen to me, and then back in the studio with Stephen Shale, and straight from there to helping Kingmaker with his chores.
Spontaneously, I found myself meeting Amber again once the studio closed, grabbing drinks together again, and I did as Kingmaker had advised and took it easier this time, asking more about her and the studio work instead of trying to sell her on Jewel.
Tuesday, I paid my rent, feeling like I pulled a piece of my soul out when I handed over that much money.
Kingmaker took me after work to meet with Daniel again, and I panicked worrying he was going to get me to take on some more debt, but Kingmaker and Daniel both assured me that ongoing consultation was part of the initial fee.
He took a look at my hair and my skin to recommend some adjustments in the routines now that I’d been doing it for a bit, gave me some shopping recommendations for more clothes beyond my one good outfit, and when Kingmaker was out of the room, Daniel gave me a smile that was just on the kinder side of patronizing.
“You’re a bit hard up for money right now, aren’t you?”
“I-I’m good.” I didn’t know why I said that. I was very definitively not good.
“If you’re late on a payment, don’t worry too much about it. I won’t send the creditors after you.”
I committed to being cool and chill and fine, and I immediately teared up, blubbering. “Um… thanks.”
“I have complete confidence you can move mountains, Julie,” he said. “Trust in yourself, and it will show.”
“I… I really appreciate it.”
“I’m still expecting the payment at some point, though.”
“Y-yeah, I, uh, I know. I got it.”