“She’s alive!” says Josh, breezily.
My record producer is sitting on a stool at the counter while Jenna buzzes around the kitchen. Since we moved in together, using the proceeds of my advance and the money from the play she finally got paid for, Jenna’s been making sure she’s getting her money’s worth from the apartment’s furnishings and appliances. The juicer, the coffee machine, the bread maker, it doesn’t matter: if it does something, she’s been using it as much as she can.
“Morning, Haley!” she says as she pours out a big smoothie for herself, the toaster popping in the background. “Coffee?”
“Absolutely. Hey, Josh.”
“You’re up late,” he says, as I rub the gunk out of my eyes.
“We were up all night watching horror movies on the TV,” Jenna says, excitedly, nodding for Josh to turn around and look at it. “It’s fifty-five inches!”
“And you know how we ladies love our inches,” I grumble drily, not caring that I’m tossing out inappropriate innuendo to my producer. I know Josh can handle it, though. He’s seen worse from me by now. They both have.
“Oh, Haley,” Jenna mock-scolds me. I’ve been in a foul mood ever since things went south with Brando, but she (and Josh) (and my music) have been my rock this whole time. With their help, I’ve even managed to have a few happy moments.
I sit up on a stool next to Josh and he pulls out a couple of tapes and a USB stick.
“It’s a nice TV.” Josh smiles at Jenna, then at me. “Living the high life, I see.”
I shrug with my eyebrows. Jenna pours each of us a cup of coffee with the kind of quick, fluid motion I’m used to seeing, and I understand how she manages to cope with working at the café; she enjoys serving people, taking care of them in some small way.
Josh takes his coffee with one hand and slides the USB stick over to me.
“The takes from last week,” he says, pausing to take a sip. “A couple of them are really good. We should definitely use your guitar tracks from some of them.”
“Cool. I’ll listen to them today.”
Jenna suddenly explodes into a higher gear. “Shit!” she squeals, as she catches sight of the big clock hanging from the wall. “I’m gonna be so late!”
Josh and I watch with awed appreciation as she slaps a cover on her juice cup, finishes buttering her toast, sticks it in her mouth, uses a foot to close a cabinet, hangs a purse over her shoulder, and glides out of the door in less time than it takes me to sip my coffee and shout a feeble “Bye!” after her.
“Can she afford to live here?” Josh asks, a few seconds after she’s gone. “No offense. It’s just, this place is…” he gestures at the grandeur all around us.
“Not really,” I admit. “I’m paying most of the rent. But without her, I’d just be living here alone anyway. And besides, she’s got some auditions lined up. I really think it’s going to happen for her soon.” A smile crosses my face for a split second, because I mean it.
“That’s very generous of you.”
I shrug. “She believed in me for a long time. I want to repay that. I believe in her too.”
Josh looks seriously at his cup for a few moments before speaking again. “There’s somebody else who believed in you who could do with some of that support right now.”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Josh, I know Brando’s your friend, and he probably asked you to talk to me, but—”
“He didn’t ask me to talk to you. But he is my friend,” he says, before sighing. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but I have some idea. Either way, he’s still your manager. You can’t keep avoiding him.”
“Why not?” I say, grabbing a slice of toast that Jenna left and sticking a piece in my mouth. “You, me, and the band are doing just fine recording the album without him.”
“If only music was all about recording,” Josh says, wistfully. “I’m not the kind of guy to preach, Haley. It’s none of my business. But you need Brando. For your own sake. He got you this far. If you can’t work with him, you’re not going to last long. I’m not telling you this because he’s my friend, I’m telling you this because you are.”
I turn to look at him, his craggy face somehow soft and understanding. The kind of face that couldn’t lie if it tried.
“I know,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll work with Brando. I’ll hate him, avoid him, and never forgive him. But I’ll work with him.”
The most surprising thing about Majestic Records is how bad the acoustics are. Everything in the office is made of glass so shiny it reflects almost everything under the bright lights. The surfaces are all cold and hard, marble floors and metal desks, with only a couple of simple, hard-lined paintings to offer a hint of personality, as if to place complete emphasis on the people alone.
I always did think record executives were vain and tone-deaf, and whoever designed the Majestic Offices seems to agree.