Fourteen.
"You know what's odd?" CJ asked as he attempted to tie his tie for the fourth time.
"This whole situation?" Alejandro suggested.
"Well, besides that. It just seems weird that—damn it, this thing won't tie—that we've never met Pulitzer. I mean, weren't we allegedly hand picked by him?"
"No, Rich was hand picked by him," Nick answered, and sighed. "CJ, stop fiddling, you're creasing your suit. I'll get it."
"Thank you."
Nick began to fix CJ's tie. "It's not that odd, is it? I mean, he's… busy. Right?"
"Busy doing what, exactly?"
"Stealing our money," Chris answered.
"Remember, we're not supposed to be accusatory," Richard sighed. "We're supposed to look like nice boys who've been taken advantage of."
"We are."
"Yes, but we have to look like we are. And since you're such a fantastic actor, Chris…"
"Yeah," Chris rolled his eyes, glanced in the mirror, and made his eyes go wide and said earnestly, "'We were just so eager to get started. We had no choice but to sign. We didn't know what we were getting into, we just wanted a chance so badly.'"
"Wow," Richard said. "That's… scary. You're really good at that."
"Despite what you seem to think, I am a very good actor," Chris answered smugly.
"Alejandro, can you do something about his ego?" CJ asked.
"It's cute," Alejandro answered.
"You're nuts."
"He's adorable," Chris snapped.
"You're both sickening."
"You're jealous," Nick said. "Stop pouting and being lonely, CJ. You'll meet someone. Someday."
CJ raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were still single too, and I'm the lonely one?"
"Well, I have a naturally cheerful disposition, and the fans just love me."
"Hey," Richard interrupted. "We've got to get going. There're reporters outside, how do we look?"
"Hot," Chris said. "We always look hot. Alejandro, you look great in that suit."
"Thanks," Alejandro murmured, blushing.
"Now, you two," Nick scolded. "We're all very happy for you, even CJ when he's not being too bitter, but you need to pretend you're not madly in love for awhile. And if you don't stop holding hands, you'll look a little too… Gay."
"I think even holding hands, we're less gay than you are. Seriously, you're flaming, how has no one noticed?"
Nick shrugged. "They assume I'm just friendly. When I pinch their asses."
"Please tell me you don't."
Nick shrugged. "Only the really cute reporters. And the really hot groupies."
"You're going to blow your cover."
"And then I'd have every gay man in the country after me, how awful."
"Okay, kids, let's go," Richard interrupted, and began ushering everyone out the door.
"You sound like Weisel."
"Bite me."
"You sound like your mom."
"Drop dead."
"Now, that's better," Chris said, still smug, and Richard kicked him as they opened the door and reporters began flashing cameras and yelling questions.
"Hey, baby."
"Hey, Ryan."
"You sound tired. Everything go all right today?"
Nick sighed. "Pulitzer's not a very nice man. He said some pretty harsh things."
"Oh, babe, I'm sorry. How much longer are you going to be in court?"
"I don't even know. Forever. Until I die."
"I hope you're not planning on dying, Nicky, I'd miss you."
"I do miss you."
"You're so sweet."
"You're sweeter."
"Is there anything I can do, Nick? You sound so sad."
"Oh, babe, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be sad, I'm always happy to talk to you. I'm just exhausted and stressed out. It's not easy having your name dragged through the mud."
"Well, if anyone tries to drag your name anywhere, you let me know. I'll kick their asses."
"You're so sweet when you're macho." Nick sighed. "You know… I mean, I know Sean thinks we're insane with this whole thing…"
"Yeah, but I'd ignore Sean's opinion on basically everything."
"I know that, I just… You should really look at your own contracts. I mean, Pulitzer's screwing us pretty badly, he probably is doing something to you, too."
"And the only one who's allowed to screw me is you."
"Exactly."
"I wish I was there to comfort you."
"I could use a hug," Nick agreed, and then there was noise in the hallway. He groaned. "Someone's coming, I have to go."
"Okay. Just remember I love you, babe."
"I love you too."
"Good luck in court tomorrow."
"Thanks. Goodnight, Ryan."
"'Night, babe."
"You know, I never thought I'd find flow charts and pie graphs hot," Chris mused.
Alejandro raised an eyebrow, then went back to work, filling in columns in the table he'd created. "It's the chart that's hot?"
"Nope. But when you're focused like that, I mean, wow." Chris laughed. "Am I bothering you? I can go… watch TV or something…"
"No, no." Alejandro looked up at him and grinned. "I like having you to keep me company."
"Oh, good. So, uh… What are you doing, exactly?"
"Well, assuming we get out of our contract with Pulitzer, and assuming we get the rights to our own material, we're going to want a new label. And a new manager. I've been shopping around."
"And that's what this is?" Chris asked.
Alejandro nodded. "Side by side comparison of the options we've got—a bunch of variables I pulled out of our old contract. Licensing rights, performance fee, percent of album sales… It all adds up."
"Wow," Chris said. "I guess that whole math thing really worked out for you, huh?"
Alejandro laughed. "I guess so."
"Are there any really good candidates yet?"
"A couple—but I'm leaning towards Boogie, personally. They handle a lot of big pop accounts, including Shawna."
"They have good managers?" Chris asked. "Because I'm not asking for much, personally, just someone whose BO doesn't make me gag every time I have to shake his hand."
"Well, I'm setting up a meeting with one of their top guys in a day or two."
"You know, you could be our manager."
"The thought had crossed my mind." He shrugged. "But if I were performing and managing—and I don't really know what I'm doing, most guys get master's degrees in this, I'm just out of high school—but anyway, if I were doing all of that, when would I have time for you?"
"Very good point," Chris agreed, putting a hand on Alejandro's shoulder. "Speaking of which, could I tear you away from that for just a little while?"
"I think you probably could," Alejandro agreed, smiling up at Chris, who was sitting on his desk. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, you know, a little this, a little that… You looked really, really good in that suit."
"Yeah? What, you want me to put it back on or something?"
"No. Not even a little bit." Chris grinned and tugged Alejandro out of his chair.
Richard watched from down the hall as his mother shook hands with Weisel, and showed him out of the house. She didn't know he was watching; he didn't think she wanted him to. He was pretty sure something was up—she'd taken over Weisel's office, and he hadn't been seen outside of the courtroom since he trial had begun, so him showing up at the house was odd.
"Hey," Richard said evenly, as his mother turned around.
"Richard, dear, good evening."
"What was he doing here?" Richard asked, nodding towards the door.
"Just picking up some of his things," she answered smoothly, but something in her tone of voice alerted Richard. That was the voice she used when she talked to his father and didn't want to discuss whatever had been going on.
"Yeah? What kind of things?"
"Oh, files. The picture of his wife he left on the desk."
"Weisel's not married."
"Well, you know." She shrugged. "It's not as though I asked him about the picture, dear, that would have been rude."
"Letting him in to the house was rude," Richard said. "To us. What's going on?"
"Richard—"
"What's going on, Mom?"
"Well, if you must know, Mister Weisel and I were discussing business."
"What? What sort of business do we have with him anymore? We're suing him."
"You're suing Mister Pulitzer, actually, and your manager is very upset about it—but so is Pulitzer. No matter how things turn out, he won't look very good at the end. And neither will you boys, it's very ungrateful to sue your own record label and management—"
"For exploiting us? That's not ungrateful."
"Well, it looks ungrateful. All we were discussing was the potential for a nice, out of court settlement."
"Excuse me?"
"Richard—"
"No, wait, you were discussing what?"
"It might be very wise to—"
"And you didn't even ask us? You're not our lawyer, Mom, and you're not—Jesus Christ, you're my manager but you've got no right to do anything for the rest of the band, and—I can't believe you'd even think about settling!"
"Just hear me out, it's a good—"
"Did you already sign something?"
"No, but I think you should consider—"
"No!" Richard yelled, and he knew that the rest of the band was home and could probably hear him, but didn't care. "I don't want to make a deal, we don't want to, and we don't want to hear what they have to say. Don't you get that? They were screwing us over, they were taking advantage of us, and what the hell kind of mother wants to settle with people like that?"
"I'm trying to watch out for your career, Richard."
"Yeah, that's what you've always said," Richard snapped. "Since I was two years old, it's always been my career. You don't give a damn about me, just about my career."
"Richard—"
"In my whole life, you've never once just been my mother. My mother might have understood why we're suing to begin with, but you want to settle because you can't just be my mother for three weeks, you've got to be my manager and I never wanted you to!"
She stared at him, quietly. He glared back.
"I wanted what was best for you," she finally said.
"Pushing me until I was so scared of screwing up that I'd rather puke than go on stage was good for me? Fuck you."
He turned and walked out of the hall and towards his room, and slammed the door. He heard the door downstairs shut, and heard her car pull out of the driveway, and didn't move until there was a knock on his door.
Dealing with people was usually his job, so he didn't know who to expect, but when CJ let himself in, he was more than a little surprised.
"So, uh… you okay?"
"Yeah, fine."
"Okay." CJ shrugged. "Not to press you or anything, though, but… You did just curse out your mom."
"She had it coming."
"Granted, don't get me wrong, she's psycho. But usually you… um, you handle her a little better than that."
"Did you hear her? She wants to settle with Pulitzer—settle."
"Yeah, but she didn't have the authority to make that decision anyway."
"Then it's a good thing I reminded her of that before she started signing things."
CJ raised an eyebrow. "So, um, how much of this is about her settling with Pulitzer, and how much of this is personal issues from your childhood?"
"What?"
"Since we've known each other, you've never liked her, and I don't blame you, but… I mean, are we talking this is because you were pissed at her for talking to Weasel, or pissed at her for being a crazy stage mom?"
"Does it have to be one or the other?"
"Well, at the end it certainly sounded like the other."
Richard shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"Not to me, not to us. But I'll bet it matters to her, and probably to you."
"I don't care what she thinks."
"Then why does the thought of her being disappointed in you make you want to puke?"
"CJ, you're not my shrink, so—"
"Hey, it was just a question. Something for you to think about. Anyway, uh, I'm getting ready for a date, so I should go… do… that."
"Date?"
"Yeah, Nick's setting me up."
"Guy or girl?"
"He didn't actually specify. Huh." CJ frowned. "Sam can kind of go either way, can't it? I should go check on that."
"Yeah, you think?"
"Okay, well, uh… You should call your therapist and get a good night sleep and… Stuff."
"Thanks, CJ."
"That's what I'm here for. That and to sing and eat pizza. Hey Nick!" He started for the door, leaving Rich alone with his thoughts.
"So, CJ, was your date a boy or a girl?"
"You know, I'm not actually sure."
"Didn't go well, then?"
"Not really, no."
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
The band sat around the living room, with a folding chair set up in the middle. "That's gonna make him a little nervous," CJ noted.
"That's kind of the point," Richard said. "Isn't it?"
Alejandro nodded. "We're not going to get screwed again."
"A manager who understands roll on deodorant. That's all I ask," Chris said again.
"And one who doesn't make us open, tour malls, or perform twice in one show?" Alejandro suggested.
"See, this is why we keep you around."
"That and some other reasons, I'd hope."
"Okay, you two, the rest of us don't want to know," CJ interrupted. "When's he gonna be here?"
"You sound like such a little kid."
"So? When?"
"Any time now. Calm down. We're professionals, remember?" Alejandro sighed.
"Yeah, and he's auditioning for us, not the other way around, this time," Richard said.
The doorbell rang and they all scrambled towards it, then took a moment to compose themselves. "Professionals," Alejandro reminded them, before opening the door.
The man who stood on the stoop was just on the young side of middle aged, with a brown suit on, carrying a briefcase, and wearing a bowtie.
"Bryan Denton, I presume?" Chris asked.
"Pleased to meet you," Denton answered.
"This way, please," Richard said, and they led him to the living room and gestured to the lone chair in the middle. He raised an eyebrow but sat and made himself as comfortable as he could, while they took the couch and easy chair facing him.
"So I'm sure you've been brought up to date on our current… situation," Alejandro finally said.
"Yes, of course. The whole industry is paying attention; it'll be quite a precedent you boys set."
"And what do you think of the lawsuit?"
"Well, generally speaking, I believe that all parties involved in a contract should carry out what they say they will—but in this case, I don't think Pulitzer Inc. did so. In addition to the extremely convoluted wording of the contracts, you were given false impressions of the label's intent."
Chris cleared his throat. "What's your policy on canceling shows?"
"It's a last resort when a performer can't perform, but only a last resort."
Chris shrugged.
"And who else have you managed?"
Denton had a list of several groups he'd worked with—none were as big as the V-Tones, but all of them were somewhat well known. "I have a list of references and numbers if you'd like to check on them."
"Yes, please," Alejandro said.
Richard cleared his throat. "Basically, what we're looking for in a manger is… We want someone who cares about the band more than how popular we are. Someone we can actually trust."
Denton nodded. "Considering your former manager, I can't blame you."
"Oh?"
"I've… Crossed paths with Mister Weisel before. He and I… Didn't quite see eye to eye on managerial techniques."
"So how would you describe your managerial technique, since you brought it up?"
"I expect my band to work their hardest; in return, they get the hardest work I can give them."
The band glanced around at each other, and the members nodded a little bit. It was a good start.
Chris was chewing on the cap of his pen, staring down at what he'd written. He'd always figured that writing music was the hard part and lyrics came more easily, but now he wasn't so sure. He'd scratched out a melody; it would need work, but he'd never actually written a song before. With that in mind, it wasn't too bad, he figured. But the lyrics were the hard part.
And he wanted the lyrics done before he showed it to anyone else.
He read the last line he'd written back to himself, humming as he did so: "Time for me to cut the strings / leaving you behind / Now I know you're not the real thing…"
The best rhyme for behind he could think of was "rhymed," but that didn't really work in context at all.
"Behind… hiiiiiiind… Rewind, signed, lined… uh…"
"Aligned, assigned, confined, entwined, inclined, defined, unwind…"
Chris looked up abruptly and saw Alejandro standing in the door to his room, smirking slightly.
"Yeah, yeah, I bet you're going to talk about your SAT scores now, aren't you?"
"Nah. Can I come in?"
"Of course." Chris grinned. "Always. How does the record label search go?"
Alejandro shrugged. "How'd you like Denton? Boogie looks like the best choice so far."
"He seemed okay… Man, this trial stuff is stressful. My mom's been flipping out."
"Yeah, mine too." Alejandro sighed. "She's mailed me two boxes of cookies in the last four days, if you want any."
"I always want cookies," Chris said.
"I'll go get—"
Chris grabbed his arm. "Nah, wait awhile. I like you more than cookies."
"Wow, I'm flattered." But Alejandro laughed as he said it, and Chris noted with satisfaction that Alejandro seemed more comfortable now than he had when they'd first gotten together. Maybe the stress was pushing them together, Chris mused. Or maybe they were just too good together for little things to cause problems.
"So, uh… Alejandro, what would you think if I… wrote a song?"
"Is that what the rhyming was about?"
"Maybe. Just answer me, okay?"
"Well, I'd think it was kind of cool. It takes a lot of creativity to write music, and none of us have even thought of trying yet."
"Oh, well, uh… I mean, it's not very good…"
"Modesty isn't your strong point, Chris."
"You want to take a look?"
"Of course." Alejandro made himself comfortable on Chris's bed, and Chris handed over the scribbled sheet of music and lyrics and waited while Alejandro examined it. But the examination seemed to take forever, and Chris got antsy and nervous, and finally plopped down on the bed next to Alejandro, grabbing it back out of his hand.
"Okay, well, it's still a rough draft, I just did it this afternoon, so it's not very good—"
"It was so," Alejandro said.
"It was?"
"For a rough draft, sure. 'Not your puppet anymore'? You sound like you're breaking up with someone."
"I'm breaking up with Pulitzer," Chris answered, and Alejandro laughed.
"Funny, I didn't realize wealthy old men were your type."
"Oh, I forgot to mention that? Sorry, Alejandro, you know how forgetful I get."
"Yeah." Alejandro darted forward to kiss him quickly. "I kinda like that about you."
"You like me forgetful? …What was that thing you just did?"
"What thing?"
"Well, gee, I forgot."
Alejandro kissed him again. "That?"
"I think that was it. Maybe you should do it again to make sure."
"Of course, I have to make sure," Alejandro agreed, and snaked an arm around Chris, pulling them closer together, and kissed again, though less quickly.
"That," Chris said after a minute, when they'd finally parted to catch their breath, "was it. You should keep doing it, though. Or else I might forget again."
"We wouldn't want that," Alejandro breathed, and they began to kiss again, the song lying forgotten on the floor where Chris dropped it as they sprawled over his bed.
Richard was on his way outside for a quick game of horse against CJ when he stopped abruptly, not sure if he was hearing things. He frowned and concentrated and there it was again—a muffled sob, someone crying hard somewhere in the house.
Which seemed odd, because the boys weren't really big on crying. And his mother's car was in the driveway, though she hadn't stopped to speak with him, not that he'd wanted her to.
The crying was coming from upstairs, and if it was his mom, she was probably in the office. He walked up the stairs and hesitated outside the door, and from the sound he could tell that yes, his mother was inside, and yes, she was crying fairly hard. Which made everything awkward—they hadn't spoken to each other in three days, and now this…
He stood there for a long minute, debating. She was an adult, she could take care of herself. But on the other hand, she was his mother and even when he was angry at her, he couldn't quite ignore that fact. And she did love him, even if she was insane; and he loved her, despite the fact that she was insane. It wasn't as though he was a bastion of sanity all the time, either.
He groaned under his breath and knocked on the door, then let himself in. She looked up, startled, and reached for a tissue immediately. She half-hid behind it, dabbing at her face, but he could see her mascara had run badly.
"Uh… Mom? Are you, um, okay?"
"Yes, I…" She took a deep breath and another tissue. "I'm sorry, I don't know what… what came over me. I just, I was…"
"What're you doing here?"
"I, I'm sorry. Your lawyer… he… wanted a copy of the contract again, I, I didn't have one at home, so… I just faxed…" She broke into another round of sobs and turned away from him. He sighed and walked in, sat lightly on the desk and handed her another tissue.
"Um, okay, no big deal. I mean… I just didn't know why you were here, was all. I don't mind…"
"Yes, you do," she answered, still crying. "You—you're just like Shawna, you don't need me, you don't even like me."
"What?" he asked.
"You spend all your time with her, of course you… no one needs mothers these days…"
"Mom? What are you talking about?"
"You must have known!" she yelled at him, and shoved a paper across the desk. He glanced down and saw it was Variety, which wasn't a surprise; it wasn't like his mother bothered with papers outside the industry.
Shawna was on the cover, in court. The headline read Lawsuit Du Jour: Shawna Vs. Mama.
"What the…"
He picked the paper up and skimmed the article. He'd known the Uptown Boyz had filed a lawsuit against Pulitizer, and now there was a third pop law case, but Shawna's management problems weren't just her record label. She was suing for legal independence from her mother, as she wouldn't be a legal adult for the next year.
"She didn't tell me about this," he said, stunned. "Why wouldn't she tell me?" He frowned, and decided to save that for later; it didn't matter right now. "Mom, what's… what's the big deal? Everyone knows Mrs. Rivers is insane, that she and Shawna hate each other."
"The big deal?" she scoffed. "Richard, the big deal is your girlfriend divorcing her mother and you hate me and you won't even admit it!"
It took him a few seconds to put that together. "Yeah, but… I'm not divorcing you."
"You will, you hate me."
He started to ask if she could blame him, then bit it back and sighed. It might be a valid point, but probably not the best one to make at the time. "I get pissed off at you a lot," he admitted finally. "But I don't hate you. Not really."
"You blame me for everything!"
"Well, a lot of it is your fault."
She started sobbing again, and he sighed.
"Mom, I mean… I can't lie…"
"What was so bad?" she moaned. "What did I do that was just so bad? Why do you hate me so much?"
"Jesus… Mom, I don't… I mean, okay, uh… I guess I just always feel like you pushed me too hard. I mean, like if I screwed up…" He shrugged. "All you ever worried about was my career."
"I wanted you to be successful!"
"And I am. Hey, look at that." He shrugged. "But you just… I mean, you were so obsessed with my career, with the show and then the other show and now this, you get so crazy… It's like you aren't even my mother anymore sometimes, just my manager."
"Why can't I just be both?"
"I dunno. 'Cause you can't." He winced as she let out another blast of a sob. "I know—I know you never meant to… do whatever it was that you did that made me so screwed up. But sometimes I just wished you would listen to me and what I wanted instead of… of worrying about my career."
"What did you want that I didn't do for you?" she demanded.
"It was what I didn't want!" he snapped back. "I never wanted to do KidsRock, ever. I only did it because…" He trailed off.
"Because why, if you hated it so much?"
"Because of you! Because I thought if I said I didn't want to do it, you…" He shrugged, uncomfortable and half-wishing he hadn't walked into the office after all. "I thought you'd be disappointed in me."
"Richard, all I ever wanted was to make you happy, you were so talented and I knew you'd be miserable without the business."
"I was miserable in the business, too. I mean—Jesus, you never asked me to begin with what I wanted to do. You couldn't have, I was two when you started auditioning me."
"But I knew—I really knew, Richard, you have to believe me. We made home videos when you were that little, and you always loved them, you used to ask me to record you. You started singing all on your own, too, along with your old records. Raffi."
"Well… Yeah, but… Lots of kids do that. Their moms don't put them on TV."
"I didn't want you to be a, an adult and look back and wonder why you never got a chance."
"Yeah, but—" He cut off. "This is ridiculous, Mom. You over-managed me, you didn't listen to me, you and Dad fought about every last thing I did and everything I didn't do, the whole country read about your divorce, and if you hadn't pushed me so hard I wouldn't have stayed on the show so long I had a nervous breakdown!"
She just sobbed for a minute, and Richard waited, then when she didn't say anything he stood up and started for the door.
"Richard—Richard, wait," she finally called, and he paused. "I just, I didn't know what to do. There were so many things I wanted for you, but I never wanted to hurt you, or, or make you unhappy or… or sick."
"Yeah, well…" He didn't know what to say.
"Things with your father were bad, and when you decided to live with him, I just didn't know what to do with myself. I just knew I'd… failed. As a mother."
"Mom, stop, I don't want to hear—"
"I'm sorry, Richard." She stared at him plaintively.
"Uh…" Now he was desperate for an escape; he knew how to fight with his mother, but make up with her was totally new. He floundered. "It, uh… I didn't mean it to be personal."
"And now this happens with Shawna, and I just know…"
"Mom, listen, okay? Shawna's mom… She's a whole different kind of… It's not that she pushed Shawna too hard, it's that she, uh, she… uh… Look, the point is, I'm not going to file for anything like that." He didn't mention the fact that he was eighteen, which made it irrelevant anyway. "I don't hate you, okay? I get frustrated but that's normal, it's about the only normal thing about me."
"Oh, Rich…"
"So, um, it's okay. Stop… stop crying. Please. Okay?"
She nodded and started in on the tissues again. "I'd like to help you with your… lawsuit. If you'd like me to."
"Well, uh.. The lawyers have it pretty well in hand. Hopefully it'll only be another couple days."
"Oh, I'm… I'm glad to hear that…"
"Well, look, uh, CJ's waiting for me outside, but, um, do you want to get dinner or something later? To, like… bond, or whatever."
She nodded. "I'd like that… a lot, actually."
"Yeah, me too… Okay, well, see you then." He hurried out of the room before his mother could decide to start crying again. He was pretty sure that getting someone to calm down and stop crying was a parent's job, not a kid's. He sighed. Mothers.