A Song For Julia Part 31

Boris looked at her and made an offer of more money than I'd ever seen in my life.

Holy s.h.i.+t.

She pushed. For just a second, I almost blurted out We'll take it! Because she calmly, and with a straight face, doubled the figures he'd offered.

Boris frowned. "If we do that, I want an exclusive option on the next two alb.u.ms."

"What happens if you don't take them?"

"We make the contract three years. Renewable if both sides agree. Exclusive. And if we don't take additional alb.u.ms, then we cut you loose at the end of the three years."

"Okay," she said. "What's the budget on future alb.u.ms?"

"Depends on sales with the first. I've got standard language, but bottom line is, if you want more than the initial budget, then your alb.u.m needs to earn out plus two hundred percent."

Boris looked at me. "Crank, you got anything to add?"

I shook my head, still trying to get my thumping heart calmed down. "I think she's got this under control."

"Smart guy."

Julia grinned. "I think we have a deal?"

Boris reached over and shook her hand, and I fought to keep myself from freaking out. Because right here in this office, everything I'd ever dreamed of just came true. I don't know how she did it. I don't even care how she did it. All I knew was that right that second, I wanted to jump up and down and scream my heart out.

You two are cute (Julia) I was in a daze by the time we left Boris's office.

After the meeting was over, Allen and Crank sat talking music, while I sat down with Boris's a.s.sistant. She wrote up the terms we'd agreed on, inserting the numbers in their standard contract. I read it over carefully and then signed on behalf of the band. And just like that, Morbid Obesity was signed with a major label.

As I signed the contract, I made a decision. I wasn't going back. I wasn't going to graduate school, unless it was later, on my own terms. No Foreign Service, no law school, none of the things my parents were pus.h.i.+ng. Instead, I was going to manage this band, through the tour and afterwards. This was my job now and going forward.

Now, how to make it turn a profit. As we all shook hands, and Crank and I walked out the door of the office, me carrying the contract and a huge check, my mind was turning to a host of questions. Merchandising, t-s.h.i.+rts, websites. But that didn't last, because the moment we stepped into the elevator, Crank let out a yell, then grabbed me and started kissing me. I forgot the contract and the check and wrapped my arms around him.

"I can't believe it," he said.

"I can't either."

Then we were kissing and all talk was forgotten, until the doors opened and a guy in a suit stepped into the elevator and muttered, "Get a room."

"That's a great idea," Crank said.

I burst into laughter. But I also felt my stomach tighten, warmth flooding my body. Maybe that really was a great idea. But we only had three hours before we had to be back at the airport. I stepped close to Crank as the elevator started moving again and whispered, "Soon."

He grinned and put his arm around my waist. And we started laughing again. And then I said, "I've made my decision."

"About?"

"Grad school ... career ... all that."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh? What did you decide?"

"I think I'm going to manage Morbid Obesity. Full time."

The elevator came to a stop at the ground floor, and he said in a near growl, "You know how to tell a guy what he wants to hear."

I winked at him. "Time for you to get going writing some new songs, buddy. We've got an alb.u.m to record."

He laughed, and we walked out onto the street. He turned toward me and pulled me close, and said, "And what about us?" He was looking at my eyes as he said the words, and what I wanted to say was this: I'm yours. I wanted to tell him I was as committed to him as I was to the band, to our future together. I wanted to tell him ... that I loved him.

I wasn't ready for that. I looked back, feeling like his eyes were looking right into my soul. "I'm ready to take some risks," I said. That was as far as I could go.

"We'll take them together," he replied. "Take your time, Julia. I know you're not ready to commit yet. But I need you to know: I want you in my life. Not just with the band, not hanging out with my family. I want you."

I was trembling. My whole body responded-my nipples tightening under my bra, my body flus.h.i.+ng. I didn't know how to answer that. I didn't even know how to think about that. But my body seemed to know what it thought, whatever my brain was doing. Because my body was yielding to his words, pus.h.i.+ng me closer in a way that was almost impossible to resist.

"I don't know how to answer that," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I can't even think about all that."

"You don't have to answer, Julia." His voice felt like a caress. "But if you aren't going to let me take you to a room right this second and have wild s.e.x, then we better go eat. Because I'm so hungry right now I could scream."

I don't think he meant he was hungry for breakfast. But for today, in Los Angeles, that was all he was going to get. That was all I was going to get, and right now, I wanted so much more.

So we walked, and we found a diner, and sat down and ordered. And brainstormed a schedule, to write and record the alb.u.m, by the end of January, so it would be released in time for the summer tour. We talked websites and building a permanent fan base beyond the local Boston music scene. It was time to turn things up a notch, and now we had the resources to do it.

We were riding high on dreams, and for now, that was enough.

As we were finis.h.i.+ng breakfast, he said, "The rest of the band is going to freak. None of us expected more than a single."

"What do you think they'll say?"

He chuckled. "Serena told me to be nice to you."

"She what?"

"She said something along the lines of ... I'm a hollow man. And that I needed to watch out and not screw up. Because you deserve better than what I usually offer."

I don't know why, but I found the idea of Serena and Crank discussing me ... disturbing. "How close are you and Serena?" I asked.

He looked at me a little sideways. "We're close friends. But not like that."

"That's not what I meant." Yes, it was.

"What did you mean?"

"I'm just curious," I said, lying. "I don't know the rest of the band that well."

"Well ... Mark's from Somerville. We met hanging out in the Pit, four, maybe five years ago. We used to get drunk in the cemetery."

"Really?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah. That's like a right of pa.s.sage where I come from."

"So you guys have been friends a long time."

"I wouldn't say that ... we beat the c.r.a.p out of each other the first time we met. It was over a girl. She took off with me, and he didn't like it."

"Ouch," I said.

"Yeah. Well, I was a real a.s.shole. But he got over it, and we got to be friends. And we started the band together. Good times back then. We'd set up just ... wherever, until the cops came and kicked us out. Dad would get completely bulls.h.i.+t, because I'd get in trouble, cops would pick me up, and then they'd call him. Embarra.s.sing for a cop to have his kid in so much trouble all the time."

"I like your dad."

Crank smiled. "I'm glad. He's a great dad. To be honest, I wors.h.i.+p the ground he walks on. Even though we've spent half my life fighting. I just wish he didn't have to go to Kuwait. That's utter bulls.h.i.+t."

I sighed. "It just occurred to me-what happens with Sean? When we go on the tour?"

He played with his fork for a second. "We bring him with us. He'll be fine. I bet he'll love the travel, he's never been out of Boston."

That would be a ... challenge.

"You don't think it'll be too hard on him? He doesn't deal with change very well."

"There's going to be change no matter what we do with Dad gone. And ... even if my mom moves home, I don't know that she's ready to spend a summer with just the two of them."

Maybe he was right. It wasn't my place to say. But I had the feeling Sean and his mother might both have other ideas.

After breakfast, we still had time to kill, but not enough to do what we both obviously wanted. So we walked around talking, simply enjoying each other's company, in what was to us, unseasonable warmth and suns.h.i.+ne.

I could so see living in LA.

Finally, we waved down a cab and headed back out to the airport, then went through the whole routine: checking in, going through security, then finding our way to the gate and waiting. We had about an hour to go and got into a conversation about music. Who liked what. Which bands were the most groundbreaking. He was very focused on the eclectic pseudo punk around Boston. I'm a little more broad ranging in my taste, so our conversation tended to wander all over the place.

He was staring at me in shock, saying, "No way can you like them," when the announcement came over the intercom. Our flight was cancelled.

We made it to the desk first in line. We argued, pleaded, begged, but there weren't any more flights back east that night.

"All we can do is book you in a hotel for the night," the attendant said. "We'll shuttle you there, and then back in the morning. You can catch the first flight back in the morning."

Not much choice. I didn't even have a change of clothes. Yuck. I nodded.

"You're traveling together? One room or two?"

"One," Crank said, exactly when I said, "Two."

The attendant's mouth quirked up in a faint smile.

Crank spoke. "Whatever she wants. Two rooms are fine."

d.a.m.n it. "We'll take one," I said, grinding my teeth.

"One room it is," she said, typing in her computer. She was grinning now.

I gave Crank a dirty look. He winked at me.

"You two are cute," the attendant said.

Great. She thinks we're cute.

"Well then ... okay. I've got you booked in the airport Sheraton. Let me print this out, and you can catch the shuttle near the baggage claim. Just follow the signs. Your departing flight is tomorrow morning at ten A.M."

That would put us back into Logan at ten at night. Which would put me behind in school, because I had a paper to write. d.a.m.n it. I guess I could write it on the plane tomorrow.

A moment later, she handed Crank the reservation for the hotel room, and we were off.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

She might not (Crank) I'm such a frickin' idiot. It's not like I hadn't been making lewd s.e.xual advances to Julia all day long. I didn't think there was a chance in h.e.l.l of her taking me up on it. But here we were, on our way to the hotel in the shuttle, and we were sharing a room, and she was leaning against me in a way that meant only one thing, and I didn't have any condoms.

I repeat: I'm such a frickin' idiot.

It had officially been something like six weeks since I'd had s.e.x, not counting our almost there moment in her room a couple weeks ago. Which was awesome, but, seriously. I was like a blus.h.i.+ng virgin at this point.

Now that I thought about it, the last time I'd had s.e.x was the night before I met Julia.

I'm not one to puzzle over great mysteries, or what it all means, or mental m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e myself into a big tizzy wondering where my life is headed. But even I had to admit-somehow I'd fallen into a monogamous relations.h.i.+p. With a woman who couldn't, or wouldn't, commit. And who hadn't had s.e.x with me yet. Although, I knew it was going to be hot. Christ, just a kiss from her sent me over the edge, touching her made me crazy, and the one time we'd played around in bed had filled my dreams every night since.

The shuttle pulled up to the door of the Sheraton, and we got out, trudging into the hotel. Both of us were exhausted. It was eleven o'clock, which meant it was two in the morning back in Boston. We'd been up almost twenty-four hours. Or she had, anyway ... I'd slept in to a lazy four A.M. before Serena woke me up by throwing Mark's basketball at me. But I wasn't too tired for this. That wasn't even possible.

So when we finished checking in, I said, "I need to buy uh ... a pack of smokes. Meet you up in the room?"

She leaned against me for just a second and kissed me. "Okay. See you up there." I waited with her at the elevator, and the moment she got in and the doors closed, I raced back to the front desk. "Is the gift shop still open?" I asked, urgently.

The woman at the desk, who looked like she knew what I was up to, pointed me in the right direction.

A woman in her sixties was switching out the neon "Gifts" sign.

"Wait!" I called out, running to her.

"Sorry, I'm closing now."

"Please? I'm desperate." I tried my father's smile. It usually worked wonders with the ladies.

"Well ... if it's desperate, I suppose ..."