All Yesterday's Parties (Chapter 51)

Aster hesitantly raised her eyes to the man, who immediately looked back down at her.

His joyfully pursed lips then burst into a sneer of delight, beaming.

“There's my band!” he growled, devouring them with his gaze. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you meet with us— God knows how many others were probably trying to do the same!” he exclaimed, and reached out to shake Aster's hand, who was immediately before him.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, receiving Aster's limp and cold hand within his strong grasp. She frowned, became embarrassed, and said nothing before he proceeded down the line to personally greet each member of the group.

Aster was struck by the genteel way with which the man carried himself. He spoke with a smooth cadence— confident, which reflexively brought out a defensive hostility in Aster. He reminded her much of what she had seen out of her parents' friends when she was younger.

In keeping with these scrupulous manners was an appearance painstakingly freed of blemishes— she tried to spot the slightest hint of disorder upon his meticulously organized desk or  the slightest wrinkle in his virgin midnight sky suit, but she found  nothing.

Satisfied with introductions, Neil took a seat before the group, reclining.

“Now, shall we get into it?” he asked excitedly. “Where shall we start first?”

Floyd looked around the group with an uneasy expression. They shared his apprehension and told him with their looks to go forward.

“The producer,” he said hesitantly.

Neil Applegate smiled.

“Yes! Which of them caught your eye?” he responded enthusiastically, looking at Floyd.

“Well, erm— we'd like to go with somebody not on the list.”

Neil sat up.

“Somebody not on the list?” he repeated, disbelievingly.

Floyd swallowed nervously and nodded.

Neil thumbed through the contract to the handwritten page detailing the producers' names, pointing demonstrably.

“These are the best producers in Cherryaire,” he responded, now surveying the group. “Is there something wrong with them?”

“No, not at all! They're all wonderful!” Floyd warbled. “It's just— we have our own personal preference for somebody not on the list. We'd like to be able to work with him.”

“Hey, I never said anything about liking him!” Marion grumbled.

“Okay, and who is your choice?” Neil replied with a hint of irritation, side-eyeing Marion.

“Vincent Theodora,” Floyd replied, smiling.

Neil did not immediately respond. He clasped his hands together, looking incredulously at them.

“The funny tunes guy?” he suddenly chortled. Seeing that they were not joking, his smile turned into a nervous expression of annoyance.

“Come on!” he exclaimed, waving his hand across the list of names on the desk. “There's gotta be somebody else in here you'd be fine with. These are top-rate guys—these guys make hits!” he said, gesturing yet more wildly with his hands. “They know our studios, too. I mean, you have to understand I'm not exactly eager to let an outsider work with our equipment— these are state-of-the-art facilities.”

I bet this fucker's never even been in a studio, Aster thought to herself.

“Then we'll record at his studio,” she countered.

Neil set his stern eyes upon her, his smile returning with none of the warmth which preceded it.

“That doesn't solve the problem, Miss! You see, we use the equipment we use because it sounds good. It isn't all the same, even though I can see how you'd think that— it's all very complicated technology.”

His smirk furrowed proudly as he congratulated himself on putting the girl in her place, though quickly faded as he noticed the entire group had gone silent. A sober look was painted across their faces, and their eyes were drawn to the girl with the large eyebrows sitting before him.

A look of rage unlike he had ever seen burned in her eyes.

Neil, taken aback, choked and sat forward in his seat, adopting a more reserved posture.

“I just want the best for you—”

“I know how studios work,” Aster barked, cutting him off.

Cecil dropped his face into his hands.

“Cherry Lane Studios are using a Studer J37, what about you?”

Neil creased his brow and looked to the others. He could not tell if this was some elaborate joke, but had no intention of laughing all the same.

“I'm not exactly sure about the model—”

“It's at least a two-track, right? What about reverb patches? Chamber or plate? Stone or ceramic?”

“Miss, I'm not an engineer, I just—”

“And you just assumed I wasn't either?” she growled.

Neil looked upon the girl in bewilderment. Her face, twisted in a scowl, held a seriousness he seldom saw in the people that passed through his office. That she was a woman, especially one as apparently knowledgeable as she, only served to deepen his surprise.

He clenched his teeth and inhaled deeply.

“I assure you that Cherry Lane Studios cannot compare to our facilities. You are free to discuss with our engineers all you like— I'm sure they can put your worries to rest. As for your request, it's simply a matter of procedure. We prefer to have our artists record within our facilities.”

Aster at that moment was taken by a near blinding impulse to tell Neil to “go fuck himself,” but bit her tongue and considered the situation.

She could not describe just how long she had fantasized about this moment— the experience of actually negotiating a record contract. She had long thought of what she would do, just what she would say when she finally managed to reach that point.

The variations were numerous, but they all shared one common aspect, and that was that Aster only ever envisioned that she would be strong— she would not be fucked over like those in countless stories she had read.

Therefore, when she sensed weakness, she struck.

“I guess we'll have to see what Magnolia Haus has to offer, then,” Aster replied coldly, beginning to rise.

As expected, all of the blood rushed out of Neil Applegate's face.

Aster was more than aware that Kyrietone and Magnolia Haus were rivals, and that Kyrietone would be desperate to get an edge on their rival— whose roster included both Johnny Vallerie and Godiva.

Floyd was beside himself, hollering for Aster to reconsider, as the rest of the band looked amongst themselves in confusion.

Neil struggled to keep his composure.

“Fine, fine! Don't be so hasty! Please!” Neil interjected, motioning desperately for Aster to sit back down. “We can make something work. I'll have one of our engineers come around and inspect the place— see if it's up to our standards. But are you sure there isn't another producer you'd be interested in? Ronnie Rickets, perhaps?”

Marion uttered a wordless gasp and turned to Aster with the beseeching eyes of a child eyeing something in a store window.

“Vincent Theodora, or we leave,” she demanded.

Marion hung his head.

“Okay, Vincent Theodora it is,” he said as Mareby-Roquefort noted it in the contract.

Neil, shaken by the unexpected maneuvering, fell back into his seat a shadow of the looming presence he had entered as.

He set his eyes upon Aster, who now did not avoid his, sparing no effort to mask his disdain.

Aster, raking Neil on the coals of her orange eyes, did the same.

“For the next matter then,” he started, clearing his throat. “Royalties. What would you consider a fair percentage?”

Aster looked about the room, finding herself suddenly without answer. Her commanding presence faltered as she realized her bandmates had as little apparent understanding of the subject as she did.

“I don't know, a million?” Marion put in with little conviction.

“What does that even mean?” Cecil interjected, looking wildly at Marion.

“Cherry-O's sponsorship!” screamed Sylvia.

Suddenly, the rap of a cane echoed throughout the room and stole their attention.

Floyd had risen from his seat, standing resolutely before Neil's desk.

“Sixty percent of all sales.”

Neil's eyes went wide.

“You've gotta be kidding,” he stammered, lurching forward in his chair.

“I think the band has more than earned it, if their 'buzz' is anything to go by,” Floyd countered coyly.

Neil scoffed.

“I don't offer anything that high to our best selling artists! There's no way I can get approval for that!”

“Then I guess we're going,” Aster parried.

Neil grit his teeth, and looked furiously upon Aster.

“Fifty percent.”

“Fifty-five,” Aster replied.

“Fifty-two,” Neil countered.

A moment of silence separated the parties.

Aster held Neil under a watchful gaze, and noticed a bead of sweat trailing his forehead. She found a certain thrill in untidying him.

At last, Floyd stuck out his arm, offering a handshake.

“Fifty-two,” he repeated, shaking Neil's arm.

The band lit up at this and embraced, though they could scarcely comprehend what the financial significance of the deal they had just made was.

A tiny notion of what it might entail shot through each of their brains, as the idea of financial security and perhaps even riches twinkled in a teasing fashion like murky diamonds in the distance, but the concept of their music making any sort of profit was still far out of their minds.

Floyd and Mareby-Roquefort however were rejoicing, red in the face with excitement. Floyd warbled and screamed as the two men clasped hands together in celebration and embraced.

Neil Applegate watched the entire scene with a look of total disgust only just barely masked by a paper thin smile which attempted to filter his hatred into an expression of happiness for them.

Yet, he held the smile for all he was worth, for his stomach tickled with excitement in what lay at the end of his pain.

Swatting through their mist of happiness, he was quick to discuss the next several points, which included various topics such as ownership of master tapes, percent of merchandise profits, tax havens, and creative control, all of which were won in Aster's favor, before at last— holding himself by the final strands of his restraint— he presented before the group the final contract.

The terms had been notated by Mareby-Roquefort, and now sat with its blank signatory section, awaiting the names of all.

Aster reached for a pen and felt her fingers tremble as she grabbed it.

She raised it above that object which represented the blossoming of all her goals.

That sheet of paper, despite its infinitely mundane and dull form, represented a hitherto impossible, brilliant and shining hope.

As her hand drew nearer, she felt her nerve endings buzz in pure bliss. Her hair stood on end as the teasing dance between hand and paper influenced every idea of happiness within her to its fever pitch.

Her pen hit the paper, and she wrote.

A genuine smile once more returned to Neil's lips.

“I would like to personally welcome you to Kyrietone Records,” he congratulated, extending his hand out to Aster.

Aster received it, and grasped firmly.

Neil's eyes watched her, his smile seeming to grow the more he held her in his gaze.

She scowled and let go.

“Now, shall we get started with a release plan?” he said with great joy, returning to his seat. “There's not a second to waste.”

The band looked amongst each other, and then nodded.

“Good! I assume you have other songs written, correct?”

Aster nodded.

“Spectacular! The first album is coming out next month.”

The band stared at him blankly.

“Next... month?” Cecil said disbelievingly.

“Yes, next month,” Neil repeated matter-of-factly. “Your hype is at its peak right now, and we need to capitalize on it accordingly.”

“That's not enough time at all!” Aster exclaimed, in disbelief at the utter stupidity of his demands. “I want a proper ad campaign.”

“Don't worry yourself about particulars like that. You'll be fine if you just keep making headlines. You know, do your funny stuff.”

Aster's eyes sparkled with fury

“We need more time!” she growled.

Neil shook his head.

“No. We need it on shelves by Valentine's Day. Any longer and we risk losing momentum to Godiva.”

“Valentine's Day?” Marion groaned.

“Yes, you are the Love You Forevers, are you not? We can't just pass up a tie-in like that.”

Marion, mouth agape, began to rise.

“Just think of it,” Neil interjected, motioning him down. “It's perfect. Chocolate tie-ins, valentine cards with the album. And of course, you'll need to make sure they're all love songs.”

“You gotta be  kidding me!” Marion replied. “I'm not doing an album of love songs! I mean, ballads? My men are gonna be listening, man!”

“How are you even going to get the album produced that quickly?” Cecil argued, watching as Marion slouched over in his seat.

“We can rush the presses,” Neil answered simply. “Take a day to record it and we can get it done in no time.”

“A day?” Cecil exclaimed, wide-eyed. “There's no way, man! It's not happening.”

“It will happen— next week. What was the place you mentioned? Cherry Lane Studios? I'll have a session booked for next Monday.”

“I have classes starting!” Sylvia peeped in worry.

Amidst the chorus of objections from her bandmates, a sentiment arose within Aster's mind— a sadistic excitement, aroused by the tantalizing thought of being the class of songwriter who could handle such a seemingly impossible hurdle.

The very prospect of it hummed within her, and she salivated at the chance to walk within the footsteps of her idols.

"We can do it," Aster blurted out, drawing Cecil's dumbfounded eyes.

Neil turned to her, and looked like he had set his eyes upon the sun, so brightly did he radiate in joy at her answer.

“That's what I want to hear!” he exclaimed electrically. “It can be done! It will be done! If we pull together as a team—”

He rose before his desk, triumphantly snatching the contract.

“—There's no limit to what we can do.”

“You heard the man!” Floyd exclaimed, himself rising.

“Aster, what the fuck are you doing?” Cecil hissed to her. “You saw the contract— the advance is nine-thousand dollars. How are we going to pay that back if we can't record in time?”

“I have the songs!” she spat back under her breath.

“And by the way,” Neil said, stopping as he made his way to the doorway. “Fantastic show with the Cherubs last weekend. Our scout was out there and he couldn't stop raving about you. It's ironic that you ended up being our pick over them.”

“What do you mean?” Aster said, her eyes going wide.

“We were in talks to sign the Cherubs,” Neil answered nonchalantly. “But that all changed with that show. Just bittersweet, is all.”

He looked at Aster, who wore a melancholic look of devastation.

“Chin up, kid. It wasn't you.”