Moving Forward (Moving Neutral, Book Three) (22 page)

Chapter Fifty-One

It was painful to leave my cell phone behind, but I knew that going to lunch with a dead battery wasn’t going to do me much good. 

Tanner still hadn’t called, and I found myself wishing that I’d gone with him to the studio.  At least then I’d know what was going on.

It would have been worse for everyone
, I tried reassuring myself.  He obviously hadn’t called because they’d gone straight into recording our song.  If they’d hated it, he would have at least sent me a text. 
It had to be good news
, I reassured myself.

I showed up at the restaurant a few minutes early — thankfully, it was within walking distance of my hotel.  In future trips to Los Angeles, I’d have to f
igure out some way to rent a car — I’d spent half of this trip coordinating rides from Lauren and Tanner.

Future trips to Los Angeles
, I thought to myself.  Maybe that didn’t sound so bad.

“Casey,” I heard Zak’s voice behind me, and I turned around to face him.

The night that we’d met had been the last show of the Moving Neutral tour.  April hadn’t shown up for their final acoustic show, and after the band had almost cancelled the concert, I’d finally taken her place on stage.  After the show, a producer from Moving Neutral’s record label had given me his card — Zak.

It had been the best night of my life… and then the worst.  Only hours after the show, April had confronted me in front of a huge party full of people, and Blake had realized that I’d been lying to him all summer.

I bit my lip.  A few weeks later, when Blake had joined me at Columbia, I’d really thought that everything was fixed — that we were on track to our happy ever after ending.  But looking back, I wasn’t sure things had ever really gotten better after that night.  Maybe we’d just been on a low, slow slump ever since.

Zak’s card had been the last pure happy moment, before everything fell apart.

“So, what do you want?” he asked me, completely oblivious to all the memories that his face had sparked for me.  “The salads here are amazing.  Or pizza.  I can always go for pizza.”

I tried to push the thoughts of Blake out of my head.  “Pizza,” I smiled.  “Me too.  Pizza always sounds good.”

“Want to grab us a table and I’ll order?”

“Sure.” 

I looked around — the restaurant was packed, and I felt a few eyes lingering on me.  If they were just curious or actually recognized me, I wanted to find somewhere a little more private to have any sort of real conversation.

I walked out onto the patio and picked a table in a corner, a little bit away from the streets.  I wasn’t sure if the risk of paparazzi photos outweighed the risk of customers eavesdropping, but this seemed like the best choice.

Zak came outside a moment later, a plastic table number in his hand.

“Sorry this was so last minute,” he said, sitting down in the chair next to me.  “But I’m really glad the timing worked out.”

“Me too,” I smiled.  “Although…  I guess I’m a little confused.  I thought you didn’t work at Paragon anymore?”

“Yeah,” Zak smiled.  “Sorry, I guess I should have explained that better on the phone — honestly, I was so psyched to
finally get you, I kind of got ahead of myself.  I left Paragon this fall, but I’m working at Pink Acid Bunny Pop Records now.”

I smiled involuntarily.  “Nice name.”

“You’re not going to forget it anytime soon,” he grinned.  “They’re an indie label, so they don’t have the same name recognition as the Big Four.  They’re only a few years old, but they’ve been getting some real traction lately, and doing some interesting stuff.”

My ears perked up.

“Our approach is a little different,” he said, taking a sip of water.  “I worked at Paragon for five years, and they do great stuff there.  Honestly, if you want the chance at getting as big as possible as quickly as you can, they’re probably your best bet.  I assume they’ve talked to you too?”

I gave him a sheepish smile.  “They suggested I come in.”

“Of course they did.  So, they’re terrific, but like I said, we do things a little differently.  Right now, for you, you’ve got a brand that a lot of record labels are going to try to capitalize on.  And there’s nothing wrong with that — that’s how they make money, and so do you.  And they’re really good at taking that buzz and turning it—you—into the next big thing.”

I raised an eyebrow.  “But?”

“Exactly.  But here’s how they’re going to do it: they’re going to try to fit you into a little mold of someone who Makes It Big, you know?  Right now, you’re the YouTube star.  And they’re going to put you into their assembly line of web kids that turn into big stars, and suddenly, two years down the line, you’re Justin Bieber.  Best case scenario, that is, you’re Justin Bieber.”

I winced.  That didn’t exactly sound like a ‘best case’ to me.  “And the worst case scenario?”

“The worst case scenario is that you get shuttled into putting out a shitty record, excuse my language, that the label thinks will sell.  When everyone hates it, which they do a lot of the time, you’re dismissed as a viral sensation with no real talent, and your fifteen minutes are basically over.  You’ve had your chance, and no one’s going to give you another one.”

I gave him a half smile.  “Please, stop sugar-coating it.”

“Sorry — I can be a little blunt.  But sugar-coating it wouldn’t be in your best interest, seriously.  The big labels can promise you a lot of ears and a lot of money, but they can’t promise you success.”

“And you can?”

Zak snorted, looking at me with a smile in his eyes.  “Touché, Casey Snow.  No, I can’t.  No one can.  Anyone who tells you that is lying.”  He paused.  “But I can promise you time.  I can promise you the chance to make a record that you really love, and not just one they want to sell.  I thought you had a great voice when you sang with Moving Neutral, but now I think you can do more than that.  I think you’ve proved that already with Love’s Not Enough, but you’re in a tricky spot and there’s going to be a lot of people trying to take advantage of what you can do for them.”

A tall brunette waitress walked over to our table, carrying two pizzas.  “Do you guys need anything else?”

“Nah,” Zak said, taking a slice and lifting it onto his plate.  “Thanks,” he added as she turned to walk away.  “Anyways, that’s what I think.  If it were up to me, I’d want you to think really about the kind of music you want to make, and where you have to go if you want to be able to make it.  And I think that you could make some real, irrevocable mistakes if you don’t watch out for yourself.”

I
picked up a slice of pizza and bit down, thinking.  He’d made some interesting points, but I wasn’t sure if they really changed anything.

“All I do is sing,” I said, between bites.  “
I’m starting guitar lessons, but I won’t be good enough to record anything, not for a while.”

Zak nodded, unphased.  “So you work with a guitarist.”

“Blake won’t do it.” 

“I’m not looking for Blake,” he said, finishing his first slice.  “You’re sweating the details, when I want you to think big picture.  I’m not asking you to decide anything today.  You
can go home, go back to New York, think about it for a while.  I’m not a used car dealer — this offer isn’t going to go away if you take too long to figure out what you want to do.”  He smiled, shrugging his shoulders.  “I mean, don’t call me in ten years, but you know what I’m saying.”

“Thanks,” I said, setting the crust down on the plate.  “This has been really… really helpful, actually.”

“I thought it might be.”  Zak reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, setting it down on the table in front of me.  “Here’s my new contact info.  That way it won’t take me three weeks to get the message.”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling again.  “So hopefully we’ll talk soon?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” he grinned.  “Like I said, no rush.”             

Chapter
Fifty-Two

I walked along the beach back to the hotel, even though it was a little bit out of the way — I figured I ought to enjoy the California sunshine for as long as I could, before heading back to the freezing, snowy New York winter.

I had a little time before I had to get ready for drinks with Tanner’s agents, but I was dying to get back and check my phone for news about the song. 
Tanner had to have to have told me something by now.

As I walked into the lobby of the hotel, it seemed to be even busier than usual.  A line of people stood by the desk to check in, and I spotted a television star from a show Madison and I used to watch having coffee with a man in a suit in one of the corners of the room. 

“Miss Snow—” A voice cut through the room.  The concierge who’d taken me up to my room when I checked in was walking across the lobby towards me, a black headset attached to his ear.

“Hi,” I said,
racking my brain for his name and coming up with nothing.

He caught up to me within seconds,
looking at me as though he thought I was expecting him.  “The car that’s here for you is parked outside, but if you’d like, I can have the driver come around the back exit.  It’s been here for over an hour.” 

I stared back at him blankly.  “There’s a car for me?”

“Right out front.  Would you like me to show you?”  He gestured with one hand towards the front of the hotel.

“
Yeah, um—” I racked my mind, wondering what appointment I could have forgotten.  Lauren would have texted me if I’d had something to do this afternoon.

I blanched.  She would have, but my phone had been locked in my room upstairs. 

I looked at the concierge meekly.  “Do you know what it’s for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t,” he looked at me sympathetically.  “Discretion is sometimes
… well, it’s highly valued by many of our clients.”

“Sure,” I murmured, glancing away from him and at the elevators.  “Listen, I just—” I debated running up to my room to grab my phone, but I figured I was better off figuring out what appointment I was running an hour late for first.  “Nevermind,” I sighed.  “Can you show me where it is?”

I followed him through the crowded lobby and back outside. 

Sure enough, a black town
car was parked outside the hotel, with a sign for my name in the window.

I glanced around, but there didn’t seem to be any photographers, which was a relief. 

“Thanks,” I said to the concierge.  “I can take it from here.  Sorry about the wait.”

I went around to the driver’s side of the car and motioned for him to roll down the window.

“I’m sorry,” I said, thinking about him waiting for me for an hour.  “I think we had a little bit of a miscommunication.  No one told me you were coming.”

“No problem,” he said, shrugging.  “Hey, I get paid to drive or to wait, so whatever you do is okay with me.  They told me
to stay, so I stayed.”

I raised an eyebrow.  “Who told you?”

He looked down at a notepad that was sitting in the passenger’s seat.  “My dispatcher,” he said curtly.  “I’m supposed to take you to Black Cat Recording?”

I recognized the name of the studio where Moving Neutral was recording.  I looked at the driver, completely confused.  “You are?”

“I am.”

Had Tanner sent a car to take me to the studio?  It was the opposite of what we’d planned to do
— we wanted to wait until after the band had fallen in love with the song before telling them that I’d had anything to do with it.

But maybe it had gone better than I’d imagined — I let a small, hopeful smile spread across my face.  Maybe they’d loved the song so much that it was already a done deal.  Maybe Tanner wanted me to come so we could celebrate. 

“Okay,” I said, opening the backseat door and climbing in.  “Let’s go.”

For once, Los Angeles traffic wasn’t an epic disaster.  About twenty minutes after leaving the hotel, the driver pulled up in front of a huge industrial-looking building and stopped.  I glanced out, and saw about a dozen people milling around outside. 

“You’ll have to sign for this,” he said, passing me a clipboard over his shoulder.  “And initial for the wait time.”

Sorry, Tanner
, I thought to myself, as I initialed the line that said the driver had been waiting for sixty-five minutes. 

As I stepped out of the car, flashbulbs exploded in front of me.  Almost every single one of the people standing outside had a camera, and before I could make it to the door, they’d swarmed around me.

“What are you doing here, Casey?”

I tried not to smirk. 
It’d be nice if I knew
, I answered the question in my head.

“Are you recording with Moving Neutral?”

“Are you joining the band?”

“Where’s Blake?”

I sighed, not answering anything and walking the few steps to the building’s door as quickly as I could.  I heard a string of click-click-click-click-click as each camera captured me pulling open the door, and then I was inside and it was over.

The lobby was bright and airy, with sunlight streaming through windows that stretched two stories high.  The floors were polished concrete, and I walked across the room to the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi,” I said.  “I’m Casey Snow, do you know where I’m supposed to go?”

Her eyes flickered with recognition, and her hand snapped to the phone, dialing an
extension by heart.  Lifting one finger, she gestured for me to wait.

“Hey, Casey Snow is here.  Should I send her in?”  She paused.  “Okay.”  She set the receiver back in its place and smiled brightly at me.  “They’re coming out to get you.  You can have a seat out here.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, trying not to look confused. 
Who
was coming out to get me?

A moment later, a skinny guy in his twenties in dark-rimmed glasses
rushed into the lobby, followed by two cameramen.  I recognized him from the airport, when Tanner had picked me up.

“Hey, Casey, thanks for coming,”
he said, leading me over to a couch on the far side of the waiting room. 

“No problem,” I said warily, looking over his shoulder for Tanner or Sophie. 
“Is Tanner here?”

“He’s inside,” the guy assured me.  I tried to remember his name, but I was pretty sure he’d never told me.  “The thing is, they’re shooting in there, so we’ve got to get you mic-ed up before you can go in.  Is that okay?”

I hesitated.  I didn’t have any interest in winding up a recurring presence on the reality show.  On the other hand, I realized I didn’t have much of a choice. 

If I wanted to know what was going on, I was going to have to agree.

“Yeah,” I said, holding out my hand.  “Let’s just do it quickly, okay?”

The guy looked thrilled that I wasn’t putting up a fight, and
something in his expression made me a little nervous.  I took the lavalier from one of the cameramen and slipped it under my shirt, clipping it into place. 

“You’re getting good at that,” he said, smiling nervously, as though his mind was on something else.

“Don’t remind me,” I said, standing up and smoothing out my clothes.  “Here goes nothing.”