“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please, Mia, I’m crazy about you. I’m under a lot pressure and I need you on my side.”
I stared out the window without a response. When we pulled up to the studio, he ran around and opened my door, but I didn’t take his hand. I was surprised to see so many suits in the place. Live Wire was sending in the big guns to set Will straight and it looked like Frank was eyeballs deep in apologies when we walked in.
“What’s she doing here?” Will said to Frank, gesturing toward Sonja, who was sitting in the corner with her entourage
“Will, we need to talk. Let’s go outside.”
My stomach dropped. There was a doomsday atmosphere in the room; people barely acknowledged Will and I was definitely getting the stink eye from all directions.
Right outside the door, Frank grabbed Will by the shoulders, getting his full, undivided attention. “Listen to me closely.” He looked over at me and winked as if he had just noticed my presence. “Hey, Will’s Mia.” He abruptly put his attention back on Will. “Rady and some other execs from Live Wire are in the building. There are lawyers here; your lawyer is on his way.”
“I have a lawyer?” He was genuinely surprised. I tried my best to follow the conversation. I knew Rady was the A&R guy from Live Wire that Will avoided at all costs and I knew that Will was in hot water because of his lack of cooperation with the genius they hired to produce the song.
Supposedly Brent Blackton was this studio savant who had produced more hits than Jimmy Jam, but Will thought he was fake, in part because on the first day they met, Blackton asked what kind of music he played. He told me he his response was, “Christ, I’m fucked. You don’t know what kind of music I play. I play Swedish fucking folk music, get your goddam clogs.” Needless to say, Blackton wasn’t amused and first impressions can mean everything in the music business.
“They want you to sign the contract before they spend another dime on this song. Blackton wants Sonja to sing backup and the label is behind him one hundred percent.”
“No! No! No fucking way! You have to fight for me, Frank. That’s what you’re getting ten percent for.”
“I haven’t seen a dime, Will, and I won’t unless you sign this deal and cooperate with these people.”
“What happened to artistic freedom? I’m getting fucked!” He was screaming at that point. “You people are blowing me wide fucking open, you’re gonna make me sell my soul to the devil. I won’t, Frank, I won’t sell my soul.” Then he looked at me and pointed in my face. “I won’t!” Neurotic Will in full force.
“Calm down,” I said with authority. “I mean, who has final say? He hasn’t signed anything yet.”
“Listen, there’s a lot of hype about Will because of Sonja. The label wants to ride that wave.”
I could see Will splintering. He was on the cusp of making an irreversible and rash decision. “Give him one day. Ask the label if we can meet tomorrow. He’s been on a plane for five hours—let him sleep on it.” I smiled and shamelessly batted my eyelashes at Frank.
“It’s not up to me, sweetheart, but I’ll try.”
Frank left us outside. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I was dressed way too warm for Southern California, even for it being wintertime. “It’s freakin’ January and seventy-five degrees, what a joke.” I looked at Will, who was clearly experiencing some sort of cosmic mental breakdown. His face was flushed and then he shivered as he stared aimlessly at the ground. He was wearing black jeans, steel-toed boots, and a gray T-shirt over a black, long-sleeved thermal. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t roasting. When he crossed his arms and shivered again, I put my hand to his head.
“You have a fever.” I looked into his eyes, but he fixed his gaze on the empty parking space behind me.
His shoulders were slumped and his face defeated. “No, this happens when a man’s heart is ripped out of his chest and then kicked around by the people he trusts.”
I wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and put him in my pocket for safekeeping.
Just then Sonja sauntered out and threw her arm around Will’s shoulder. She glanced at me and smirked before addressing him. “Willie, what’s wrong? Are you mad?” Her speaking voice was shrill, nails on a chalkboard. I threw up in my mouth a little and then shook my head. Will kept his head down and ignored her. She wore a tight, pink lacy dress that left nothing to the imagination, but her shoes were what really got me. She had on white platform wedges that were at least twelve inches off the ground. The angle of her foot was so steep I thought she must have been double jointed or something. I gawked, wondering how it was even possible. Her short little body almost met Will’s at six feet tall.
“I think Will wants to be left alone.”