“Deep Hill Records? Are you shitting me? They’re one of the biggest labels out there,” I said, stopping my scavenger hunt in my medicine cabinet as Jose got all of my attention.
“No shit, Sherlock. Deep Hill is the big leagues. Pirate Records is great and all but they’re young. They’re still a starter company. They don’t have a lot in the way of reach or overall capital. Deep Hill, however, could launch your name into the universe. And they’re interested, Cole. Really fucking interested.”
I sat down heavily on the toilet seat and tried to get a breath. I couldn’t quite figure out what Jose was telling me.
“What do you mean they’re interested?” I asked, feeling like a total idiot.
“It means they want to see more from you. Just you. My man is a head A&R dude. He’s been in this industry since the late nineties. And he thinks you have something, Cole. He thinks you could be huge. He wants to talk to you about what Deep Hill could do for you. About working on an album.”
Jose’s words were going in one ear and out the other. I couldn’t grasp what he was telling me. It was all a little too much for me to take in right now.
I felt like death.
My friends had abandoned me.
My band was on the edge of total ruin.
And Jose was saying that a guy at Deep Hill Records thought I could be a star.
I was going to be sick.
“I’m gonna have to call you back,” I whispered, bile building up in the back of my throat.
“We need to talk about this now, Cole. My guy isn’t going to wait around forever. I know you have your sit down with Pirate next week. But you need to think long and hard about what you’re going to go in there and say. And if it were me, I’d say fuck it. Do what you have to do to get out of that contract. I’ve been reading over it and there are stipulations where you could be released without financial penalties. We need to talk about your strategy. Because I want to help you go beyond Generation Rejects. Cole, this is your chance to go all the way, man!”
I started to sweat.
The words terminate your contract and go beyond Generation Rejects buzzed in my ears. My stomach flipped over and I dropped the phone on the cold tile as I leaned over the toilet and retched.
Jose didn’t stay on the line after that. And I didn’t bother to call him back. I couldn’t handle his great ideas for my future right now.
I was so fucking confused.
When I thought it was safe to leave my bathroom, I headed out to my living room and sat down on my couch. I turned on the television and was annoyed to see only static.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered, getting up and going over to mess with the cable behind the TV.
After a few minutes and with no success, I called the cable company. It seemed that my cable had been shut off. Seemed I had forgotten to pay the bill while I was on the road.
Oops.
I threw the remote control on the couch and went into my kitchen. Opening the refrigerator had been a mistake. Something had obviously crawled in there and died. And my stomach went into immediate revolt.
I slammed the door of the fridge closed and debated the intelligence of grabbing my keys and making a run for it.
Because right now, my life was shit.
And I had been doing so well.
I needed to talk to the guys. But I was feeling obstinate. And ornery. And a lot scorned bitch.
I thought back to the first time we played all together at Barton’s. We had been awesome. We had just clicked. There was something that happened between the four of us when we played together.
It was hard to describe and even harder to understand until you experienced it.
Music is what had kept me sane. After my parents kicked me out and I started floundering, it gave me a fucking purpose. It gave me something to get invested in.