Moving right along.
“I just discovered these donuts this morning. I bought some for Naomi’s class, but I had a few extras and thought I’d make some more friends,” I chuckle. “We should really add them to our list of food vendors. I'd love to order their donuts for the next company team-building session.”
“Consider it done, Mr. Christensen.”
Sydney Holland-Mitchell is British. She doesn’t believe in the whole first name thing with her boss. She used to be a backup singer for British songwriter-guitarist—and smash hit-maker—Ed Chamberlain. She still sports her trademark short platinum spiked hair, but she’s now a mom of three and married to an American. She’s been in the US for six years. I nabbed her a few months before I started Ritual of Rhyme Records.
“Other than the contract, what else requires my immediate attention?”
Sydney picks the iPad up from her desk and goes down an impressive list.
Wow.
This deluge of information pisses on my mood.
“I thought I was going to be here for only a few hours, but it doesn't sound like it.”
“It's been crazy all morning, Mr. Christensen. I've barely had time to visit the loo.”
“Magnet Convoy is about to kick off their world tour,” I remind her. They’re a smash-hitting rock band under my label.
“That machine is turning into a beast.”
“And soon into a very profitable cash cow,” I say. “Why don't I get started with the contract and then I'll hit the other items on your list. Is Jonathan in a meeting?”
Jonathan Bowers is our senior copyright in-house lawyer and one of the sharpest in the industry. The man is a real pit bull when it comes to our intellectual properties. I love that about him.
“He's on standby. The second I received the contract from New York, I told him you were on your way.”
Ritual of Rhyme Records’ headquarters is in LA. I also have offices in New York and London.
“Excellent. Anything else?”
“Yes. You received four calls from industry magazines and websites. They want to interview you.”
“Wow. Already?”
“There’s a lot of excitement about next week,” she smiles.
“I’m honored.”
“You deserve it,” she praises.
“I’m proud of Vickie Sky, Misty Ace, Bryant Harris and Dillon Carter.” Those artists’ careers are on fire. They’re favorites for the StreamTunes Awards.
“Some insiders predict a landslide win for you and the label. Watch out, there’s a new kid in town!”
I laugh.
“Please. It could go either way,” I counter.
But, I hope it goes my way.
CHAPTER 6
Holt
Thank God Mrs. Talbot was on duty to pick up Naomi from school because it’s already seven thirty by the time I park the Range Rover in front of the house.
My cousin Jace, his older brother, Jagger and I are all single dads and we live in the same exclusive gated cul-de-sac community in Manhattan Beach. Since it's movie night for Mrs. Talbot, the kids and the Staffies, it's guys’ night out for us. Jagger has already dropped off his twelve-year-old daughter Bridgette with Mrs. Talbot. Bree is there now.
My cousins are waiting for me at our favorite neighborhood hangout place. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I head to Scran & Dram.
“Hey, Holt!” Jace waves me over.
I walk to the table in the corner—the same one we always sit at.
“Hey,” I greet Jace and Jagger. They’re already nursing a drink.
“Sorry I'm late,” I say, taking a seat.
“Long day?” Jagger asks.
“Aren't they all?” I say, rubbing my hands over my face.
After my meeting with Jonathan, I got stuck in a series of conference calls with the different directors responsible for rolling out a stellar world tour. All the pieces required to make this happen flawlessly is a real jigsaw puzzle. Although there's a part of me that just wants to roll under my covers and take full advantage of the fact I'm off daddy-duty, an evening out with my cousins is exactly what I need.
“Damn right,” Jace says.
“I hear you,” Jagger sympathizes. “At least I don’t have to deal with traffic.”
As one of the best songwriters in the industry, Jagger has the luxury of working almost exclusively from his home-studio.
“The trio is complete,” Bear says, approaching our table. “You made it.”
“As if there's any other way to kick off the weekend,” I tell him.
“Aye,” he chuckles. “What will ya have, Holt?”
“A Rusty Nail, please, Bear.”
“Do I bring you boys a pint of fresh lager?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” Jace says at the same time as Jagger says, “Thank you, buddy.”
Forty-three-year-old Bearnard Alistaire Wilson co-owns this place with his younger brother Clyde. Both are bona fide Scots who moved to LA as young adults. Their joint is a Scottish-slash-British pub & grill with a variety of whiskies, pub food favorites and a cigar terrace. They took over Bannockburn’s Hole from their father five years ago. Updating the crusty decor and mediocre menu was the right thing to do. Once they changed the lackluster name to a catchier one, business took off. Scran & Dram is perfect. Scran means grub and dram means a small drink of whiskey.
He’s back in no time. “Here you go, lands,” Bear says, handing us our drinks.
The three of us thank him before taking a long swig.
“Hey Bear, coming up here I noticed your competition is out of business,” I say, dropping my glass on the table in front of me.
“Aye. They shut down the operation three days ago. Bye-bye Uni Bar!”
Bear wasn't too pleased to see a new pub open three doors down from his eight months ago.
“I guess glitter beer didn’t fly,” I say.
“Along with the kale chips, tofu steaks and the yarrow root fries,” Jace adds.
“And let’s not forget their assortment of twenty-one yummy unicorn desserts for your enjoyment,” Bear mocks. “Fucking lame. I’d sooner have my cock chopped off before I serve that kind of rubbish.”
“Even Bree grew out of her rainbow phase,” Jagger interjects.
“Exactly. How daft can you be?” Bear says.
“As if there was something wrong with being a man?” Jace chimes in.
“Aye,” Bear points a commiserating finger at my cousin. “Thirty-something lads decide to open a pub to allow their immature mates to live out all their childhood dreams with rainbows, unicorns, glitter and sparkles? Hmph. Man up, will ya.”
“Rompers for men, beanie hats, man buns. It’s a new trend,” Jace says.
“Pish. Bloody wankers,” Bear shakes his head. “I blame this whole metrosexual movement for leading men astray.”
“The future is bleak,” Jagger jokes.
“Tell me about it. Menicures with nail polish? Why?”
Jagger and I chuckle at Bear’s disgusted expression.
“Fuck that. Fuck glitter beer and fuck unicorn frappuccinos!” Bear exclaims.