I pan the camera across the floor, taking in so many people whose faces I’ve only ever seen on TV. That’s when I notice Carla, her proud face beaming up at her dad, her blonde curls glossy and bouncy. She looks as beautiful as she did the first time I met her.
Like Carla, Adam and Leon are drinking in every word Merksworth is saying.
Only Tarek looks upset.
I reach out my hand to stroke his back. He jumps at my touch then softens when he notices it’s me. His mouth twists, lips pursing, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
13. TAREK
WHEN I LOOK AT THAT creep Merksworth, I like to imagine him consumed by fire. A couple of flickers licking up the legs of his pants, before it spreads across all fibers to every article of clothing he’s wearing, until his suit is one giant fireball and he burns alive inside it.
I don’t say this maliciously.
I don’t say it at all.
I don’t admit anything.
I don’t even use the word “admit.”
There is nothing to admit.
I just want him to die.
Kat continues to stroke my back and I lean gratefully into her touch. It’s like magic, grounding me to reality, not vengeance-filled fantasies in which he plays the starring role.
I can’t even focus on what he’s saying — not that I’d want to — because it’s like listening to nails on chalkboard, but screechier.
Finally, the harshness in my ears stops, replaced by a gradual sort of applause, and dimly I feel myself resurfacing, becoming hyper-aware of my surroundings. When he leaves the stage, I breathe for what feels like the first time in hours.
“He’s the president of MCM and IPA,” Kat says over the clapping.
“Yeah,” says Seth, his applause as lackluster as I feel. “Busy man.”
“But...” Kat looks confused. “Your nomination.” She proceeds hesitantly, as though she doesn’t want to offend. “Aren’t you worried he bought your way onto the list? Influenced others?”
There is a moment’s silence at this but Leon shrugs. “It’s not exactly a secret he’s president of both. There’ll be other bands he manages that are on the list, too.”
However, Conor looks pretty desolate. “I guess the Phonies are as phony as their name suggests.” I don’t think he’d made the connection. I know people think I’m not the brightest bulb in the... pack... or whatever bulbs come in. But Conor is more ignorance-is-bliss when it comes to the behind-the-scenes stuff. He just wants to sing and make people happy, you know? I guess we all do. None of this behind-the-scenes politics is our bag.
Most of our bags.
“It’s not phony, exactly,” Leon says patiently. “It’s just how it works.”
“It’s still shit,” I say, taking a large gulp from my glass of mineral water. Why does Leon always try to pretty up all this crap? We don’t know if we’re legitimately talented or bought and sold, though at this point I think even I could hazard a guess.
Adam looks at me and murmurs, “You have to play the game if you want to get anywhere.”
My heart constricts, recognizing that expression all too well.
“A game based on the whims of some billionaire president, no thanks,” Conor snaps.
Kat’s eyebrows raise. “He’s a billionaire? Him?”
I get what she means. You could kind of picture him anywhere. He’s not manicured or memorable, just faceless and... there. Always there.
Adam rolls his eyes. “He’s the head of the biggest worldwide music conglomerate. What do you think?”
“I think billionaires ought not to be trusted,” she replies in a cold voice, and I find myself agreeing with her entirely.
“It’s not about trust,” Adam says, agitated. “It’s about—”
“Getting what you want from them,” Leon finishes. Adam doesn’t argue or add anything different, staying silent.
Kat frowns.
It must sound harsh, because Leon adds, “They have the resources and the ability and the connections to influence the world and your world. Drastically. It’d be foolish not to utilize what they have.”
Adam nods in agreement.
Seth and Conor are staying out of this. I don’t blame them. Leon and Adam fighting to come on top of Band Management class is always an invigorating lesson in how not to be an asshole.
“Boy, I’ve never met a billionaire who wasn’t a bad ‘un,” Conor drawls, like he can’t believe what Leon’s saying. “And you two think they’re the best things in the world. What’s wrong with good old multimillionaires like us?”
“Rates of inflation,” Seth says quietly, the hint of a smirk on his face.
Kat downs her glass of champagne, as though she’s had enough of this conversation. No wonder. I don’t imagine she even has a fraction of a million dollars to her name. She’s been hanging out with us as though we’re regular guys — perhaps she forgot there are fortunes to our names? Taking a deep breath, she twiddles a few dials on her camera. “Okay, as you’re all so fired up about this topic, how would you like to give a few words straight to camera about your nomination?”
The camera points at Adam. His serious expression remains for a few seconds as he composes himself, until he shifts into something as hyper as a teen vlogger. “WOW!” he says, earnest face beaming with a smile as bright as the sun. “What an amazing honor it is to be nominated for a Phonogram! We’re sharing a list with all the greats — Dolly Boom, YY, Kelly Hammond, and The Ultra Kickz! I am sooo thankful to the jury who selected us to be among such fantastic company! Thank you soooo much, guys!” And he makes a little heart symbol with his fingers. He pauses from his rapid, wide-eyed chat and says to Kat, more grim, more businesslike, “How was that?”
Kat blinks, as though trying to wrap her head around Adam’s personality switch. “Uh, yeah. That was... that was good.”
Adam grins, as though he already knew it was. “If anyone needs me, I’m going to be mingling. See you later!” He lopes off into the bustling galaxy of music stars like he can’t stop himself.
“Leon?” Kat says, angling her camera toward him.
“I’m... not sure how I’ll compete with that.” There is a wry twist to his lips. “How about we just say his words are from all of us?”
“Because they’re not from me!” Conor snaps. Much to our surprise, he storms to the front of the camera.
Quickly, Kat raises it toward him and gives him a thumbs up.
I’ve never seen Conor look so mad before. Into the lens, he says: “I’m here at the Phony nominees’ party and I’m not happy. All my life, the Phonies have been held up as some kind of ultimate goal in music. You can even join the exclusive club of ETOP winners, where you can receive an Olaf for acting, a Tommy for Broadway, an Elly for TV, and a Phonogram for musicianship. Wouldn’t that have been amazing? Getting the first of those awards? But hey, turns out none of my dreams matter anymore as long as I have a rich-as-fuck president paving the way for my bought nomination. It was the one thing I believed wasn’t rigged in this whole industry.” His chest is heaving. “Screw you, Phony Awards, and fuck you, MCM. I am done with you.”