“Just keep working,” Jake told him whenever the subject was brought up. “They will cave at some point.”
“When?” Matt would generally demand. “Will it happen before the fuckin’ IRS auctions off my fuckin’ house?”
“It will be before that,” Jake always promised.
He pulled into KVA’s parking lot and parked in front of the main entrance. Laura unbuckled and opened her door. She leaned over and gave him a warm kiss on the lips.
“Have a good day, sweetie,” she told him. “I’m sorry you didn’t get much sleep.”
“I’ll live,” he said with a shrug. “See you this afternoon sometime.”
“I love you,” she told him.
“I love you too,” he returned.
No sooner had she stepped out of the car, however, then Pauline suddenly appeared in the doorway to the office. She waved at Jake in a manner that conveyed that she did not want him to leave just yet. He held up and she trotted over to his door.
“What’s up?” he asked her.
“Think you can bust Matt loose from rehearsal for the day?” she asked him.
“Uh ... if I have to,” he said. “What’s the deal?”
“We have an eleven o’clock appointment at the National Records Building with Crow and Doolittle and Bailey,” she said.
“We do?” he asked. “Did they finally call up?”
“No,” she said simply. “I called them up and made the appointment.”
“You did? What for? They’re going to think we’re caving to them.”
“That’s exactly what I want them to think,” she said with a smile.
“How’s that?”
“I figured out a way to turn the tables on them,” she said. “A way we can have our cake and eat it too.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“Come inside,” she said. “I’ll explain it to you.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” he said with growing enthusiasm. He knew how sharp his sister could actually be about such matters. “Let me just call up Matt and tell him what’s up.”
“You do that,” she said.
And he did. He then went inside where his sister told him about a cool thing that the Nerdlys had shown her last week. Using the internet, she had been able to access the entire law libraries of the Harvard School of Law and the Stanford School of Law. From the comfort of her home office, where she had sat in her sweatpants drinking wine over the weekend, she had found the answer to their problem.
In addition to Crow, Bailey, and Doolittle, Eric Frowley, National Records’ lead lawyer was at the meeting. He greeted the quartet of Jake, Pauline, Nerdly, and Matt at eleven o’clock in the sixteenth-floor meeting room. Celia had stayed at the studio, trusting the three of them to deal with the situation while she kept working. Frowley greeted everyone politely—as was his habit—but was obviously a bit wary about the meeting. He had dealt with Pauline many times before and had often come away on the losing side when confrontation occurred.
“We’ve decided to go ahead and sign the MD&P contract you offered us,” Pauline told them once the preliminaries were complete.
“Really?” Doolittle asked, his brows going up. “Without any modification to the clauses?”
“Without any modification,” Pauline confirmed. “Two hundred and twenty-five thousand for manufacturing and distribution of each CD. Twenty percent royalties for promotion of each CD.”
“And the clause relating to the successful negotiation of the touring contract?” Crow asked. “You will agree to that as well?”
“We will agree to that,” Pauline said plainly.
“Without disclosure of the terms we are offering for the touring contract until such time as the MD&P contract is signed and in place?” asked Doolittle, just for clarity.
“Yes,” Pauline said. “We will sign the MD&P contract as proposed.”
The three suits looked at each other, a mixture of elation and caution on their faces. “Well ... all right then,” Doolittle finally said.
Frowley, on the other hand, was openly suspicious of the offer. He could plainly sense that a game was afoot here. “Hold on just a minute,” he said. “This is starting to sound a little too good to be true.”
“It’s fuckin’ true,” Matt told him. “These people ain’t bullshitting you.”
“That is correct,” Jake said. “Put the contract down in front of us. We’ll review it for accuracy and to make sure there are none of those famous hidden clauses of yours, and, if it’s on the up and up, we’ll sign it.”
“Why did you change your mind?” Frowley asked. His hackles were definitely up.
“Because we need to start pulling in some revenue from our efforts,” Pauline said. “We’ve spoken with Aristocrat and they are not willing or able to offer a better deal than what you’re offering. It seems that we have no real choice but to go with your proposal.”
“You understand that if you do not come to an agreement with National on touring terms,” Frowley said, “then the MD&P contract would be considered in a state of breach? That means that National will be able to sue you for any income they could reasonably expect to have made from those CDs? In addition, you would also be on the hook for the fees my firm charges to prosecute such a lawsuit.”
“Yeah yeah,” Matt said impatiently. “We get it. Can you just put the fuckin’ contract on the table so they can sign the shit?”
Frowley was not convinced. “There’s something not right about this,” he told his clients. “We need to proceed with extreme caution here.”
“What kind of caution?” Doolittle asked. “We’ve already written up the proposed MD&P contract. Let them look it over and sign it. What could they possibly be trying to pull here?”
“I don’t know,” Frowley said. “But they’re up to something here. I can feel it.”
“I believe you are experiencing paranoid ideation related to the cynical and exploitive nature of your chosen profession coupled with the reality of your chosen clients,” Nerdly told him.
“That’s right,” Pauline said mildly. “We’ve agreed to your proposed contract. If we sign our names on the line and have the contract officially notarized, with copies going to all parties involved, it’s a binding contract, right?”
“Right,” Frowley said slowly.
“Then what’s the problem?” Pauline asked. “We came here to do business, to get our CDs out into the world so we can start making money off of them. That’s the only game we’re playing.”
“In fact,” Jake said, “we took the liberty of arranging for a notary to be here in just forty-five minutes.”
“You did?” asked Frowley.
“We did,” Pauline confirmed. “We can get the MD&P signed and notarized before lunch. After lunch, we can start talking tour.”
The four of them looked at each other again—the National suits with predatory smiles barely hidden on their faces, Frowley with that expression of wariness. Nods were finally passed around.
“All right then,” Frowley said slowly. “Let me make some copies of the contract and you can go over them.”
“Excellent,” Jake said.
“Fuckin’ A,” Matt added. “Let’s do this shit.”
Five minutes later, everyone at the table had a copy of the proposed contract before them. Jake only glanced at his. Matt did not look at his at all. Pauline and Nerdly, however, perused the document thoroughly, reading it word for word. This took the better part of twenty minutes. Finally, both Pauline and Nerdly pronounced the contract copacetic with what had been negotiated (though there had been no real negotiation at all) and free of hidden clauses and/or loopholes.
“As soon as the notary gets here, we sign,” Pauline said.
The notary public was an overweight middle-aged woman in a cheap business dress. Pauline had found her on the internet and checked her references to make sure she was legitimate. She was. Her name was Gloria Meeker. She smelled of cigarette smoke, but she had her credentials in order and all of the tools of her trade with her. Frowley examined her credentials personally and then made a few phone calls to satisfy himself that Meeker was indeed a currently appointed notary public with the power to notarize the document. He received his confirmation and they began the process.