"It is," Shaver assured him. "Believe me, it is."
The mirror was passed the rest of the way around the table. When it came to Jake, he hesitated for a few seconds, thinking that maybe this meeting was just as important as a rehearsal or a performance-maybe more so-and that maybe someone should keep a clear head. In the end, however, his curiosity got the better of him. He simply had to see what the finest blow in the world was all about. He snorted, feeling a deep, satisfying burn deep in his nasal passage. The drug started to go to work on his head even before Shaver finished snorting up the last line.
"Now then," Shaver said, once everyone was feeling their finest, "to business."
"Fuckin A," Matt happily agreed. "To business. You gonna be our agent, or what?"
"Well, as I said, I may be willing to make an exception to my usual rules for you gentlemen. I think there may be some potential for commercial success with your music. I'm prepared to offer you a contract for representation. Now the terms..."
He was forced to stop his spiel because Darren and Coop began screaming in triumph and high-fiving each other.
"Darren, Coop," Jake said, shooting them a furious look. "Chill for now."
"Sorry," they mumbled together, but the grins remained on their face.
"As I was saying," Shaver continued, "the terms are that I will attempt to secure a recording contract for you and act as your negotiator with the record company in question. I will act as the representative for this band in all business matters. In return, I will receive thirty percent of all advances, royalties, and other revenue that this band produces. Does that sound like a fair deal?" He looked at Matt as he asked this.
"Thirty percent, huh?" Matt said. He glanced over at Jake and a look passed between the two of them. Both of them well knew that the standard rate for an agent was twenty percent. They had in fact had a lengthy discussion about this the previous night, over beers and cigarettes on Matt's back porch while the rest of the band had engaged in their usual activities. They had agreed that they would hold firm to this figure no matter what, neither one of them really believing that Shaver would really try to deviate from it. After all, he was a respected agent. He knew the game. Only now, deviation was exactly what he was trying to do.
"Is that a problem, gentlemen?" Shaver asked softly, his tone implying that if it were he would be sending them on their way.
The silence stretched out as Jake and Matt continued to hold a telepathic conversation, their eyes and facial expressions sending the messages.
It's only an extra ten percent, Matt's eyes said. If we try to push him, he won't represent us at all.
He's trying to screw us, Jake's eyes shot back. We agreed to twenty percent!
"Matt?" Shaver asked. "Is everything okay here?"
"Yes," Matt said. "Sorry. Thirty percent is not a problem, Mr. Shaver."
"Good," Shaver said with a grin. "I thought you'd be happy with that."
Jake's instinct was to hold his tongue. Matt was the leader of the band and he knew more about how the music industry worked. And, after all, it was only an extra ten percent. That wasn't that much, was it? But that extra ten percent wasn't really the point. If they agreed to this they would be setting the wrong sort of relationship at the beginning, would be sending the wrong message. Someone had to stand firm here. If Matt, as their leader, wouldn't do it, then Jake would.
"No," Jake said, just as Shaver was reaching out to begin shaking hands. "I'm afraid that thirty percent is a problem."
Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of anger on their faces. Matt's version was perhaps the angriest. His eyes glared at the singer, sending not just daggers but tracer bullets dipped in cyanide.
"Jake," he hissed, "thirty percent is a lot, but its fair."
"Yeah," Darren said. "That still leaves like sixty percent for us."
"Seventy percent, you fuckin moron," Coop told him. "And seventy percent is a lot of dough."
"No, it really isn't," Jake said. "Not when you divide it up among the five of us. And don't forget that all of our band expenses will come out of that seventy percent."
"Yeah, but still..." Coop started.
"Twenty percent is the standard cut for an agent," Jake interrupted, his words directed at Shaver.
"That is the industry standard," Shaver admitted, his face remaining expressionless, "but that is for established bands. You folks are a garage band looking to get a break. I can perhaps provide that break for you but I'll be taking a risk. Risky behavior means the reward needs to be bigger."
"Thirty percent is fine," Matt said, casting another evil glare at Jake. "Really. We all agree to that."
Jake shot an angry look back at Matt and held his ground. "No," he said. "We do not agree to that. Twenty percent is the agent's cut. I will not agree to anything more."
Shaver slumped backwards in his chair and sighed. "Look," he said. "I really don't have time for this shit. I brought you here to my room as a favor, because I thought that maybe I could help you boys get heard. I guess maybe you don't want to take a favor from me."
"Jake," Darren said menacingly. "Stop fucking around. You blow this for us and I'll kick your fuckin' ass."
"You're not in high school anymore, Darren," Jake said. "This is the real world. Threatening me is not gonna help." He turned back to Shaver. "And we're not in a whorehouse either, Mr. Shaver. So quit trying to screw us. I'm not asking for anything unreasonable, and you know it. If you thought enough of us to bring us up here and offer to represent us, than you're not going to kick us loose over a ten percent difference in your cut."
Shaver locked eyes with him, his face still blank. "You seem rather sure of yourself on that point, Mr. Kingsley. Are you sure enough to bet your career on it?"
Jake maintained eye contact. "It would seem that is exactly what I'm doing."
They continued to stare at each other for what seemed an eternity. Matt and the rest of the band watched in anxious silence. Even Trina, who had been laying out the supplies for a manicure, had stopped what she was doing to take in the battle of wills.
"Okay," Shaver said. "Maybe I was trying to take a little more than I was due. I'll come down to twenty-five percent."
The band breathed a sigh of relief. All except for Jake. He was shaking his head. "No," he said. "Twenty percent. That's the going rate. I won't accept anything else."
Now Shaver allowed his expression to slip a little. Annoyance filled his face, along with a tinge of anger. "Look, Jake," he said. "I dropped my percentage because I respect someone who has the balls to stand up for himself. But don't push me here. My patience is about at an end."
"How would you feel, Mr. Shaver, if I were telling you that I would give you a fifteen percent cut when the industry standard is twenty? Wouldn't you be inclined to disagree?"
"You're damn right I would if it were you telling me that. You are a nobody and I am a somebody. However, if I were in the position that you are in-if I was an unknown agent negotiating to represent say... Van Halen-then I would accept whatever they offered and be glad they even asked."
"Well, I guess that's where you and I differ then," Jake told him. "I'm not one to nitpick over a few percentage points, but I don't like being treated unfairly. That is what you are attempting to do. There's a principle involved here and I will not be dislodged from my principles. Treat us fairly or count me out of the equation."
The tense silence descended again as the two men stared at each other. It went for a longer period this time, the tension thicker. As before, it was Shaver who broke it.
"Twenty-one percent," he said. "And that's my final offer. Take it or leave it."