“Everything is negotiable,” Pauline said.
“Not that price,” Obie said. “I have what you need and, if I’m not mistaken, you do not have much else in the way of options. I’m kind of sensing that you want to keep these projects secret until you have masters ready. That eliminates all of the major record label studios—even if they would do business with you. That kind of gives me a monopoly, doesn’t it?”
Pauline sighed. “I suppose it does,” she admitted.
“It does,” Obie said. “I am a reasonable man, however. I could have named six or even eight hundred an hour and you would have had no choice but to accept it, right?”
“I don’t know,” Pauline said. “That would be something we would have to talk over.”
“But you don’t have to talk over five hundred an hour and two hundred minimum?”
The six of them looked at each other. They all nodded, even Greg, who was usually the most fastidious about what things cost. Pauline turned back to Obie. “I guess we have a deal,” she said.
Obie was shaking his head. “We do not yet have a deal,” he said. “That was just the negotiation on price for studio time if I do decide to grant it to you. There are several other aspects to this deal I’m proposing.”
“There are?” Pauline asked.
“There are,” Obie said with a smile. “You see, even five hundred an hour and two hundred hours of commitment is paltry compared to what I could make by actually having one of my artists use that studio time for the production of a new album. I would be losing money—an assload of it, in fact—by renting out time to an act I do not receive primary royalties on. In order to agree to something like that, there needs to be something in it for me.”
Greg spoke up before Pauline could. “Why don’t we just cut to the chase here, Obie, and you tell us what you’re after?”
Again, Pauline and Jake shot a glare at the actor, but again, Obie actually seemed to appreciate his candor.
“Very well,” Obie said. “First of all, I’m going to have to ask for royalties on any album you produce in my studio.”
“Royalties for simply renting studio time?” Pauline said.
“That is what the bigs would have asked of you, isn’t it?” he countered.
“Possibly,” Pauline admitted. “We never actually approached them.”
“They would have asked for five percent minimum,” Obie told them. “Trust me on this, y’all, I used National’s studio for my first independent album back when I broke free. They charged me five percent royalties on top of the fuckin forty-two percent royalties they got for distribution and promotion. Now me, I’m a reasonable man, not prone to unrelenting greed...”
“So, your greed does relent at some point?” asked Nerdly.
Obie stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. “That’s pretty fuckin’ good, my friend,” he told him. “Does my greed relent.” He shook his head and laughed a little more, then, suddenly, turned back to serious. “I’ll charge you three percent royalties on all albums and singles produced in my facility in perpetuity, and, the accounting of which will be subject to random and unscheduled audits by a firm of my choosing at my expense whenever and however many times I deem it necessary. This figure and those terms, like my price of studio rental, is non-negotiable.”
Again, Pauline looked at her crew. They all nodded their agreement to her.
“Agreed,” she told Obie. “Do we have a deal now?”
Obie was shaking his head. “Not yet,” he said. “We haven’t negotiated the most important part of the deal yet. All the rest of this shit is just ticky-tack financials that don’t really mean shit when you come right down to it. The most important part is the reason why I didn’t just hang up on your ass when you contacted me, Pauline. Y’all have something I need.”
“And what is that?” Pauline asked.
Obie smiled and looked at the Nerdlys, who were sitting together just to the left of him. “These two,” he said.
“Us?” Bill asked.
“What do you mean?” asked Sharon.
“You two are hot commodity,” Obie told them. “Your skills at the mixing board and with audio engineering are the stuff of fucking legend, my nerdy friends. I want it on my side. Any deal we make will be contingent on the two of you working to train up my techs and my engineers.”
Everyone sat in stunned silence for a few moments. Finally, it was Bill who spoke. “Well ... we are flattered, naturally, Obie, but we have a financial and a time commitment to KVA Records and the production of these two albums. I don’t know how we could possibly commit to entering your employ at any point in the near future.”
“You would not be entering my employ, per se,” Obie told them. “And I understand your prior commitments and obligations. What I want is for my techs and engineers to work closely with you and Sharon while you’re recording these two albums. You see, my guys and gals are not bad at what they do, but they’re not the cream of the crop. They’re mostly young’uns, just out of school, and they lack experience in the industry. I want them to train under fucking masters—and that’s what you two are.”
Sharon and Bill looked at each other, and then at Pauline. Pauline shrugged. “I don’t see any disadvantage to such a relationship,” she finally said, “as long as it is understood that Bill and Sharon are in charge of the engineering.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Obie said. “The masters are supposed to be in charge.”
“Well ... in that case,” Pauline said, “I think we...” She stopped as Obie held up his hand.
“There’s more,” he said.
“There is?” Jake asked.
“There is,” he confirmed. “I’m working on a new album right now, as is Jeff Appalachia. Both are still in the development stages currently, but ... about the time y’all are done recording your albums, we oughta be about ready to start recording ours. I want you two on those projects for me. You agree to that, and, well, I guess we got ourselves a deal.”
“That is a considerable demand for time commitment,” Pauline said.
Obie nodded. “Take it or leave it,” he said. “Those are my terms.”
Another look was passed around. Before anyone could give a nod or a shake of the head, however, Greg spoke up.
“I think we should leave it,” he said bluntly.
This time, Obie was not amused with his candor. Neither was anyone else.
“Now wait a minute...” Jake started.
“Greg!” said Celia.
“Hang on,” said Pauline.
Obie shook his head. “I think my offer was quite generous,” he said. “Charitable even. And it, like everything else we’ve discussed, is not negotiable.”
“Everything is negotiable,” Greg said in a quiet voice, sipping out of his drink. “That is the one hard and fast rule, especially when you are playing from a position of strength.”
“Which y’all most certainly are not,” Obie said. “No negotiation on terms. In fact, I’m about half a cunt hair width away from just kicking y’all the hell out of here and forgetting this whole thing.”
“No no,” Pauline said. “There’s no reason for that. Your terms are...”
“Unacceptable,” Greg said. “That is the word you are looking for. He wants to hijack our engineering team for some unknown length of time of his choosing, just when our efforts will begin to pay off. And he wants to do this without compensation? That is not acceptable!”
“Then we have no deal,” Obie said softly, his eyes glaring into Greg’s.
“Really, Greg,” Pauline said. “I’m going to have to insist that you step out of these negotiations immediately. I am the manager here.”
“You are,” Greg said. “And you are caving to his every demand without a fight. You call that negotiating? I don’t. I call it capitulation. You never let your opponent set the tone as Obie has done here today. The financials you negotiated were bad enough, but letting him kidnap the Nerdlys? That is outrageous, especially when you realize that is what he is really after, what is actually important to him. Negotiate, people! If you won’t do it, I will. After all, I’ve got a million of my own dollars tied up in this shaky venture. I will look out for my interests if you will not.”