“August 1, 1981,” Celia said with a nod.
“I think that date will go down in history as the true ‘day the music died’,” Jake opined. “In any case, no one would give them a chance because they weren’t skinny sex symbols who could dance around in their underwear on a video. So, I offered to use the pull I had to get them heard by National’s suits.” He shook his head. “I really thought I was going to be able to help them go big. God, I was still pretty naïve back then, as much as I hate to admit it.”
“No deal, huh?”
“No deal,” Jake said. “I had them put together a complete portfolio to go along with the demo tape and I presented it to Crow and Doolittle, absolutely sure that they were going to be calling me up, demanding I get Brainwash in their office immediately for contract negotiation. I was going to have them use Paulie as their manager and we were going to make sure they didn’t get screwed into a typical first-time contract.” He gave a bitter bark. “None of that happened. The suits at National would not even listen to the demo once they saw what the band looked like in their publicity shots.”
“Are they ugly?” Celia asked.
“Not at all,” Jake said, “they just aren’t camera-friendly attractive. Marcie Scanlon is farm-girl sized; kind of like Helen was. She’s cute and curvy but she’s not a size zero, so Crow and the boys considered her too fat. Stephanie Zool, the guitarist, is in good shape and is kind of cute in her way as well, but she looks a bit masculine. The lesbian thing, you know. And Jim Scanlon and the other guys in the group, though not unattractive, look like what they are: a bunch of teachers. The suits didn’t give a shit how good Brainwash’s music was—that’s pretty much a direct quote, by the way—they just didn’t look right for music videos.”
“That’s a shame,” Celia said slowly. “And I think I’m starting to pick up where you’re going with this. You want me to give them a listen because you want to sign them to KVA Records.”
Jake smiled. “It’s like you’re a mind reader,” he said.
“That would cost KVA a lot of money,” Celia said. “More than it cost to produce one of our records.”
“That’s true,” Jake said. “We’d have to fly them all out here, house them, give them advance money to live on, and then pay for their studio time—hopefully up in Oregon, if Obie can get behind this. In addition, we’ll have to contract again for MD&P for the album, though we won’t be negotiating from a position of strength since Brainwash will be an unknown and I’m sure they’ll still be judged harshly for their appearance even before they give the master a listen. Promotion will cost more because of the unknown factor as well. In addition, I would refuse to exploit Brainwash the way any of the other labels would. If we sign them, they’ll have a fair contract that ensures that as long as we make money, they make money as well.”
Celia looked up at him. “You know something, Jake?”
“What’s that?”
“I think it’s fortunate you’re so musically talented and are able to make a living doing that, because you would have made a terrible salesman.”
He laughed. “Just being truthful,” he said.
“You should never be truthful when you’re trying to sell something,” she told him.
“Just my nature,” he said. “I wanted you to have all the facts and figures on the table. I know I’m asking a lot here. It’s a risky venture that might fail and cost us money. I don’t think it will, but it is possible. I’m asking you to trust my instincts for what quality music is and how to promote it. This can work. These guys have talent and, assuming they still sound as good as they did back then, I think we can pull at least a Platinum CD out of their asses.”
“You haven’t talked to them about all this yet?” she asked.
“Not a word,” Jake said. “I wanted to get everyone aboard first. For a decision like this, we all need to be unanimously in agreement to go for it.”
“I see,” she said. “Are the Nerdlys and Pauline onboard?”
“Nerdly and Sharon both loved the demo tape and can’t wait to get them into the studio and start ordering them around,” he said. “And Pauline, though not as enthusiastic, is onboard as well. She liked the demo well enough, but she’s mostly going on trust in me.”
Celia nodded carefully. “All right,” she said. “I can respect that. One thing though. If you haven’t talked to Brainwash about this yet, are you sure they’re still performing? It’s been five years, right? Bands break up all the time, especially when they’re not actually making their living by performing.”
“They were still touring around New England as of last summer,” Jake said.
“How do you know that?”
“The Nerdlys,” he said. “They spend all their time screwing around on their computer with this thing they call ‘the internet’.”
“The internet?”
“That’s what they call it,” he said. “Apparently this prophecy they’ve had for a few years about everyone connecting their computers together in this massive web of information is starting to come true. Right now, only nerds are using it, but ... well ... they’re the Nerdlys so they’re part of the club. Anyway, they were able to pull up recent reviews of Brainwash off some bulletin boards they were able to access from New England internet geeks. The reviews are all good.”
“Interesting,” Celia said. “All right. No promises, but I’ll give them a listen. I’ll let you know what I think when we land.”
“Fair enough,” Jake said, smiling. “I’ll leave you to the music.”
“You do that,” she said. “Oh ... and will you have that flight attendant bring me back another vodka and tonic? And tell her to go a little heavier on the vodka this time.”
“You got it,” Jake said.
Jake put in her drink order, as requested, and then went back to his seat next to Pauline. For the rest of the flight, as he played with little Tabby, his niece, drank a few more rum and cokes, and watched the scenery go by below, he kept half an eye on Celia. He saw her listen to the demo tape at least twice. Her face had no particular expression on it as she did so.
As they exited the plane into the chilly New Jersey night, she handed him back the Walkman just before they got into the limo for the trip to their hotel.
“If Brainwash is willing,” she told him, “I’m onboard. Contact them and run with it.”
“That’s awesome, C,” he told her, taking the device. “Thanks for listening. Thanks for trusting me.”
“Don’t let me down, Kingsley,” she warned.
“I’ll try not to,” he assured her.
“Oh, and one more thing?”
“What’s that?”
“When you meet up with them, can you score another copy of the demo for me? It kinda grew on me.”
His smile got wider. “I’ll see what I can do.”
After checking into his suite in the Sheraton of New York, it was almost 9:00 PM, although to Jake, whose body was still on California time, it only felt like early evening. He had the phone number for Jim and Marcie Scanlon in his notebook. It had not taken Pauline and her nefarious connections to acquire the number. Nor had it taken the Nerdlys and their so-called internet. The Scanlons were listed in the Providence phone book and a simple call to information had provided it.
He picked up the hotel phone, dialed for an outside line, and then punched in the number. In the earpiece, the phone began to ring.
“Hello?” a male voice answered on the fourth ring.
“Is this Jim Scanlon?” Jake asked.
“This is Jim,” the voice assured him. “With whom am I speaking?”
“This is Jake Kingsley, Jim,” Jake told him. “Do you remember me?”
A lengthy pause, and then, “Rob, is this you? Are you fucking with me again?”