Job Hopping

Almost in an instant, the three of them were surrounded by layers of people—tourists, bikini-clad white girls, party staff, event photographers hoisting cameras, all kinds of folks crowding in.

Taylor refused a few times, but couldn't hold out against the crowd's enthusiasm. In the end, she joined the party as a private tourist. She definitely wasn't going to eat the American-style grilled ribs dripping with oil and garlic sauce, so she became an unwilling live photo prop.

Ryan rode her coattails too, scoring a free barbecue feast, eating happily alongside Abigail.

"Try this." Abigail held a grilled chicken leg slathered in Ranch dressing up to Ryan.

Ryan tried to take it with his hand, but Abigail insisted on feeding him herself.

With no other choice, Ryan took a bite. Abigail then ate the chicken leg right where he'd bitten, maybe to get back at him for the "sausage incident" from a few days ago. Next, she made Ryan feed her a cut piece of steak, chewing with relish, then said to someone behind Ryan, "So good, you have to try it."

Ryan turned around and found Taylor standing right behind him. His expression turned awkward for a moment.

Taylor still wore the forced smile of someone stuck on duty. She probably just processed the situation, nodding belatedly. Even though there was an empty seat next to Ryan, she walked around the table and sat beside Abigail.

"It's really not bad, but I can only have this little piece. I have to keep my figure slim!" Taylor set down her fork.

Abigail, used to this, didn't push further.

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief—Taylor seemed calm enough.

Before long, a plump middle-aged white woman came over to greet them. First, she asked how the food was, then followed up with concern about how they'd get back, whether they needed a car arranged, where they were staying tonight, how many days they'd be around—the usual small talk.

As she chatted, she noticed Taylor barely touched the greasy barbecue. She immediately called over a waiter, ordering a salad and whole-grain bread, specifically requesting simple seasoning and no dressing.

As for Abigail and Ryan, she showed no neglect, treating them with the same warmth as Taylor.

Then, she subtly made her request, hoping Taylor could sing a couple of lines on the spot, and offered to pay her a fee. She emphasized it wasn't payment for singing, but because her two daughters were huge fans, deeply inspired by Taylor's songs—a personal token of gratitude. She added that she had local connections, and if Taylor ever wanted to hold events nearby, like fan meetups, she could reach out anytime.

She covered both face and substance in one go. Taylor, of course, couldn't bring herself to take the money. She went straight to the stage and sang acapella, ending up performing two songs in a row.

Ryan noticed the woman actively stopped the photographer from recording. After all, Taylor was visiting as a tourist.

Beyond that, this middle-aged "auntie" flitted between tables like a butterfly, from kids seven or eight years old to white-haired old men, middle-aged couples, young lovers—no one escaped her attention.

Who says foreigners don't have social savvy? This ordinary-looking but endlessly adaptable "old sister-in-law" was a textbook example, Ryan thought.

During the process, the woman even called over two bikini-clad girls, seating them deliberately next to a middle-aged man. His identity was obvious...

Despite Taylor's repeated refusals, the middle-aged woman arranged a private car to take the three back to their hotel.

"Mary Entertainment Marketing Promotion Company... Mary Jane." In the car, Taylor flipped through the business card just handed to her.

"Party promoter," Ryan said from the front seat.

"This card is special—rhinestones on the edge. Office is in Orlando." Abigail took the card, marveling.

"I'll keep this card safe. Might come in handy later. My agent said if you want to sell 500,000 albums, you have to meet 500,000 people first," Taylor said.

"This Mud Park is pretty boring. How about we head back to Orlando tomorrow? Way more to do there," Abigail suggested.

"You two go ahead. I've got work—need to get back to Nashville." Taylor yawned.

"Didn't you say we'd stay three more days?" Abigail was suspicious.

Taylor turned her head toward the window, chuckling lightly. "Plans changed."

"What about us two?" Abigail asked Ryan.

"In that case, back to school," Ryan shrugged.

"Fine." Abigail leaned her head back, instinctively grabbing Taylor's hand.

Taylor interlaced their fingers. They exchanged a smile. Clearly, Ryan's presence hadn't affected their relationship.

·

"Hi, this is Taylor. What, missing me already?" On the other end of the line, Taylor's voice was full of energy.

"But sorry, I can't take your call right now. Maybe I'm recording a song, maybe I'm sleeping in, maybe I just forgot to turn on my ringer. Leave a message after the beep..."

Just a voicemail greeting.

Ryan put down his phone, frowning slightly. He wanted to ask Taylor about Myspace, hoping to spruce up his page.

But three days had passed since they got back from Florida, and Taylor still wasn't picking up.

"What's up, dumped by a girl?" Joel, sitting nearby and drinking a Blue Can Red Bull, asked.

"Dumped? Don't joke. I'm the one who does the dumping." Ryan snorted. "By the way, the Canadian distribution contract is signed. When will your remix be ready?"

Deadmau5 had sent someone to Nashville. Trey had a lawyer review the contract, and Ryan officially signed the distribution deal for Tremor's single album in Canada.

The contract stipulated that Deadmau5's record label would handle single promotion in the region—basically, sending the track to radio stations. Given the label's size, that was about all they could do.

In the record industry, radio was the most basic and direct promotional channel. Europeans and Americans had been listening to radio for ages. For nearly half a century, people heard new songs on the radio, liked them, and went to physical stores to buy albums. Even with technological advances—TV, the internet—the habit of discovering new music on the radio hadn't changed and persisted to this day.

The single album's packaging, including the cover and other details, was handled by the label. Ryan just needed to finish the other two versions, which wasn't hard for him.

The single album would also include remixes from two other DJs. Deadmau5 took one slot. For the other, Ryan could have chosen someone bigger, more famous. But he didn't. He gave it to Joel. It would earn Joel some extra income and officially get him into the DJ scene.

"In a couple of days." Joel raised his Red Bull, one hand over his heart, speaking with utmost seriousness. "Thank you, Ryan. You made my dream come true."

"Dream? I thought your dream was to buy a big house in Ibiza. That's enough to satisfy you?" Ryan chuckled. "Don't get all sappy. I can't handle that."

Beyond gratitude to Joel, Ryan was also looking out for his own interests.

For starters, he knew nothing about the equipment. Having Joel guide him made everything twice as efficient.

Joel nodded, then suddenly leaned in, whispering to Ryan, "You've been on the Ultra Music Festival stage. You're worth way more than what this little club pays. I've been asking around through a colleague at Blackbird. We could jump ship to a better venue..."