A few days later, Hayden still drove the car right up to the house.
Song Ya climbed out of bed with a yawn and glanced at the clock. It was four in the morning.
Al, with his scraggly beard and afro, wore headphones and sat with a pillow under his butt. The little TV faced away from the bed, and a poster blocked its light. The only sound in the room was the faint clicking of a game controller.
How had a hip-hop singer ended up as a gaming shut-in?
Song Ya shook his head helplessly.
Pablo had once been willing to bring Al back on his own. But after teaming up with SBK, even that path had been cut off. SBK's strategy was to lead with singles. Since Al had no place on Thrift Shop, Pablo couldn't bring him back to share in the profits.
Al had been dealt a good hand and still managed to ruin it. Song Ya no longer felt sorry for him. He'd spent over a month keeping Song Ya awake at night, and this was how he looked even after Song Ya had confronted him sternly several times. Aunt Susie had tried to kick him out, but couldn't get rid of him either. When a Black Buddy decided to be shameless, he was truly invincible.
At least Song Ya could get away from him once they moved.
After washing up and getting dressed, Song Ya went downstairs. Hayden was sitting at the table, eating the scrambled eggs Aunt Susie had made. A stack of documents and a pager lay on the table.
Song Ya picked up the pager. It was a vertical model with a display and a plastic clip on the back. He tried clipping it to his waist. Plenty of people wore them that way, but for some reason it just felt tacky. It was too big to fit comfortably in his pocket, so he tossed it into his bag instead.
He took the scrambled eggs Aunt Susie handed him and ate while looking through the documents.
There were the pager's bill and some shopping receipts. He calculated the total, signed a check, and set it in front of Hayden.
Next came a sales report from Joe Music. In just over a month, Lowry II's album had sold more than sixty-eight thousand copies, earning Song Ya a little over three thousand dollars in royalties. Joe Music's check was attached. SBK would handle future distribution, so Joe Music wouldn't be responsible for sales anymore. Song Ya put away the check, then wrote another for a tenth of the total to pay Hayden his commission. "That's not bad for sales. In a year or two, it should reach at least 150,000 to 200,000 copies."
Hayden shook his head. "It's too little. According to SBK, Old Joe made two fatal mistakes. First, he didn't keep up with promotion, so the album never built momentum. Listeners these days follow trends. If a song isn't popular, they naturally assume it's no good and don't buy it. Second, he was too cautious with distribution, and he only released cassettes. A lot of people reached by the promotion couldn't find a copy, so they just made their own recordings. Cassettes are easy to copy, after all, and that meant even fewer buyers down the road."
"That's why we chose SBK, isn't it?" Song Ya picked up the next item. It wasn't a document, but two color photographs: one of him shaking hands with Underwood, and another with Michelle.
"I got them from a reporter who was there. They came out well—you're very photogenic," Hayden teased. "Want me to get a couple of frames?"
"Forget it." Song Ya set the photos aside. "They're not really that important, are they? What if Underwood doesn't get elected to Congress? I'd be embarrassed."
"Whether they're important depends on the level you're operating at," Hayden said.
Song Ya thought about it and decided he had a point. He went upstairs and brought down a book he'd been reading, then tucked the two photographs inside.
"You can say no to this..."
Hayden had noticed the book's cover. "Sony bought Columbia's film and music divisions, Panasonic bought MCA Records, and Mitsubishi bought Rockefeller Center. Look at the cars on the road these days. Maybe in a few years, we'll all be working for the Japanese."
Song Ya shrugged. Speaking of cars, the eight-year-old Ford pickup he'd bought not long ago had been wrecked by Connie. It was still stranded outside the house. A century of Ford, ruined by... Connie.
Speaking of Connie, she came downstairs too, lazily carrying a still-sleepy Emily.
The last few documents were familiar portrait release forms. The reason they were up so early was that they were shooting another music video—this time for Thrift Shop.
"SBK's producer said the director wants to use the light and shadows at sunrise. We're running out of time, and the professional makeup artists they hired are slow when they're doing the girls' makeup. This is a major production. I heard it'll air on MTV."
At that, Connie dashed out the door with Emily in her arms and climbed into the front seat of the Dodge Dynasty.
"You two aren't eating breakfast? Bitches!" Aunt Susie's morning voice rang out.
"We should get going too."
Song Ya stuffed the scrambled eggs into his mouth and left with Hayden. They drove through several streets, then pulled up outside Allie's house and honked a few times.
A moment later, Allie climbed out through a second-floor window and darted into the car like a thief.
"Darling."
As soon as she got in, she kept thanking Song Ya. "Thank you. You're so sweet."
Connie and Emily rolled their eyes at the same time from the front seat.
"It's nothing." Song Ya put an arm around Allie, who clung to him like a little animal, and felt conflicted. Helping her get a little screen time in the music video meant he could say he'd done right by her when he broke up with her later. Hmm... but they were still boyfriend and girlfriend for now... He glanced toward the front seat.
The shoot wasn't at the Thrift Shop where Song Ya had received his revelation. Old Joe said that place wasn't in Hell Bobcat territory, so filming there could lead to trouble. The gangs were on edge, with a major clash looming.
Hell Bobcat's territory wasn't large, and they reached their destination quickly.
This Thrift Shop was much smaller and older than the one where Song Ya had received his revelation. A crowd of cars and equipment filled the entrance, and crew members bustled about. After handing three signed portrait release forms to the production staff, Song Ya took Connie, Emily, and Allie to the makeup trailer. He immediately recognized plenty of familiar faces from the last music video shoot. "Wasn't this supposed to be a major production? Why does it look just like last time?" he asked Hayden.
"They're shooting for three days. This director has a bit of a reputation in Chicago. And a major production films a lot of footage first, then cuts it down to a music video just over three minutes long. Who knows if you'll even make it in?" Hayden replied.
SBK was moving fast to make up for the time Old Joe had lost. They hadn't discussed the music video with Song Ya beforehand, but that was normal. Songwriters generally didn't get involved in these things. The fact that they were willing to accommodate the old ties with Joe Music's people was already pretty generous.
Song Ya had a complete music video in mind, but he felt its style didn't fit the mainstream tastes of the time. Besides, he'd never learned to write scripts or storyboards. He had the ideas, but couldn't express them properly, so he let it go.
The two of them went to a warehouse behind the store. It had been converted into two temporary VIP makeup rooms. Little Lowry and Old Joe had claimed one each, and their people were clearly divided around the entrances. A few genuine gang members wearing bandanas stood farther off, smoking and keeping watch to prevent trouble.
"Hey, APLUS!" AK waved at Song Ya. "Come over, come over. Tell us what you think, too."
"What do you want me to weigh in on?" Song Ya walked over and saw Tony, AK, and the others gathered around a piece of paper in Pablo's hand, all talking at once.
"SBK got us a chance to perform at a Pistons home game during the playoffs, but we can only do one. Which game should we pick?" Pablo was in a good mood today, probably because the string of polished, high-profile moves since SBK had taken over was gradually easing his worries. "APLUS?" He handed Song Ya the paper. It was a schedule of the matchups.
"I haven't really followed it." Since arriving in this world, Song Ya had been busy being a top student, writing lyrics and songs, and preparing speeches. How could he find the time to keep up with the NBA?
"Don't mind him. He's a basketball idiot," Tony said loudly. "If it were up to me, we'd pick the first playoff game. Play it safe!"
"Idiot. The earlier the performance, the fewer people will be watching. We need at least the Eastern Conference Finals!" AK objected.
"Can we even make it that far? Last year..." Tony sounded unsure.
"Phil Jackson's done a good job this year. Besides, we've got Jordan. The only team in the East that can stop him is the Pistons, and we won't meet them until the Eastern Conference Finals."
"Phil Jackson's a rookie..."
As the two argued, Little Lowry rushed out, still halfway through getting his makeup done. "The Finals! The Finals!" he shouted like a little kid. "I only want the Finals!"
"All right, then."
Pablo was so doting on Little Lowry that he'd been willing to abandon Al and Old Morgan and give up the chance to sign with Song Ya. "Then we'll..." His pen hovered over the schedule as he hesitated for a moment. "Let's pick the first home game of the Finals. Better to play it safe."
Before you continue