Little Kitten

The next day, Song Ya half-reclined on the sofa in the control room, watching the four band members in the studio test their equipment.

Daniel loved collecting street-rock bands, but only a handful ever got to release records, and almost all of them lost money. People at SBK called his hobby a "quirk" behind his back, which had made competition among similar musicians inside the company fierce. Since the studio version of FXXXYOU would be released first, and this would also be the lineup for live performances, the three spots besides keyboardist Delay had sparked plenty of infighting. The people in the studio were the ones who'd come out on top.

Song Ya had said goodbye to Mira and her mother at five that morning and headed back. He'd slept for about three hours and was already fully recovered. That was the beauty of being young—you could go without much sleep. Though some people could manage even less: Eric, the only sound engineer at Joe Music, was already rocking out in front of the mixing board with headphones on.

So Black stars like bringing an entourage—no, partners—along for a reason. Eric did a perfect job as my wingman last night. It was a shame Mrs. Jovovich had woken up and come looking for them before she saw them together. If Eric hadn't cleverly bought them some time, they would've nearly been caught in the act.

Just then, Hayden opened the door. "Let's talk outside." Song Ya sprang up, pulled Hayden out, and found a spot where they could speak privately.

"I need the real story on Mira," he told Hayden.

"Didn't I already tell you about that last time..." Hayden had already filled him in once.

"I don't think it adds up."

Mrs. Jovovich didn't seem like the greedy type, and she kept a very close eye on Mira. That didn't quite match the rumors. Aside from the cheap car they drove, their clothes and other belongings seemed consistent with Mira's income. The travel bag Song Ya had seen in the music classroom the night before was high-end, though—and a travel bag that large in a music classroom was suspicious in itself. "Use William Morris's resources to look into it."

Hayden went to the phone and made several calls. When he came back, he looked troubled. "It might cost a little."

"How much?" Song Ya asked.

Hayden made one more call. "Eight hundred bucks," he reported. "I could probably find out by asking around, if I took my time."

Song Ya pulled out his checkbook. "Do it. I'll write you a check."

"APLUS, the last time you came to New York, you were still wearing secondhand clothes," Hayden said earnestly. "You're not like the other successful Black stars I've met who enjoy throwing money around. I don't want to see you go down that road."

"Do it." Song Ya wrote out the check. "I won't. Thanks, Hayden."

Lisa came over. "Daniel wants to see you, APLUS."

Song Ya went to Daniel's office.

"Mira?" Daniel wiped down his silver golf club. That was still the question he cared about.

"Yeah."

"Honestly, I'd been keeping an eye on 'Thrift Shop' for a long time. But do you know why I was still slower to act than Warner?" Daniel asked.

Song Ya shook his head, wary. Whenever Daniel launched into a long speech, Song Ya had to wonder if he was about to be talked into something.

"Because at first I didn't believe you'd written it. Who starts writing songs for other people at fifteen? And it was your first song, too. Sure, lots of singers made it big at fifteen, but how many fifteen-year-olds focused on composing? Heh... When I was fifteen, I thought I was the biggest thing in the world. My ego was through the roof, and I never even considered writing a song for someone else to sing."

Daniel casually swung the club. "I spent ages checking it against the copyright records to make sure it wasn't plagiarized before I set out to find you. Good thing I didn't wait too long. I don't have the exact numbers yet, but after our music video aired on MTV, 'Thrift Shop' shot up the national singles charts. It should have no problem going platinum."

Platinum—that meant a million copies. Song Ya thought of his ten percent share of the songwriting royalties and the three percent he'd bet Daniel. He licked his lips.

"You can make a lot of money from this song, but the ones who'll really make a fortune are Lowry and Joe. My America is prosperous and wealthy. A single that makes the Billboard year-end Top 50 can pretty much set a singer up for life, as long as they don't squander their money. First they make money from record sales, then from all kinds of gigs across the country, commercials, and events—the offers never stop. Three or five years later, when they're no longer popular, they start singing in casinos. Ten years after that, they lie low. Twenty years later, the people who listened to their songs when they were young grow older, get nostalgic, and come looking for that old feeling. Then the singer makes another killing... Even when they're white-haired, they can still go onstage at a music festival and hear people cheering. Why? Young people follow trends, but some of them are pretentious snobs who start talking about old music to show off their supposedly unusual taste."

Daniel had gone on at length. "That's why young musicians usually sing their own songs if they can. If they can't, they'll still form a band and get up onstage to take a stab at it. They don't start thinking about writing for other people and accepting commissions until they're twenty-five or thirty. You're an exception, APLUS."

Can't help it if my cheat-given talent isn't much use, Song Ya grumbled to himself.

"A lot of people like this girl's song of yours..."

Daniel stood up and swung the club through the air. "I underestimated it. I can feel the pressure from the outside now. The singers coming in to audition might all be newcomers, but their managers and other connections have a lot of influence. I can't put this off anymore. Tomorrow's second round of auditions will be the final round. As soon as it's over, you announce your choice. Mira or any of the other girls—this ends here. We're closing up shop!"

After leaving Daniel's office, Song Ya went to find Hayden and took the fax he handed him.

The information he'd bought for eight hundred bucks amounted to only a few lines. Mira's father, Mr. Jovovich, had set up an investment company in Los Angeles, and it was now on the verge of bankruptcy. No wonder Mira and her mother were struggling, even if they still looked polished. The title Mira supposedly held as the "most unforgettable woman" was questionable, too. The fashion magazine's event was called "Unforgettable Women"; it wasn't the result of some authoritative selection. Also, Mira's family claimed they came from a prominent military family in the USSR and had left Ukraine after being persecuted. That couldn't be verified, but there were plenty of inconsistencies. They'd most likely made up the story to help with immigration.

"Going over there again tonight?" Hayden asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" Song Ya walked into the studio. "Get the booze ready," he instructed Eric.

It was nine o'clock again when Song Ya and Eric visited the music classroom.

"Hi..." Mira held her hands behind her back and swayed her shoulders gently, shyly taking the initiative to greet Song Ya.

Mrs. Jovovich's gaze shifted between her daughter, who wasn't good at hiding her feelings, and Song Ya. Her expression was incredibly complicated. "Why did you bring alcohol?" She had spotted the Chivas Eric had set on a desk.

"Mira's biggest problem right now is that she can't let go enough," Song Ya explained. "She's done too many print ads. In front of a camera, she always falls back on that cold, cool side of herself. That won't work. She needs to feel a little tipsy, to move with the music as she sings, teasing and enticing the audience—like a sexy little kitten. Right, a Sexy Kitten."

Mrs. Jovovich fell silent. She found a seat and sat down, no longer questioning him.

Looks like they really are short on money. Even with Mira starring in a movie later this year, they still won't pass up this chance... Song Ya sneered inwardly. He wasn't going to repeat the mistake he'd made with "Thrift Shop" and let Mira's family benefit without showing him any gratitude, like Little Lowry had.

The lesson began again. As Mira drank more and more, her singing and stage presence came closer and closer to the original Song Ya had in mind.

After midnight, the two of them finally found an opportunity.

"Wait."

The tall blonde leaned against the wall, seemingly shaking off her drunkenness. She pushed a small hand against Song Ya's chest. Her catlike green eyes sparkled. "I think... I think we should wait until I get the song... and then we can..."

"That's a paradox, sweetheart..."

Song Ya gazed at her lovely face and spoke softly. "Without you, there'd be no song. And without that song, I wouldn't have you..."