NicenEasy (15 page)

Yes, she’d tell them the truth. That if they wanted Donovan,
they’d have to do it without her, because she had a conflict of interest there.
Then see if they still wanted her.

Once she’d made the decision, she felt much better. The
proverbial weight lifted from her shoulders. Watching the band and how well the
members worked together, each comfortable with his skills, confident in his
actions, made her realize she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. She needed to
reassess, not leap in with both feet.

Publishing was a hard world. So was the world of music, but
Murder City Ravens had risen to the top on sheer talent. Not many bands did
that. Many were happy to conform, keep providing more of the same until the
music became formulaic. Many would slip into a groove and others would have two
or three hits and then disappear or break up.

This band belonged together. The members created a whole
that was greater than their differences, that blended the best of them. She
understood how Matt leaving and Zazz and Riku joining had added to what they
did. It worked, it just fucking
worked
. They were lucky to find Chick,
because he eased their path rather than changing it, acted like a great
editor—enabling and helping them to find the best of themselves without
dictating the way they had to do it. In the past, managers had given themselves
a bad name by signing bad deals, even skimming or making peripheral deals that
benefited themselves. Most had cleaned up their acts, but the odd few still
remained.

Whatever Donovan decided about the book offer, she’d support
him, but she’d cry in private if it meant him leaving Murder City Ravens. For
her and for all the people who got so much pleasure from what they created
together, she’d mourn.

Sitting in the darkened auditorium, Allie felt the familiar
tightening of her stomach muscles and wondered how Donovan must be feeling
backstage, waiting to go on. This was one of the smaller venues of the tour,
but with a capacity audience of seven thousand waiting to see them, that wasn’t
saying much. Before any concert, she felt excited, but this meant so much more
to her, even more than the signing at the convention last weekend.

She sat between Mrs. Harvey, who hadn’t as yet invited her
to call her Doreen, and Elliott, who sat back in the plush seat, one long leg
crossed over the other, left ankle resting on right knee. Elliott, invalid or
not, had done a cross-continent return flight this week, saying he wouldn’t
miss this performance. He seemed to have recovered from his attack of flu, but
he still claimed to feel the effects. If this was Elliott as a convalescent,
Allie wondered what kind of powerhouse he was when fully recovered.

Beverley had taken care of them after Chick and the band had
driven to the venue a couple of hours earlier, and although Donovan had asked
her along, Allie didn’t want to get in the way of the band or their pre-concert
bonding. If they had any.

She was also still hesitant about appearing with Donovan in
public. That would label her as his girl and people would recognize her. She
wouldn’t be able to move around as freely as before. It was all nuts, but
holding back made sense right now.

She wanted to see this as a regular fan, and although they
had great seats, front row on the balcony at one side of the huge hall, they
weren’t obviously “with the band”. She’d even tucked the collection of coded
wristbands, the modern equivalent of the all access pass, up the sleeve of her
black pullover, feeling self-conscious when people stared. Beverley’s seat
remained vacant. Allie indicated the seat to Elliott. “I hope that doesn’t mean
there’s problems.”

“Probably not. Chick seems like he has everything under
control.” He shrugged. “I tried to discuss Donovan’s career with Chick yesterday
and he wouldn’t consider talking about it.”

Allie thought it spoke well of Chick if he refused to talk
about Donovan without the man himself present, and she knew he hadn’t been
there because that was the time of the disastrous shopping expedition with his
mother. He’d taken them to the best department store in San Francisco, and by
the time his mother had turned her nose up at half a dozen racks of clothes,
the fans had identified him and they’d had to rush back to the hotel.

Donovan had left separately, drawing the crowds while the
second security guy gave them ten minutes before escorting Allie and Mrs.
Harvey quietly through the front door of the hotel, climbed the stairs to the
first floor and got into the security elevator. Nobody had bothered them and
Donovan’s mother had punctuated the episode with a frosty silence.

“He’s supposed to be the best manager in the business. He
doesn’t take many acts, but he works hard with the ones he chooses.”

“Hmm.” Elliott glanced at Mrs. Harvey, who was talking to
her husband, leaning over so he couldn’t talk to anyone but her and excluding
everyone else from the conversation. “I’m leaving for New York tomorrow, when
you guys go on to L.A., so we won’t have many more chances to talk.”

Despite the uproar around them, they were relatively
secluded, so talking was just about possible. “You want to talk to me? If it’s
about Donovan, I won’t discuss him behind his back and I won’t try to persuade
him to do anything on your behalf.”

Elliott raised a dark brow. “I’m impressed, and I appreciate
that. I’ve been watching you, and in my opinion you’re wasted on Casterbridge.”

She pulled a face. “Tell that to all the publishers that
turned me down when I applied for jobs with them.”

“Their loss.” He shrugged. “Could be my gain. Casterbridge
is on the way down.”

“I guessed.”

“Yeah. I won’t ask what’s going on inside, but I can take a
shot at it. Editors are leaving, others are making wild grabs for authors and
they’re signing less than stellar writers in the hope they can make it big.
It’s a shame. Casterbridge broke some of the biggest authors around today, but
they all left for bigger places once they’d built them up. They should have
taken a chance, like Bloomsbury did on J.K. Rowling, and put some big
investment money into one or two, but they kept trawling for the next one and
the next. Now their leverage is bad and word’s getting around. You hear what
I’m saying?”

She knew exactly what he was saying, something she already
knew. “Yeah, and unless I come up with someone big, my days there are numbered.
They want Donovan.”

“Exactly. It was a great publisher once, but a succession of
bad decisions has brought it down.” He paused. “I know you can’t say anything,
but I do know from another contact that the R word’s been mentioned. Restructuring.
Maybe they’ll start the last in, first out mantra before too long.” She’d
already worked that one out for herself. He sighed. “God knows I’d like to be
good to them, but I’m not sending anyone else there while things are in a state
of flux. You can tell them that, if you like. It’ll save a phone call.”

She took a chance. Elliott wouldn’t tell Casterbridge, but
in any case, she’d been seriously rethinking her position this week. The
leisure had given her the time to really think things through, what she wanted
and what she didn’t. “I’m not telling Donovan to go to Casterbridge. I’m not
telling him anything, but I’ve decided that if he does decide he wants to go
there, it’s none of my concern. If he does, I won’t edit him.”

Elliott nodded. “Good decision. Keeps you out of the loop,
keeps you honest.” He spread his hands. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. All my life I wanted to be an editor, but I’m
thinking that childhood dreams have led me astray. I love publishing, I love
writers, even though I can’t write a good novel to save my life, but maybe I
should look at other aspects of the industry. Or maybe I was right and I just
need experience somewhere else to be sure. I don’t know. The industry’s
changing so fast.”

“Do you like that aspect?”

“Oh yes.” She was never without her ereader, or at least her
phone. “It’s exciting.”

He nodded. “Here’s the thing. You’ve got a year’s experience
with Casterbridge and you might think about moving on. I’m not rushing your
decision, but I can tell you if you do, there’s at least one job waiting for
you.”

“Where?” Call her dense but she didn’t get his meaning for a
moment. “With you?”

“Sure. I have four agents at my agency and one of them is
leaving. She’s moving into a publishing house—not Casterbridge—so that’s a
win-win for both of us. It gives me a new contact and it pushes her career
along some. So in a month, I’ll have a permanent vacancy. I don’t know what the
situation between you and Donovan is, but if you decide to leave, come to me.”

He named the salary, about one and a half times what she was
getting now. Not stellar, but much better. He laughed when she must have
revealed her surprise. “I like my staff to eat. I know your salary was next to
an intern’s but I can see qualities in you that I like. You’re straight-dealing
and you’re not stupid. You’re at the beginning of your career but you’ve made
some useful contacts.”

That sounded much more reasonable. If not for one tiny
detail, she’d jump at the offer. Donovan. She’d have to split with him for sure
if she wanted to pursue a full-time career in New York, and at the moment, that
was too painful to contemplate. Every morning when she woke up, joy filled her
at the thought of a day spent with him and another night to come. They were
halfway through their scheduled time together. Next week they’d have to make
serious decisions.

She gazed at this man, met his dark eyes with a smile.
Someone who didn’t make her heart quicken, someone she hadn’t followed for
years, someone who didn’t do something she couldn’t possibly emulate. She liked
him, liked the quick wit she’d witnessed, the pleasant demeanor, the laid-back
attitude combined with the sharp business sense. In her real life, the life
without rock bands and luxury hotels, without security details and sexy,
half-naked musicians, she could see him fitting in. As a friend, and possibly
an employer.

This offer gave her something to look forward to. Making a
sudden decision, she said, “I’m definitely interested. Can I get back to you?”

“Sure. I don’t need anybody for a month, but if you’re
available, call me and you can come in and take a look around.”

“I really appreciate this. Thank you.”

He touched her hand and smiled. “The world doesn’t run on
love alone. I’m making this offer in good faith.”

Tears sprang to her eyes at that moment of reassurance.
After all her self-doubts, things were working out. Someone wanted her for
herself, could see some use for her apart from who she could bring with her.

He raised a brow. “The media will associate you with Donovan
Harvey for a while, if you let them. Are you going to let them?”

“I don’t know.” She paused. She didn’t want to tell him that
she and Donovan told each other “I love you” every day, because he might not
understand that they meant that day, now. At least Donovan did. He’d made that
quite clear. She didn’t, and each day she meant that it was temporary less. It
kept her sane to recall how short a time they’d known each other. It couldn’t
be love, couldn’t happen that fast. Impossible. “It just doesn’t seem real, you
know, part of regular life.”

The lights dimmed and the crowd roared, but nothing else
happened. The guys on top of the rigging, the ones operating the lights,
shifted on their perches, but as yet, nothing.

“This is regular life for him,” she heard Elliott say. “This
is what he’s gonna have to cope with for the next year, and afterward the
studio, and then more of this. Until the bandwagon stops, if it does. The
Rolling Stones have been going fifty years, but when you read the interviews,
they say they never expected it to last more than a few years when they first
started out. You never know.”

“They’re as good as the Stones. I can’t see it stopping.”

“We’re his safety net, you and me,” Elliott said. “We give
him his alternative and we ground him.”

She knew what else he was saying. Donovan couldn’t expect
support from his manipulative mother or his weakling father. His siblings had
caved to his mother’s demands and got jobs, bought houses close to hers, lived
nearby. A support network could be excellent, but not when it was provided
under duress. Having met Donovan’s mother, she had no doubt about the duress
part.

Fuck, Elliott was right. She would have to be Donovan’s
alternative, nothing else, because she couldn’t see how to make her career work
on the road, not the way she’d planned it. Although she didn’t have a clear
view of her career, she wanted one.

Unlike Donovan, she had what she thought of as normal
parents. They loved her, sent her into the world with their blessing and a
promise that they’d keep their door open for her. She contacted them regularly
and had told them where she was and who she was with because she knew they
wouldn’t tell anyone unless she said they could. Good people. Parents she
wanted to make proud because she was sure proud of them.

The lights went down properly now, leaving the arena in
near-darkness, and the crowd cheered and yelled. Then the band walked onto the
stage, Hunter with his drumsticks, the rest of the band with guitars of various
kinds slung over their shoulders. Riku in something she’d seen before, the
outrageous zebra-print pants and jacket set he’d bought at the vintage store,
to which he’d added fringe a mile long. The others wore variations on T-shirts
and jeans, Zazz’s so tight she wondered how he got into them, Jace’s almost
indecently low-slung. V wore a slinky knee-length dress in shades of purple.
Classy but edgy. Her blonde hair hung down to her waist in a sheet of golden
fire.

Each member of the band knew where to go and it was more
taking their favorite places than going to pre-ordained locations. No white
crosses on the floor that she could see.

Her stomach muscles grew tighter still. She had the best
seat in the house for the band that excited her above all others. Nothing else
mattered. Leaning forward, she watched Hunter hit his drum kit once, twice,
then Zazz picked out a gentle, simple melody on the guitar and sang plaintively
about sitting in the middle of a field in a storm.

At which point, the band exploded into sound. Difficult to
discern who was playing what at first—it was just
sound
.Beautiful,
incredible, how-the-fuck-did-they-do-that sound. At that moment, she let go,
stopped thinking and opened herself to them. Joined the seven-thousand-strong
audience and gave herself into the hands and voices of Murder City Ravens.

Undoubtedly, they were great musicians, but they had the
extra something that set them above musicianship and into another realm, where
they could communicate without words, where music spoke.

Zazz started to sing. He added focus and point, sometimes
viciously sharp, sometimes plaintively vague. He touched a spot somewhere deep
inside and brought the audience to tears with a change of pace or pitch,
suddenly switching up almost before the audience was aware of what he was
singing about.

They began one of her favorite songs,
Quiet Time
. It
started with a plaintive lament and he shrank the audience so that he spoke
directly to every person there, one to one. The band came in, understated, just
backing what he was singing. Then, at the end of the first verse, everything
changed, as if a conductor had brought down his baton. Tight, almost jazz
rhythms, and then the band opened up to rock, but it wasn’t sudden, it
transitioned so smoothly it was impossible to say where they’d changed from
sweet and sad to full-out, angry rock.