The Debt 8 (Club Alpha) (4 page)

“Hey, people are way too hard on Yoko,”
Jake said.
 
“She was an artist and
an inspiration to John Lennon.
 
She
was an activist.
 
He did some of his
best, most innovative work when he was with her.”

“The point is, I don’t want to be that
kind of person,” Raven said.
 
“People will think I’m using you, that I’m a gold-digger who’s riding
your coattails.
 
And maybe I’m
afraid they’re right.”

Jake laughed.
 
“These people are right who don’t even
exist yet?”

“They’re going to say it.
 
They’ve already started to say those
kinds of things about me,” Raven said.
 
“Can we handle that kind of constant scrutiny and judgment and all the
fake stories, the tabloids printing lies and ugly pictures and all of that?”

“I know I can,” Jake said, looking up
from his food and watching her closely.
 
“I think the question is whether you can handle it or not.”

Raven picked up a piece of bacon and
examined it as if it held all of the answers to her dilemma.
 
“I’m going to try, Jake,” she said.
 
“I hope I can do it.”

“I know you’re going to be okay,” he
said, taking her hand across the table.

His gaze warmed her, as did the soft
touch of his hand.
 
She felt some of
the tension drain from her chest and stomach, and strangely, her appetite
returned.
 
She put the bacon in her
mouth and chewed, feeling like a little girl who’s just been complimented by a
cute older boy.
 
“Thanks,” she said,
chewing.

“Welcome,” he said, his eyes glinting at
her.

They finished their meal, and everything
felt a lot lighter.
 
Raven was laughing
and joking around, trying to ignore any of the negative thoughts that
occasionally popped up in her mind.

She went upstairs, showered quickly and
then dressed in a somewhat business appropriate outfit—black skirt just
above the knee, boots, and a black sleeveless top.
 
She styled her hair to the best of her
ability, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, Raven thought that the
woman looking back at her was confident, sexy, but also smart.
 
She was somewhat who wouldn’t be trifled
with.

Her chin tilted up as she found that the
inner strength she’d located these last weeks was still inside her.
 

I’m
never going to let anyone make me feel less than who I am—never again.

Not long after, they were both sitting in
the jeep as Jake drove out past the gate and onto the island road.
 
It was yet another beautiful Florida
day—sunny, very few clouds, everything was bright and the colors popped
out at Raven as if everything there was somehow more real than anywhere else.

They didn’t talk so much on the drive
into Miami to meet with Mack Zee.
 
The wind was loud, and there didn’t seem to be a need to chat.
 
There was a comfort in just being
together, occasionally exchanging a glance and smile, a knowing look that said
more than a million words ever could.

Jake was wearing a light blazer and
khaki’s with sandals.
 
He looked
very casual for a big business meeting, but he still looked hot, as
always.
 
And the thing about Jake
was his confidence.
 
He didn’t need
to wear anything in particular to look incredible, formidable and confident.

The Mack Records building was located on
one of the main streets, just off the highway.
 
It was a bold, almost circular building
that extended about four or five stories up.
 

They parked out front and an attendant
took their keys, passing Jake a ticket and nodding with cool efficiency.
 
Jake took Raven’s hand as they entered
the lobby.

“Mister Novak?” a petite woman at the
front desk said, as soon as they entered.

“That’s me.”

“Mister Zee is on the fourth floor.
 
Take the elevators up and he’ll be
waiting for you.”

Jake smiled and walked Raven past the
front desk, to the elevator banks.
 
A few people in suits pretended not to notice them, but quite obviously
did.

Raven wondered how long it would be
before paparazzi were showing up in front of the building.
 
Probably under ten
minutes from when she and Jake had first been spotted walking inside.

The elevator dinged as Jake gave her hand
another squeeze, and the doors opened on the top floor, where a very large man
in a double-breasted suit was waiting.
 
He was African American, totally bald with a goatee and earrings in both
ears.
 
“Jake Novak,” he exclaimed
heartily, ushering them out.
 
“And
this must be…”

“Raven Hartley,” she said.
 

“I’m Mack Zee,” he told her, taking her
hand in what was a surprisingly soft grip from his enormous hand.
 
The man was practically a giant,
probably weighed well over three hundred pounds, much of which was fat.
 
But he had a surprisingly muscular,
solid presence, as if he’d once been an athlete and still had strength to spare.
 
“You can call me Mack, or Zee.
 
I really don’t care which.”
 
He let go of her hand and turned,
escorting them down a long hallway.

On each side of the hallway, there were
various pictures and posters lining the walls.
 
Framed covers of Spin, Rolling Stone and
other industry magazines with Mack Zee on them, signed pictures of famous
musicians from Hip Hop to R&B to Country to Rock and Roll.
 
It seemed like if they were alive and
had ever sold a record, they were on the wall and had signed their picture.

Finally, he led them into his enormous
office, which had a tremendous view of buildings, blue sky and palm trees.
 
The office itself had multiple gold and
platinum records framed and hung on the walls, along with even more artists and
their signed pictures.
 

But there was more.

Actual replicas, nearly life sized, of the
members of The Beatles from their Sargent Pepper days, Led Zeppelin, and Biggie
Smalls and Tupac stood in various positions in the office, looking creepily
real as they were caught forever performing without making a sound or a move.
 
They were frozen in time, waxy, yet
strangely human and realistic.

“So,” Mack said, striding elegantly for a
man his size, “this is where some of the magic happens, anyway.”

“Interesting interior design choice,”
Jake said, taking in the wax figures.

“You like?
 
I can have one made of you as well.
 
It would be my honor,” Mack told him,
sitting behind his desk and sighing with relief.
 
He was so big that he seemed to loom
over the desk.

Jake and Raven sat in two leather chairs
just across from him.
 
“I’m good
with not being made into a statue just yet,” Jake said.
 
“But I appreciate the offer.”

“Look,” Mack said, picking up a cigar and
twirling it in his huge, chubby fingers.
 
“I don’t want to waste your time.
 
I’m very interested in you as an artist.”

Jake nodded that he understood.
 
“That’s a huge compliment.
 
I’m very aware of your work, too.”

“So we’ve established that we dig one
another.
 
Now let’s get to the nitty
gritty.
 
Did you bring the demo
tracks?”

“I did.”
 
Jake got up and pulled the CD case from
his blazer pocket and handed it to Mack Zee, who put down the cigar in order to
take it.
 
Then Mack opened the case,
removed the CD and reached under his desk, fiddling with something.

A moment later, Jake’s demo started
playing through the speakers overhead and around the office, so loud and
crystal clear that it felt like Jake was playing a concert for them in the
room.

“The sound’s incredible,” Raven said.

Mack Zee smiled at her.
 
“I designed the speaker system myself,
and then had some of the best engineers in the business install the
system.
 
It wasn’t cheap, but it’s
worth it, as you can see.
 
I spare
no expense when it comes to music.”

He sat back, closed his eyes, and
listened.

During the time it took to play the
tracks, Mack never once opened his eyes or even moved.
 
He just listened.

A few times, Raven wondered if he’d
fallen asleep or maybe drifted into a diabetic coma.
 
But when she looked at Jake, he just
shrugged and waited.

When the final notes played, Mack opened
his eyes and gave another wide smile.
 
“That was beautiful, Jake.
 
Extraordinary.
 
Really,
really.”
 
He dabbed at the corners
of his eyes and cleared his throat.

“We’re very happy with it,” Jake said.

“So what’s your situation with your
current label?” Mack asked him, growing serious now.

“I don’t have a label, but I’m not really
free of them either,” Jake told him.
 
“We could be locked in a lengthy court battle, and I’m not sure where
it’ll end up.
 
They could get in the
way of any attempt at putting out a new album.”

Mack nodded as though it all made perfect
sense to him.
 
“Any chance you’ll
patch things up with them?”

“No,” Jake said.
 
He shook his head once and didn’t flinch
when Mack Zee stared him down, stroking his goatee.

“The music is phenomenal,” Mack said, “and
based on what the response has been to the video you put up for Too Far From
Home, I’m guessing this album could be your biggest yet,” Mack told him.
 
“I’d love nothing more than to partner
up with you and produce and distribute this thing.”

“The question is whether or not I can do
it legally,” Jake said.
 

Mack Zee smiled again.
 
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, my
brother.
 
That’s always been my
experience.”

Jake checked in with Raven.
 
“What do you think?”

Raven shrugged.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I mean
,
this
isn’t really my area of expertise.”

“But I want to know what you think,” Jake
said in a low voice, leaning towards her.
 
He looked into her eyes.
 
“Go
on, say it.”

She turned toward Mack.
 
“I guess I’m curious what you’re
offering.
 
Because I think Jake
could probably release this album himself digitally, and not even worry about
CDs or anything like that.
 
And he’d
probably make quite a lot of money going independent.”

Mack smiled and nodded, his eyes flitting
to Jake.
 
“She’s good,” he
said.
 
“I should hire her.”

Jake laughed.
 
“She’s exclusive to me, Mr. Zee.”

“That’s too bad.
 
I can tell she’s sharp and she’s got
gumption, which I like.”
 
Mack
picked up his cigar again and spun it deftly with his fingers.
 
“What we’re offering is simple.
 
We spend the money to produce the tracks
in our studios, get the very best equipment and engineers to do it the right
way.
 
We go wide with distribution
as soon as possible, and we hit hard on all the stations—both terrestrial
and satellite.
 
It still takes a lot
of green to make them play your songs in heavy rotation to the point where all
the little girls and boys cry to their parents to buy the album.”

Raven looked to Jake and saw he was
nodding in agreement.

“Is that all?” she asked Mack Zee.

He laughed, a deep-throated chuckle.
 
“Is that all, she says.
”
 
He shook his
head.
 
“Is that all?
 
Well, that’ll be a few hundred thousand
easy.
 
But no, that’s not all.
 
Because then we pay for advertising on
TV, billboards, you name it we do it.
 
I know how to take a big album and make it explode, get those Grammies,
get that double platinum status, that critical and commercial acclaim.
 
That’s what Mack Zee does, baby.”
 
He put the cigar between his teeth and
spread his arms wide.