Page 133 of Talk Nerdy To Me
Mom nods like she completely agrees as well.
“I feel eight,” Randy stage whispers to me.
“Honey Bee, could you give me a moment to speak with the boys?” Vince asks her like this is a mom-and-pop routine, and Mom stands like she’s gloating as she prisses her way out.
Sticks slumps down next to me, and we all just sort of stare at him.
“I know you think you know how this business is ran, because you’ve told the entire west coast as much,” he continues, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sticks slinks down farther on the couch, and so do I.
“The problem is, you say the words, yet can’t understand at the end of the day this is a business. If you don’t do business, you’re just a singer. Nothing wrong with that, but you keep saying you’re trying to break into the business.”
He leans back, propping both arms up on the back of the couch as he studies us one by one.
“I’ve never felt more intimidated in all my life,” Randy whispers again.
“The problem is you’re a half-chiseled diamond who declares you’re polished and ready when you’re simply not. You’re certainly talented enough to be on everyone’s radar, but we, the businessmen, know the type.”
He clicks his tongue, and directs his sole attention on me.
“Self-righteous, arrogant, preachy, know-it-alls who think they’re the most original thing rock-and-roll has ever seen,” he adds, lips twitching in a smile.
“The attitude is setting you back, because you have to be humbled. Let’s face it, it’d take someone like me to humble you enough to make you realize just how very differently things work when you’re on the other side. You learn artists, see their limitations, and know which ones will slowly kill their futures away…”
He smirks as he pointedly looks at us.
“It’s an industry full of nauseating clichés.”
Randy starts fanning himself with his shirt and breaking out into red patches.
“You don’t take special interest in someone unless you really want to put in the work. And to put in the work, you need a personal attachment and reason to do so.”
He glances over all four of us again.
“Either people don’t know or care about my daughters, or they don’t think I care about them. The truth is, I care about them very much. I rarely ever tell them no when they really want something,” he continues on, rambling at this point, since this doesn’t seem relevant.
“Congratulations,” he says as he claps his hands together. “You got my daughter’s vote. This is a one-time offer, and don’t get too excited. I’m not throwing you out for instant stardom, but we’re going to slap together a quick foundation to build on,” he goes on.
Randy gets up and runs out of the room, screaming like the kid on Home Alone, and Vince just smirks like he expected that to happen.
“I don’t particularly like you, so don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. I don’t answer to you; you answer to me. I don’t work for you; you work for me,” Vince adds as though it’s an inconvenience to keep talking about this.
“Why would your daughter do us any favors?” Sticks asks in a quiet voice.
“Oh, she didn’t do it for you. She has a friend she cares about named Britt, who happens to think you just need the right mentor to advise you. I don’t tell my girls no very often when they really want something. It’s rare they need me at all. Hence the reason you’re a very lucky group of individuals.”
I say nothing, just rubbing my hands together, trying to figure out one simple reason Britt would do this.
“You don’t earn your way into a chance like this,” he continues. “It simply just doesn’t happen. Either you become an internet sensation—by luck—or you luck your way into another spot, or you get lucky enough to have the right family member or friend in the correct, pivotal position at the right moment in time. It takes both hard work and luck to hit the rest of the rungs on the ladder just right.”
My eyes come up to meet his as he leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.
“To get what you want, you have to meet me halfway; otherwise, I’ll stop caring,” he goes on. “I’ll find someone else who will be worth my own personal attention. I can’t build your career on my own, and even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
Randy comes barging back in, breathing in and out of a brown paper bag, still breaking out into hives.
“I like him. He gets how lucky you all are,” Vince goes on, hiking a thumb toward Randy, while stomping on the shambles of our pride.
