Page 13 of After Effect

Chapter 4

Finch Corbin

Contacts or glasses? Is my tie straight? Why is my hair always so messy?

I don’t know why I was stressing so much. It’s just a simple meeting with Lilly. All we’re going to do is talk about some basic strategy and work in the studio a bit. But this is my first ever client. This is a big deal. I have to make this work, or Baek’s going to own my ass until I’m fifty.

Right. My nerves had nothing to do with who I was meeting with and everything to do with the stakes. I verified my appearance in the bathroom mirror one more time, grabbed my bag, and headed to the lobby.

Lilly was waiting patiently. She was dressed casually, her black dress perfectly fitted around her lean muscles, and her long legs trailing down to well-worn cowboy boots. We exchanged the usual greetings, and she followed me to the studio on the twentieth floor. The room was small, largely taken up by the mix panel and various recording equipment, and one wall dedicated to a large window to the sound proof studio.

I pulled a stack of papers from my messenger bag, and sat down in the seat beside the recording equipment. Lilly sat down beside me. I had had a long talk with Jonathan the day before to give me some idea of what I was supposed to do here. I had all of the bullet points hand scrawled on the page in front of me. Now if only my nerves would quiet down and let me talk.

I shook my head and stood up again, so I could look down at Lilly. I felt more in control with her below me. One more deep breath. Eye contact.

“So, here’s the plan.” Good. I sound like I know what I’m doing already. “Before you even get on stage for the first time, before anyone so much as hears you sing, you need to be an appealing and easy to digest package.”

She cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips. “What does that mean exactly?”

A good question. Such a good question, I didn’t actually have an answer. I casually glanced at my notes again, hoping Jonathan had said something that explained it, then returned my attention to Lilly. Right. That. “A couple things. Like, your physical image is already spot on. You’re a great looking woman. You look young and fun. Maybe ditch the cowboy boots and buy yourself some real heels though…”

“But these are my mom’s.”

“No one wants to listen to a song that arouses them while reminding them of their mom.”

Lilly wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know if that’s true. I mean, I’ve had quite a few men call me-“

“ANYWAYS.” Not here to hear about your conquests. “My point being is that we want you to look modern and sexy. Not campy and southern. Even if you were birthed in a horse stall of your dad’s barn-“

“Hey now.” Her expression flattened.

“I just mean we’re not here to sell a country singer.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Lilly nodded. “I’ll get a new pair of shoes. What else?”

“Your name.”

“What’s wrong with my name?” Her mouth fell open, as though she couldn’t believe I’d even suggest that.

“It’s too long. Too many syllables. No one has time to say ‘Lillian Ainsworth-Cisneros every single time they want to talk about you. On the off chance you make it into casual internet conversations, everyone is going to start abbreviating you to ‘LAC.’ Then lac will turn into ‘lacking talent’ or ‘lactating’ or-”

“POINT TAKEN.” Lilly rolled her eyes. “So what then? Am I going to drop my last name completely, and just be ‘Lilly’? Maybe jazz it up and call me ‘Simply Lilly.’”

I snorted involuntarily. “What. No. You’re not starting an old-fashioned jam factory. I was going to suggest something more along the lines of just dropping one of your last names. We’ll call you ‘Lilly Cisneros.’ Hot Latin women sell. People will love it.”

“I don’t know if my mom will love the idea of dropping her maiden name.”

“But she’ll love the idea of her little girl being massively successful.”

Lilly contemplated for a few moments, made a few idle nods, then reconnected eye contact. She inhaled long and deep. “Fine. Anything else?”

“Well… those are the simple fixes. Tell me about your audition. What happened exactly?”

“Ah, that.” Recalling the memory alone was enough to fluster her. “That was...”

“Performance anxiety?”

“I mean, I guess technically… But can you never use that phrase to describe me again?”

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