Page 43 of The Last Love Song
‘That’s because he said your lyrics stink, Todd,’ smiled Ian peaceably. ‘Maybe he was right,’ he shrugged.
‘Oh really, Ian? Well, maybe if you weren’t stoned out of your skull day and night you might try putting pen to paper and writing some stuff. Then you’ll know how difficult it is to—’
‘Boys, boys.’ Con held up his hands. ‘This is not the time to be arguing. We’ve been given a proposal and we need to consider it seriously.’
‘He talked about a living wage,’ breathed Derek incredulously.
‘Yeah, depends what sort of “living” he was talking about, though,’ Todd said morosely.
‘Well, let’s be honest, it’s got to be better than what we’re all trying to survive on at the moment,’ said Derek.
‘So you’d sell your artistic integrity for the sake of a few pounds a week, would you?’
‘We have to eat, Todd,’ put in Con. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make money. I thought he was straight-talking. No messing. I liked that.’
‘That’s only because he thought the sun shone out of your arse.’ Todd shook his head.
‘Well, man, it was something he liked. Don’t knock it,’ said Ian, searching his pockets for a box of matches and relighting his joint.
Todd looked like he was going to launch himself at Ian, so Derek put a fraternal hand on his shoulder. ‘You know how hard it is to get anyone from a record company to come to a gig. Freddy Martin would have them along in a blink of an eye. He also said he’d be paying for demo tapes, something we could never do, Todd.’
Todd shrugged off his cousin’s hand. ‘Yeah, Derek, and then he’ll claw the money back when we get our first deal and then take twenty per cent of all we earn for the privilege.’
‘But that’s business, Todd,’ Derek shrugged. ‘Any manager will want to take his cut. We can be the best band in the world, but if we have no money to put into our development, then it’s pointless. We could stay as we are for years.’
‘He may have insulted us, but hey, man, he must think we havesomething. It’s his reputation on the line too. Anyone for a drag?’ Ian waved his joint around.
‘No thanks,’ said Con. ‘Freddy Martin knows what he’s talking about. I admit he’s not perfect, but what else do we have? There are a hundred bands in London who would jump at a chance like this. If we don’t take it, then another group will.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Derek. ‘Guys, you know what I suggest?’
‘Pray tell us,’ droned Todd.
‘That we take a vote on it.’
‘What if it’s a split decision?’ asked Ian. ‘There are four of us.’
‘Then we’ll toss a coin or something,’ Derek smiled. ‘Okay, I’ll go first. I say we go with Freddy Martin.’ Derek shrugged as Todd shot him a venomous look.
‘I say I leave the band if the rest of you vote in favour,’ said Todd.
‘Con?’ Derek turned to him.
‘I’m with you, Derek. I’m thinking that a new haircut and a sissy suit is preferable to possible failure and probable starvation.’
‘Ian?’ Derek asked.
‘I’m with you too. I’m looking forward to the screaming groupies.’ He smiled.
‘Well, chaps, looks like the decision’s been taken. We’re giving Freddy Martin a shot. Sorry, Todd,’ said Derek.
Todd stood up, a look of disgust on his face. He silently left the pub.
‘You’ve done what?!’
Lulu stood in the centre of her Chelsea sitting room, staring down incredulously at her boyfriend.
Todd poured another glass of whiskey from the already half-empty bottle. He took a slug and shrugged. ‘Yep, I’ve left.’
