pounds a fist on the table. “We’ll deal with it now, before we have a situation.”
“Crew’s right,” Jeremy says. “In Florida we needed event security more than we ever have.”
“Fine,” she says. “It’s your money. The first one was on us. Any additional security is your responsibility. Read the contract. Can we move on please? I don’t have all day.”
I turn to the next page and skim it. “Dancing? What the hell, Ronni?”
“I’ve hired a dance instructor and choreographer. I saw video of some of your performances in Florida. You were all over the place. Uncoordinated. We need to clean it up.”
“We’re not NSYNC.” Everyone at the table complains but Garrett. He’s laughing because he’s the drummer and drummers don’t dance. I point at him. “Shut up.”
He pulls his sticks from his back pocket and beats them on his thigh.
“We’re not dancing,” Crew says.
Ronni arches a mocking brow. “Think of it more as having synchronized movements to the beat of the music.”
“What’s the difference?” I say. I pull the page out of the packet and rip it in half. “I’m not fucking dancing.”
Ronni comes over and puts an authoritative hand on the table in front of me. “You’ll dance if I say you dance.”
“Are you guys hearing this shit?” I stand and cross to the other side of the room, not wanting to hit a woman.
“Sit down,” Jeremy says. “No one is going to make you dance. Especially if you’re terrible at it.”
Ronni glares at him like he’s her worst enemy. “Really, Jeremy? Now they’ll be bad on purpose.”
“Noooo,” he says melodramatically. “They wouldn’t dare.” He turns to us, smiling. “Would you?”
It still amazes me how Jeremy went from being Ronni’s lackey to being on our side.
“Either way, it’s a done deal,” Ronni says, her lips forming an uncompromising line. “Let’s move on.”
“What the hell is this about imposing fines?” Garrett says, leafing through the packet.
We all turn to the page he’s referring to.
“Oh, yes,” Ronni says. “In order to keep you from pulling any further stunts that will damage your brand, we’ve instituted a system of fines.”
“You’re kidding!” I say.
“You may not realize it,” she says. “But stunts like what Crew pulled in Florida—proposing on stage—hurt you. I understand you thought it was romantic, but that has no place here. You shouldn’t be airing your dirty laundry in front of the fans.”
“You think us getting engaged is dirty laundry?” Bria says defensively.
“Obviously not if you were bank tellers, but you’re rock stars. There is a certain reputation you need to uphold. You have to keep the fantasy alive for the fans. If they think you’re taken and will live happily ever after, they have no reason to worship you.”
“Haven’t we been over this a hundred times?” Crew asks.
“And we’ll keep talking about it until you hear me. You’re on the cusp of being famous. Years from now, when you’re established and bringing in serious money, you can have some latitude. Until then I’m your rep. IRL handles your PR, and you’ll do as we say.”
“You can’t tell us how to act,” Garrett says.
“I suggest you read your contract, because it clearly says we can.”
“No,” Crew says. “That’s how you interpret it.”
“And right now mine is the only opinion that matters.” Ronni’s fake smile becomes a smirk. “You’re free to hire an attorney at any time. If you don’t like what you hear, write us a check for a million dollars, and we’ll gladly part ways. Until then, you’ll do things my way.”
“How much longer are we stuck with IRL?” Crew asks.
“Two years, one month, and thirteen days,” I say flatly.
Jeremy laughs. “But who’s counting?”
Ronni shoots him a traitorous glance.
“Listen, people, it’s imperative I have my finger on the pulse of Reckless Alibi, or I won’t be able to help you. Crew and Bria, have you considered what a messy divorce would do to the band? Have you thought about children? What will you do with them when you’re on the road?”
“Plenty of musicians have kids,” Bria says.
“And they have a spouse to take care of them when they go on tour.”
Crew takes Bria’s hand. “We’ll work it out.”
Ronni turns to Garrett. “What about you? Anything I need to know?”
“Uh, I masturbated in the shower this morning, thinking about a hot chick I met last night.”
“See?” She motions to Garrett. “This is how rock stars behave.” She looks in my direction. “What about you?”
“Fuck off, Ronni.”
“Do you deny being in a relationship with that awful girl I was tricked into