Page 32 of Filthy Beautiful
He wasn’t gonna suddenly open up shop in some skyscraper downtown and start taking meetings.
“So what’s happening with those Steel Snatch boys?” Trey poked, gently changing the subject.
Yeah, Trey had always called my bandSteel Snatch. To him, Steel Trap sounded too much like Steel Pussy. Just another thing I could’ve listened to his counsel on when we’d first set out, but didn’t, because I didn’t want to step on my bandmates’ toes.
“Going their separate ways,” I said. “I mean, I’m going my separate way. Don’t know about the rest of them. Don’t really care. I’m over it.”
He hardly looked surprised. “You’ve talked to the boys upstairs?”
By that, I knew he meant band management, the record company.
“Soon. But if I go with Ashley Player, Brody Mason will probably take over anyway.”
“You want my advice…”
“I do.”
“For the chance to be managed by Brody Mason, I’d probably take Ashley Player’s offer. Especially if DJ Summer’s onboard. Girl is infernal-hot. Though I’d still run it bemefirst… and make sure you sign with the hottest record label around, of course.”
Of course.
Hard to say, just yet, how it would all fit together, though. I hadn’t even decided yet if I was joining Ash and Summer’s band, so I wasn’t exactly ready to start talking about signing a record deal.
“That would be sweet. Dirty’s been working with Woo for so long, though…” I broached the subject carefully, hoping it wouldn’t piss him off. Dirty was the biggest rock band to come out of Vancouver in the last decade, and Brody was their manager. Woo was their record producer. Love Street Records was the label Dirty had been signed to their whole careers, and Jesse Mayes, Dirty’s lead guitarist, was now co-producing their albums with Woo. I didn’t know if working with Brody would naturally extend to Woo and Jesse producing our album, but if I joined Ash and Summer’s band, I’d definitely be hoping it would. “Jesse Mayes has been producing with him, the last few years… I was hoping we’d maybe head in that direction. Pretty sure if we get Woo, though, he’d want us down in L.A., at Love Street.”
“Fuck Love Street Records,” Trey said, pretty much like I expected he would, though he didn’t sound all that pissed. “Fuck David Woo. And fuck Jesse Mayes. You come with me, I’ll make it real sweet for you, brother.” He flashed me the killer smile that had earned him all the mad cash as a model, massive dimples and all. “You know this. No other exec will love you like I do. You want cash, cars… pussy? I’ll make it rain, baby.”
“I don’t doubt you will.”
“And by the way, you see Jesse Mayes, you tell him I send my love. And you tell him to come see me.”
I chuckled.
“So, where’re you staying?” he asked. “You at Cary’s again?”
“Yeah. Poolhouse out back.”
“So how come I never get invited over to the Playboy Mansion of the north?”
“It’s not exactly party central. It’s pretty quiet over there these days.”
“It’s just the two of you?”
“No. His sister’s there, too. Actually, Larissa was hanging with her by the pool today, when I was heading out…” I faded off.
A strange smile was spreading across Trey’s face. No dimples, though. This time, it showed in his eyes more than anything, and I didn’t like the look of it.
“What?”
“Oooh, Courteney Clarke.” He gave a low whistle. “Damn. Shoulda known.”
“Known what?”
“That something really fucking sweet must’ve put that sour-assed look on your face. Tell Dr. Jones about it, brother. That little honey giving you grief?”
“Why would she?”
He laughed. “You forget me, man. I know you. And I’ve seen her.”
