Double Time

Chapter 19

The next afternoon, Reagan slipped into the backseat of Exodus End’s limo. The man inside resembled someone’s grand-father more than someone who had made a metal band like Exodus End superstars. Sam Baily was talking into his cell phone but looked up and smiled at Reagan warmly when she settled into the seat closest to the door.

“I’ll call you back. I have my work cut out for me here,” he said and disconnected.

What exactly did he mean by “work cut out for me”?

“So I take it you’re Reagan Elliot,” he said and reached across the console to shake her hand.

She was half-tempted to say, “who? I just wanted a limo ride,” in an attempt to break the ice, but she didn’t think this guy fucked around.

“Yes, sir.”

“My assistant is dying to get her hands on you. She likes that girly sort of stuff. She’ll take you shopping for some decent clothes, get your hair fixed, help you with your makeup.” He tilted his head and assessed her more closely. She was five seconds from popping him in the mouth and telling him to go fuck himself. Who did he think he was?

Exodus End’s exalted manager, that’s who.

“How would you feel about getting breast implants?” he asked.

She was too stunned to answer at first, and when she finally could speak, the most she could muster was, “No.”

“The band would pay for it.”

She met his pale blue eyes steadily. “I’m not interested.”

“That’s too bad.” He opened a tan leather folio on his lap and wrote something down. He clicked his pen with finality and closed the folio again. What was he writing? Something about her? Had she totally blown it?

She looked down at her small breasts. Would it be the end of the world if she got a little augmentation? No. But if she ever did get cosmetic surgery it would be because she wanted it, not because someone pressured her into it. “I just want to play guitar.”

“That’s fine. I thought you’d rather be an asset to the band instead of a liability, but we can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Having small boobs made her a liability? She didn’t know if she should be offended or hurt, so she settled on pissed. “I know I’m a nobody, but that doesn’t mean you can talk to me that way.”

“Forget I offered.” He opened his folio and she half-expected him to pull out a sign that read “reject” and hang it around her neck. Instead he pulled out a thick piece of off-white paper and handed it to her. “That is your itinerary for the next week. Today is reserved for finding you the right look both onstage and in public. The rest of the week you’ll be rehearsing for the show. Questions?”

She scanned the sheet but didn’t really internalize anything it said. She was still upset about becoming a sex object, or whatever it was this guy was trying to convert her into. “Why are you so fixated on my look?”

“You’re an entertainer, Reagan. It comes with the territory.”

“I’m a musician.”

“In the studio, you’re a musician. Onstage, you’re an entertainer. Get used to it. It’s not up for negotiation.”

She stared down at her itinerary for the day. In ten minutes, she had an appointment with a hairstylist. She rubbed a hand over the short hair at the back of her head. Was her twenty-dollar haircut that bad? And why did she need a pedicure? She wore combat boots on a daily basis.

“Reagan?”

She glanced up at Sam.

“Instead of fighting it, try having fun with it.”

Easy for him to say. He didn’t have to worry about the size of his boobs being a liability.