Author's Chapter Notes:
Only characters I own are original ones such as Jenna Timbrook and Damon Fouty. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
This chapter frustrated me to end for some reason. I have no idea why. It didn't seem to end. I hope you all like it :D Constructive criticism and comments are always welcome! Thank you all so much for reading this. I hope you are enjoying it so far.
Chapter 3
JC flopped onto his queen sized bed. That went well. I expected nothing less. Eric was only interested in his image and keeping the media from calling him all the time. He (and the record label for that matter) didn’t care about JC as a person, only a commodity; commodities get abandoned when they are no longer useful. JC knew that. He couldn’t repeat the same destructive decisions and expect different results. Life doesn’t work that way. Yet he continued the cycle because he didn’t have the will to fight the toxic energies in his life.
He wasn’t always submissive. JC used to call people out if he felt mistreated. After a particularly heated discussion with a few Jive executives, he’d turned over a table in frustration and left the room. He didn’t remember what about; only that he felt disrespected and couldn’t stand it any further. When rumors circulated that Eva, a former girlfriend, was cheating on him with a famous basketball player, he’d confronted her about it. She lied straight to his face multiple times. Finally, he walked in on them at her house. He turned around and never looked back. He could swallow the truth easier than a blatant or malicious lie.
Music had always been there through the hard times. He could channel his emotions into song and make something beautiful out of something painful. Sharing his work with an audience while connecting with an audience via his words, made the negative aspects of celebrity worth it. If he was being honest with himself, he missed performing. He missed that feeling of being appreciated for who he was as an artist. He missed seeing the fans’ faces light up as he sang a song they knew and loved. He wished he had the courage to release another album. But his confidence had been shattered after the run-ins with Jive. Besides, they owned the master tapes for ‘Kate’ and he didn’t feel like fighting for their custody. Truly, he didn’t have the strength to fight for anything now. He hated the soulless being he’d become; if only something or someone could revive his passion and vivacity. For tonight at least, he had to put on a brave face and provide answers to questions he didn’t know himself.
-
A limo pulled up in JC’s driveway a few hours later. Eric, you didn’t have to do that. I wanted to sneak in the back door of the party. But since when has he listened to me? He studied his reflection one more time. His black suit and white shirt ensemble depicted a man put together. Of course, this was a lie, but the public didn’t need to know that. He coughed from somewhere deep inside. Oh shit, please don’t start now. Luckily it subsided after a second. He grabbed his wallet and headed out to join his ride.
“Impressive, no?” Eric asked as JC crawled in the leather seat opposite him.
Yeah, real impressive. He didn’t respond and reached over for a glass of wine.
“Have you thought about what you’ll say?”
JC shook his head. “Not really. Why?”
His manager scoffed. “Surely you must have a plan. You don’t want to fly off the cuff, do you?”
More or less. “So what if I do?”
“You’re in the public eye; you’re supposed to care what others think.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not. It screws with your mind if you read what the gossip rags say about you. They don’t care as long as they can make money off you. That’s when celebrities get big egos because they put too much stock into that stuff.”
“You dated that journalist and how did that work out for you?”
JC snarled. That really shows your character right there, dude. “Let’s not go there right now. Anyway, the only reason I’m here is to clear the air so you’ll quit harping me about it. I’m only giving one interview, end of discussion. And if you think you can coach me on what to say, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Razor sharp silence lingered the rest of the way to the hotel. JC couldn’t wait to arrive. All he wanted to do was a quick interview and have a few glasses of wine. And possibly forget about the pain. Socializing with others who were halfway decent should do the trick.
The blinding flash of the cameras greeted him as he stepped out of the vehicle. The photographers were shouting his name in every direction. He waved halfheartedly and stood in from of the ad wall depicting all the sponsors of the event. He put on the widest fake smile he could muster to fool everyone. Afterwards, he scoured press row to find a reporter to talk to. He wanted it to be someone he’d talked to before and liked. However, most of them looked like yippy little flakes just to get his attention: screaming his name, frantically waving their hands to and following him down the hall.
Finally, he spotted Damon Fouty, a reporter for Los Angeles’s ABC affiliate. He’d been interviewed by him a few times and they had a good rapport. JC approached Damon and the latter smiled. “You want to talk to talk to me, eh?”
JC nodded. “Most everyone here is annoying as hell.”
Damon laughed. “I hear you, bro. I can’t stand most of my compatriots in this field. But that’s a story for another day. Camera please, Will.”
The guy next to him pressed a button on his camera and Damon held up his microphone. “How did you hear about Black Notes Foundation and want to get involved?”
“I first heard about them through a producer I worked with a few years ago. I’m an avid proponent for music education. It’s a shame it’s getting cut from schools because it has such a positive impact on young people.”
That answer prompted a nice conversation about the foundation and what work it does to preserve much education, such as provide instruments and music to lower income schools and advocate for music education in general.
“If you don’t mind, can we talk about why you exited America’s Best Dance Crew recently?” He asked timidly.
“Yeah, sure. Look, D-Trix has his opinions and I have mine. I respect him and I hope the feeling’s mutual. It has nothing to do with him or a rivalry. I have some issues in my personal life I need to sort out. It looks a little odd because of the way I went about it, but that’s what it is.”
“Well, I hope you take time to take care of yourself and get that in order. Thanks for talking with me, man.”
“No problem.” JC shook his hand.
The next hour passed by with dullness. JC socialized with attendees, including company bigwigs and fellow celebrities. He had forgotten how mentally exhausting and boring small talk could get after a certain amount of time. Weather, party compliments and kissing up to one another wasn’t normally his cup of tea. He preferred to talk about his passions.
JC then noticed a slender woman with curled brown locks wearing a simple black halter dress two tables away. She was scribbling in a small leaflet notebook and her features depicted focus and concentration. He had seen her before, but he couldn’t place where. She was striking, to say the least. She looks like Jenna. Jenna always wrote things down in notebooks during meetings. He never did ask her why. The last time they spoke was the day he was dropped from the label four years ago. Oh, how he remembered that day well.
JC gulped and adjusted his tie. He had a gnawing feeling about today’s meeting. Maurice Jenkins, the CEO of Jive, had personally told him about it. He knew all the company big wigs would be there. It could only mean one thing: he was about to lose his job. He hoped the executives would cut to the chase, but that wasn’t likely. They loved to avoid questions and spoke fluently in euphemisms.
Several corporate executives lined the table in the conference room. JC recognized all of them, most of whom he’d had several disagreements. At the head of the table was Mr. Jenkins, the balding middle aged man who cared more about money than artistic integrity. The tension was blatant as the singer took a seat.
“Good afternoon, Joshua.”
Mr. Jenkins had always called JC by his real name. It sent chills down his spine. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“I’m sure you must be wondering why we summoned you here.”
“Yes.” He answered curtly.
“And your solo career here at Jive Records has been tumultuous at times. We have not been on the same page. Nonetheless, we have worked through the troubles.”
I sense a ‘but’ coming here. Come on, get to the point Jenkins. JC nodded.
“Therefore, with deep regret in my heart, I must inform you that we agreed to terminate your deal.”
JC raised an eyebrow. “And who is we?”
“The vice president, president of A&R and I. All material you have recorded while under contact with us is our property. Any questions?”
Shit. I figured as much. “No sir.”
“Then you are dismissed.”
As he rose from his chair, he noticed Jenna a few seats down, taking notes. Crap. Why is she here? I didn’t want her to see that. He felt his face flush as he left the meeting room.
He wanted to get as far away from that building as possible. It held terrible memories and he was anxious to escape the turmoil associated with this company. However, heels clicked swiftly after him. “JC!” Jenna called.
“What do you want, Jenna?”
“To talk to you.”
He turned around. “You’re one of them. You’re not supposed to care about me. I’m not longer Jive’s concern.”
She frowned. “JC, I really am sorry. For what it’s worth, I believe in you and I hope you can find success someday.”
JC nodded curtly and scurried down the hall.
He took a swing of wine so he wouldn’t look like he was blatantly staring at her. That line had stuck with him since that day. He wished he’d told her thank you, but was preoccupied with his hurt and sense of betrayal. He should have known better than to trust the label again. They’d given up on Schizophrenic after several singles that THEY chose. Nonetheless, he gave second chances; that kindness had been taken advantage of numerous times. He sighed.
What the hell? Might as well try. Worst case scenario I mistake her and possibly have a great conversation with a beautiful woman. JC braced himself and started to approach her. She looked up at him and he extended his hand in greeting. “Excuse me ma’am” he said, trying his best to keep an even tone. “We worked together a few years ago. Do you remember me?”
Story Tags: postsync jc cancer tearjerker
