Fuck! This is so not good. Alessandra’s voice is sensational. Her songs incredible. But she’d be the last person in the world to try to convince anyone of either. In fact, I think it’s safe to say Alessandra is the worst salesperson who ever lived, when it comes to selling herself. Hence, the reason I’m such a vocal cheerleader for her. If I don’t scream from the top of every rooftop about my stepsister, then who will?
“As an example,” Reed says, apparently unaware I’m on the verge of having a panic attack mere inches away. “Let’s say an artist has strong content, but for whatever reason, I’m on the fence about them. Maybe I love their sound, but I’m concerned they’re too niche for the mainstream market. Or, maybe, I’m concerned they lack X factor as a performer. Well, in a case like that, a strong social media presence with diehard fans, even if their following is relatively small, like Bryce’s sister’s, might tip me over the edge to sign them, because that will convince me they’ve got what it takes to attract an audience. Plus, I can use their current fans as a test group. I can tailor marketing and branding to include whatever’s been working for them, and expand on it.” He shrugs. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business—in life, really—it’s that the cult of personality—the ‘cool kid industrial complex’—is very real and very powerful and should be exploited at every turn. The influencer culture is exactly what made the fiasco of the Fyre Festival possible. Did you see either of those documentaries, by the way? On the Fyre Festival? I was totally obsessed.”
“Yeah, I watched them both. I was obsessed, too. I watched them back to back.”
“Me, too,” he says. “Which one did you like better?”
“The Netflix one, I think?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but I speak first.
“One more question, though. If that’s okay.”
Reed’s jaw tightens. Ever so briefly. But he looks away from the road and smiles at me. “Sure thing. Investigate to your heart’s content, Madame Journalist.”
My stomach clenches. My gut is telling me to drop this topic and loop back to it later, maybe after we’ve talked about the Fyre Festival at length—but I’m so close now to gathering the courage needed to mention Alessandra, I simply can’t leave it alone. “What if an artist is wildly talented, but super shy?” I ask. “What if she, or he, has virtually no social media presence, but their talent is out of this world? Would you still consider signing them?”
Reed shifts his hands on his steering wheel. “That’s an exceptionally rare scenario. But, yes, on the rare occasion when I’ve been struck by lightning, I’ve signed the person, or band, on the spot, with no consideration whatsoever of their following.” His jaw muscles pulsing, Reed shifts his car into high gear as we race down a long straightaway on Wilshire Boulevard. “Any other questions, Music Scout, or are you ready to play me something from Bryce’s sister now?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” I fumble with my phone. I wish Reed could see Alessandra perform in person, so he could experience the way her live vocals burrow into a person’s soul. The way she evokes emotion with the subtlest of inflections. “Okay, I’ve found a video of Bryce’s sister at a piano.”
“Play it. I want to get this over with already.”
My hand trembling, I cue the video, and two seconds later, the sounds of simple piano chords fill Reed’s car, followed by... a beautiful voice. A breathtaking, soulful one that instantly sends shivers racing across my flesh. Oh, God. This girl is amazing!
“Okay, turn it off,” Reed says, even before the girl has reached her first chorus. “I’ve heard enough.”
My heart is galloping. “Enough to know you want to sign her?”
“Enough to know I don’t. Turn it off, please. I’d prefer silence, so we can talk.”
My lips smashed tightly together, I comply with his request, and the car becomes silent, except for the sounds made by Reed’s fancy car.
“You barely listened to her,” I finally say.
“I listened twice as long as I normally would, to give my new music scout plenty of time to make her assessment.”
“Well, my assessment is she’s amazing and you should have listened some more.”
“She’s got talent. No doubt about that. But she’s not a fit for River Records. Best of luck to her. Next.”
I can’t believe it. Is he crazy? Deaf? She was soulful and moving. Lovely. Granted, the song she was singing might not be the stuff of global smashdom, but, surely, Reed heard enough to want to listen to another song.
“You thought she was lightning in a bottle?” Reed asks.
“I thought she was possibly lightning in a bottle. Enough to keep listening, to find out for sure.”
He shifts his car. “And that’s why you’re a journalism major, and I’m me.”