January’s take: “No way, Jose.”
Let Them Eat Cake - Female vocalist. An actual decent female vocalist. Possibility of going commercial.
My take: Yeah, they could clean up their sound and go commercial, but they’re so damn good why bother? Suppose we should let them decide.
January’s take. “Tom, if you have Jason offer it to them, let them know they probably won’t sound the same. Plus, there’s no guarantee they’ll be accepted commercially still.”
“If they went commercial, January, they would be accepted and well.”
“I disagree.”
“I know a little of what I’m talking about. They’d be a massive hit.”
“You’re going to poison the one thing that gives them their edge, though.”
“I’m not so sure. I think it can transcend. Only time will tell.”
“Fine. Call Jason. Ruin them,” she joked with a smile.
“Do you even remember who signs your paychecks?” I teased.
“Shit. I forgot that for a second. Yes, call Jason but let him know that he needs to replace their keyboardist.”
“Really?” I asked her. “Why?”
“Because he’s terrible,” she said, laughing.
“Egad. I couldn’t tell from their set. Well, I suppose that instrument is your forte. You would know.”
“Thomas Eriksson is conceding a point? Just a moment.” She picked up an imaginary cell. “Yes. Oh, it has? Well then, I see.” She hung up. “It’s official, hell’s frozen over.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a reasonable person,” I told her as we headed toward the Tube.
“Oh, yes, extremely reasonable. You forget you treated me like crap the first time we met,” she admitted, the teasing leaving her tone.
“That’s not fair, January. I apologized for that already.”
“Sure,” she smirked disbelievingly with a twist at her lips.
“Hey,” I said softly, turning her toward me. “I don’t think you understand what was going on with me.”
“I knew what happened. I’m just saying I find it utter bull that you used that as an excuse to shit on everyone around you.”
“January, I don’t think you understand what you do to me.”
“Explain it.”
“Let’s get to the hotel first. It’s cold and late and I want you safe.”
We traveled in silence, all the way to our hotel, I still wrapped my arm around her shoulder and she didn’t shrug it off which made me think she just wanted to work through what was going on. I understood it. I was a confusing bastard. One minute, I was a complete asshole, the next I was practically confessing an undying infatuation. Emotional whiplash.
The ride up the elevator stirred the heat I’d let go dormant. The memory of how her soft flesh felt pressed to mine sent waves of pleasure up my spine. I glanced her direction and her eyes were as dark as mine with the same recollection.
“No,” I laughed. “Don’t look at me like that, January. This is hard enough without you looking like a bowl of ice cream.”
“I’ve a spoon, Tom.”
“Shut up. Seriously, I’m not joking. I need to get this off my chest. I need parameters.”