The Gift

Chapter 5: Black Magic Woman-1

Chapter 5: Black Magic Woman

August

It had been stupid, going to such a public place as the outside food stand turned out to be, especially at such a busy time in the day, and they rushed into Anton’s office building, laughing. As they passed the surprised security guard, Doren leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Pick one.”

August pointed at the youngest in a handful of screaming girls. She was maybe ten, with long honey hair and a pair of unfortunate glasses. She’d be a beauty when her parents finally let her learn the wonders of contact lenses. Doren reached past the hustling officer and took her pen and book, scrawling his name elaborately on a flowered page, before lifting his hand to his mouth, kissing his index and middle finger, and touching them to her cheek. Undeniable adoration lit her face and they left the group of fans that had found, surrounded, and then chased them the entire way to the building, out on the sidewalk, squealing and calling out their undying love. August laughed at him as they passed the elevator, the smug look on Doren’s face not nearly as much of a turnoff as it should have been. “You left a lot of jealous fans out there.”

Doren grinned and motioned toward the door to the stairwell. “Always leave them wanting more, Auggie. Always leave them wanting more.”

“Stop calling me—”

“Quick now,” Doren said, cutting August short with a smirk. “Lest we rile the man for being late.”

The building was pretty posh, the hallways and the elevators rich with gleaming wood, muted colors and thick carpeting, but Anton’s office was immaculate. It was full of gleaming stainless steel and supple, black leather, complemented with rich, brilliantly polished, dark walnut side tables and desks. There were three of those desks, all sitting empty, and the room was so silent that the quiet seemed to echo. August walked to the window that filled up the exterior wall from waist to ceiling and all the way across the room and stared out at the busy street below them. His father’s office had always seemed enormous. In comparison to what he was standing in now, it had been nothing but a storage closet. “My God,” August mumbled to the glass, “this office is ridiculous.”

Doren chuckled. “This isn’t even the office, Aug. This is just the waiting area.” He was about to say something further when he was interrupted.

“Doren, Doren, my awesome, wonderful star. Isn’t this fantastic? I’m all but busting with pleasure to finally have you here at home base.”

August flinched away from the window in a reaction that felt instinctual, his skin crawling at the sudden appearance of the impressive man who had just walked in the room. At least, he assumed the man had just walked in the room. August was pretty sure he hadn’t been there when they came in, but the man’s entrance had been cat-like in silence and stealth, and there was the possibility he had simply manifested out of the air. He was striking, the kind of man many of his friends would have fallen over themselves to get a piece of: tall, built like a sculpture, with impressive clothing and jewellery. He all but screamed of good taste and the love of fine things.

He stalked past August confidently and extended his hand to Doren. “I trust the hotel meets with your liking?”

“Anton,” Doren shrugged coolly, eyeing Anton’s hand before giving it a half-hearted fist bump. “The hotel’s fine.”

Anton smiled and drew his hand back. “Wonderful. And my security guard tells me that you’ve left a crowd in your wake. Very good; by tonight the whole city will know that Doren has arrived.” He spoke the last part of the comment with a flourish toward the window, and a dramatic tone that sounded, to August, to be about the cheesiest thing ever spoken.

August stood back, pressed against the window, waiting for direction, and as if reading his mind, Anton turned and stared. “I’m sorry, refresh my memory?”

Even though every nerve in August’s spine screamed at him not to, August hurried forward, knocking his knee on the corner of the desk and wincing in pain while trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. “August, sir. We met briefly at the interview. Not that I would expect you to remember, of course. There were a ton of people there. I’m Doren’s assistant.” He parroted Anton’s previous gesture of welcome by sticking his hand out.

For a second August thought Anton would leave him hanging, but finally reacted with a reach that touched little more than their fingertips. “Yes, that’s right. I remember now. August. With the terrible suit and the puppy smile.”

Anton dropped contact almost immediately. “I’m afraid my secretaries are out of the office on lunch and won’t be back for some time.” He spoke to Doren directly, even turning his back to August. “Assistants. Sometimes you just have to let them out to play or they get grumpy.” He waved back at August. “Had I known you were bringing yours along I would have insisted they stay to entertain. But done is done. Perhaps August can help out in their absence and grab us some coffee from down the hall while we discuss your schedule.”

August hesitated, watching Doren for direction. He didn’t need to wait long.

“No, thanks.” Doren dropped into a chair, effectively ignoring, or missing, the raised eyebrow that Anton gave him. “I’m not into coffee right now. Besides, I’d really like August here while we talk.” He smiled at August and a rush of confidence surged into August’s chest. “He helps me keep track of things. You know how I can be.” Doren swirled a finger over his temple. “A little scatterbrained at the best of times.”

While Doren turned his attention to the window, August caught the angry glare that Anton offered him. It was a short glare, the rest of the expression saved August himself. It made August want to slink out into the hall. August had no interest in confrontation; he certainly didn’t have any desire to go head-to-head with a man so obviously important. At the best of times Anton was the kind of guy he avoided. He reminded August of every man he’d ever met at his father’s office or his parent’s country club, every self-important professor and slick-haired student who’d got into the college because their daddy was in the business. Except worse, somehow—stronger, meaner, harder—because Anton obviously had the good looks, money and brains to back it all up.

“Or,” the little voice in the back of August’s mind piped up, “maybe you’re just not giving him a fair shake.” After all, they’d barely spoken. Maybe this was just Anton’s way when he met people for the first time. Some guys liked to peacock, prove themselves superior. And he was, after all, the Big Boss. Kind of. Except, that wasn’t really true in August’s case, specifically. Doren was his boss. Diana had made that quite clear, made a point of saying it, in fact. August didn’t work for the studio, he worked for Doren. For whatever reason that might be, Diana had wanted to make sure August was aware of that fact. If Doren said August was going to be part of the meeting, if Doren said he needed August’s assistance, then that was damn well where August was going to be. No matter what kind of look Anton wanted to skulk at them.

“Right this way then, gentlemen,” Anton said, waving them both through a massive door. “Please sit wherever you wish.” His voice was as pleasant as a snake charmer coercing angry reptiles, but August could feel a seething gaze on him the entire time that he helped Doren rise, walked into a boardroom-styled space, and settled into a chair beside Doren.

Doren had been right. The rest of the office was even more massive, and just as impressive. The rich leather and dark wood continued inside the room and glimmered in the lowered, hidden lighting. A sea of thick carpet sucked at his heels. Gold and platinum albums lined the wall to the left of the boardroom-style table. Not a single speck of dust could be seen. August had no doubt that his scuffed, unpolished shoes were the dirtiest things in the place. Unconsciously he crossed both ankles and tucked his feet under the chair while Doren, in stark contrast, leaned back doing that lazy side-to-side sway and distant look at the ceiling that August had seen him do at the interview. Doren seemed completely at ease and entirely uninterested.

It was up to him then. August flipped open his planner, powered up his tablet, and prepared to make notes while Anton spoke. Anton’s first words, however, had August snapping his head up at the calculated tone in Anton’s voice. “I hope you won’t be too disappointed…”

Anton ignored August’s reaction, fingering the pages in front of him, gauging Doren’s expression from the corner of his eye. Nope, August decided, narrowing his own eyes in response, the distaste he had for Anton was not unwarranted, and not just because Anton didn’t like him. There was something about Anton that got his nerves jumping. The more Anton spoke, each single extra word, caused the tension and mistrust August was feeling to grow.

“We have a slight delay with the tour.” Anton raised his hand as if to silence any questions or comments, even though none had been presented. “Just a delay, mind you. Nothing to worry about. We’re going to move everything forward by a week, two at the most, just for marketing’s sake. We want to get everyone’s blood churning some more, work things up a little, before actually getting you out there and running.”

Doren shrugged and August frowned at the lack of contribution. He spoke up in Doren’s stead. “What’s that going to cost him?”

Anton raised a single, perfect eyebrow. “Why ever would that cost him anything?”

August raised his right back. “Everything costs someone.”

“On the contrary.” Anton smiled slowly, the embodiment of a patient, reasonable adult calming the petulant child. “The more interest we work up, the better turnout we get at each show, resulting in a higher bottom line. It’s simple accounting.”

“You’ll excuse me,” August said. “I’m not an accountant. Nor am I a marketer. But it seems—”

“Of course not.” The cold smile deepened on Anton’s face. “Nor does anyone expect you to be. You just leave that kind of thing to the experts.” He turned back to Doren, who continued his bored examination of the ceiling. “The only additional expense I foresee is the hotel costs for the next week. And I’m sure everyone is fine with that? I understand most rock gurus kind of like the whole hotel-life thing anyway, am I right?”

Once again, Doren shrugged. And as such, August was compelled to reply. “That’s just bad business.”

Anton’s expression darkened into furious, but August didn’t let him speak. “It was only an eight-hour drive to get here. You can’t tell me for a minute that it wouldn’t be cheaper to store the equipment and return home until you make definitive arrangements. It doesn’t cost anything extra to live where we all belong, after all. I know for a fact that hotels aren’t cheap, especially not the one you have us set up in. You figure, two weeks at, let’s say two hundred bucks a room, for Doren, myself, and what, maybe six other guys? At least? That’s a bucket-load of cash.”

August reached for Doren’s knee to gain his attention. “We should just go back home until this is all sorted out.”

“Are you in that much of a hurry to get home?” Anton asked, his voice as smug as his expression.

August couldn’t care less about Anton, though. Appreciative interest shone in Doren’s eyes and it was that expression that had August fighting to hold back a grin of gratitude.

“He’s making perfect sense,” Doren said casually. “I’m inclined to agree. Besides, maybe you’ll be a little more motivated to get all this taken care of in short order if I’m back at home where everyone else knows how to find me.”

August probably shouldn’t have let the grin he’d been fighting grow, but Doren’s casual, yet evident reference to the fact that all the other studios fiercely coveted Doren’s talent was too perfect to hold back.

“Doren,” Anton spoke gravely, “we have a contract. We’ve given you everything you asked for, including this…” His lip curled in distaste and he thrust his thumb in August’s direction. “This bold thing. We’re working hard to try and make sure that at the end of the day you are the best that you can possibly be. Surely you can’t hold that against us, can you?”

August laughed out loud, surprising even himself. He got himself in check and spoke quietly. “Honestly, sir, I don’t think Doren is holding anything against you. To quote a wise man, this is just simple accounting.”

Hate fell into Anton’s eyes and hardened his mouth into a thin line. “Regardless of the tour or anything else, we’re going to need you to stay put until the weekend at the very least. There’s an appearance scheduled for Saturday and I must have you there. We can discuss the tour situation after that. We’ll have more information by then. Surely a couple of days of patience isn’t too much to ask?”

August rose, and Doren followed suit, surprised.

“Thank you, Anton,” August snapped his planner shut. “If you can have one of your secretaries get back to me with the details for Saturday, I’ll be sure that he gets there. And, since we’ve already discussed the situation with the tour, we won’t need to do it again. I’ll make the arrangements for bussing on Sunday if there haven’t been any further developments on the tour schedule. I’ll take a list of musicians, though. Roadies, admin, all the tour staff staying at the hotel.” He directed Doren to the door, proud of the pleased expression on Doren’s face.

Anton walked them back to the reception area, fuming, and August was very aware of three things: Anton was furious, Anton was struggling to choose his next words, and given the opportunity, Anton would take no pains in snapping his neck like a twig. It only further convinced August that staying where they were and folding to Anton’s plans, was the exact wrong thing to do.

Doren and Anton shook hands at the door before Anton turned to August and reached out. Instead of a normal handshake however, Anton pulled a high school bully move and tightened his grip over August’s fingers. It was through gritted teeth that Anton spoke while August made every effort not to let reaction register on his face. “It was such a pleasure to meet you more completely, August.”

August nodded. “You as well, sir. Thank you.”

When the door shut behind them, as they walked down the beautifully decorated corridor, August scrubbed the feel of Anton’s palm off his own, rubbing it with far more force than necessary on his slacks, his jaw set like stone and his temper burning.