I sat back, munching chips. Jamie stood on the other side of the glass, tired looking.
"Do it again." Houton directed. She nodded, head heavy.
|
"'You're the one
|
Jamie's voice cracked, and she started a rough coughing fit. I sat up, alarmed, spilling potato chips all across the sound board.
"Are you all right?" Houton asked, waiting impatiently. He glared at my mess on the sound board.
Jamie nodded slowly.
"Then try again." he commanded. Jamie started to take a deep breath, but collapsed into her chair.
"You selfish bastard!" I breathed, and ran into the recording booth, where a blue looking Jamie gasped and wheezed.
"You okay?!" I cried.
Jamie nodded drunkenly, her face pale. "I... feel sick..." and with that, threw up on the floor. Tears ran down her face. "I'm sorry, Kris. I didn't mean to. It was..." she stopped, her eyes spilling over.
I gathered Jamie in my arms, and half carried her out of the booth. I shoved by Houton, his brows furrowed.
"Get a damn cleaner in there!" I snapped at him.
"Is she fine?" Houton asked, keeping his distance from the sick girl.
"Does she look it?!" I shrilled, walking a teary Jamie off. Over my shoulder, I angrily yelled at Houton: "You've overworked her! You'll be sorry about it!"
Turning the corner, I guided Jamie into the TV room. I slowly let her down onto the leather couch, where she lay in a miserable heap.
"Kris? I'm sorry..." Jamie sniffed, face wet.
"What? That? Nar! It's alright." I said, searching around in my bag for some tablets. Jamie was always the sickest of the family. She was the most vulnerable to flu, pox, etc. You name it, the kid's had it. Twice. And these days, Jamie's health was failing even more than ever, the stress working on her, wearing her down.
"I'm so sorry. I'll be fine. I've got the finish that song-" Jamie mumbled, trying to get up from the couch. I pushed her back down.
"You're not going anywhere, missy. Here, drink this, and eat this." I handed the girl a glass of water, and two Panadols.
Jamie obeyed, and settled back onto the couch. "I'm cold." she said simply.
"Be right back." I jumped and ran out of the room, snagging a pillow and throw blanket from one of the other rooms. Entering the room again, I found Jamie had vomited into the small sink.
Her large violet eyes watered again in silent apology.
"Ah, well, I never used the sink, anyways." I said lightly, inwardly cringing. Vomit always made me want to. "Here's a pillow." I said to her, fluffing the pillow under Jamie's head, and throwing the thick blanket over her. "And a blankey."
Jamie eyed the TV, and Kris snatched up the remote. "Now, want to watch Neighbors, The Bold and the Beautiful, or M*A*S*H?" I asked, but Jamie shook her head.
"Look, it's okay, okay? We'll get Grungy Al to clean it up, and I'll just wash it down the sink. Everyone's done it before." I grinned, and Jamie smiled slightly. "I remember my phys ed teacher making run that extra kilometre, and what did I do? Leave a little gift on his brand new footy shoes." I laughed, washing out the sink and not looking. I felt a bit queasy, myself.
Jamie smiled weakly.
"Now, I'm going to go and kick that sorry little-" I muttered when I was done, but Jamie shook her head furiously, eyes clenched shut.
"Don't go, Kris." she whispered.
"Okies, then. Me won't." I said softly, flopping on the floor, my head against Jamie's. Flicking through the channels, I finally settled on Breakers.
When the program ended, I looked up to laugh about the lameness of it, but Jamie was fast asleep. Pulling away slowly, I crept out, shut the door, and walked down the hallway, slowly; with measured steps. My anger returned.
"Why the hell do I get assholes for managers?!" I growled.
Flinging open the door to the recording studio, a startled Rick jumped.
"Where?" I asked, jaw clenched.
"Office." Rick said, cringing under my glare.
I spun on my heels, and slammed into the manager's office. The typists all looked up to protest, but stopped at my cold green stare.
If you were ever faced with me when I'm angry, you would shiver. According to legend, I had the hardest, most piercing stare.
Walking solidly down the center of the rows of desks, I flung open the heavy oak door, revealing a frightened looking Houton. The thought of why I was cursed with shit managers passed through my head which was quickly replaced with the image of Jamie. Ill. My anger intensified.
"Yes, Miss Harmont?" he asked, feigning a cool composure.
"You know damn well what!" I shrieked at him, the top blowing off. I had had enough of shitty managers. First Reagent, now Houton.
"That is?" he stalled.
"Over work. Jamie. Puking. Sick. Pale. Law suit. Kick ass. Loss of job." I spelt out for him. He paled.
"She's all right, isn't she?" he asked, concerned.
"No. In fact she's not. She's just brought up what little food she has eaten for the past week. Or haven't you noticed?!" I said flinging my arms about. We could no longer avoid the subject.
He stared at me.
"She's anorexic, because of you. You and your damn 'They love her, but don't like her' shit. Get off it. She's not as dumb as you think, Houton."
Houton stared even more, stunned.
"She tries constantly to please you, us, and the fans. But according to you, it's always 'Try again!'"
"She doesn't do a good job of it-" Houton whined.
My face grew red. "Bullshit!" I screamed, grabbing a stack of folders, and throwing them across the room. Forcing myself to calm down, I stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily.
Houton cowered behind his desk, as if hiding.
"We have to work hard to get sales up..." he said quietly, glancing at the folders lying around the room.
I shook my head. "No. We have made 9 million sales on the album, more than expected. You get a criminal 10% of all sales." That meant he had over $1,800,000 in the bank. "Don't pull that crap over on me."
"More sales is the key!" he said, becoming more confident as my anger seemed to dissipate.
"No. You know what's the key?" I said, green eyes sharp. "Us. Without us, you've shot yourself in the foot." I grinned unpleasantly. Looking around at the lavish office, I grinned wider and Houton flinched.
"You know what?" I said conversationally, casually advancing to the desk.
"Yes?" he replied, shifting nervously in his chair.
"I am, in a sense, your employer. I have the very essence of your reputation in the future in the music industry within my grasp." I said bluntly, picking up his wooden name plaque.
Houton raised an eyebrow nervously.
"Even if it means we'll get ousted from Virgin Records, I know of heaps others that would kill to get us signed on." I said softly, leaning over the desk, smiling.
"Really, Miss Harmont?" he said.
"Yes, Mr. Houton." I said, looking down at his plaque. It was made from pine and gold plated. "Nice name plate." I complimented. He squirmed uneasily.
I smiled. "Well, I am well within my rights to sue your ass for over working a so called 'employee'." I cocked my head.
"Are you?"
"Yes. 'Work Place Agreement Act' of 1989, Mr. Houton." I said, smiling deliciously as the sweat broke out on his face. Obviously, he didn't expect me to take the course and listen to my Legal Studies teacher.
"So, you know why I'm doing..." I said, taking his plaque, and walking slowly out of the office. All the typists stared at me, their work forgotten.
I nodded as they began to type again quietly as Houton followed me out. I spun around.
"... this." I finished, slamming the plaque onto the nearest typist's desk, causing her and Houton to jump. "And this." I added, sweeping my arm out, wiping the plaque off the table, and into the small personal bin besides the desk. It clanged loudly in the silence.
"Strike. You're outta here." I said softly, and turned, walking away.