Page 77 of Paparazzi
“Exactly what are we doing in front of a six-story building under renovation?” She’s puzzled as we get out of the car and the iron gates closed behind us.
“It’s actually seven floors, one is underground...but that’s not the point. I was thinking of buying it.”
Iris looks at me and her green eyes seem to pop from her orbits. “What the hell do you do with a seven-story building? You’d get lost in it!” she points out.
I smile and nod. I know this space is huge, but I thought I’d put it to good use by setting up our business in it. Since we left the label, the band has decided not to sign with another one and to start our own. We called it Jail Records, just to show the snobs in the music industry that we can do whatever we want. We hired two friends of Iris’s who have a small recording studio in a Brooklyn garage. But since we can’t put our headquarters there, I thought, why not live where I’ll spend most of my days working?
“In the basement, we could build two recording studios for Jail Records, on the ground floor there would be offices, while the three floors above could be transformed into my home...furnished the way I want, this time.” I chuckle as I nervously run my hand across my neck. I explained the easiest part, the hardest part is coming.
“And the top floor?”
“That’s where you’d become my partner in this business,” I say in one breath.
Iris’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes shine with a light I’ve never seen before. Perhaps the situation is not so tragic. “Explain.”
“On the top floor, there is an independent apartment. It has a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, a covered patio area that can be turned into an office, and a small balcony. I would sell it to you for about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, for about another hundred thousand, you could furnish it however you want. I know how much you care about your independence, so I propose you buy it as an investment for your future. If things don’t work out between us, I could always buy it back, and you’d have the money to buy elsewhere. At first, I thought I’d make an apartment for the guys if they want to stay late...but since you talked this morning about looking for something else...this would be better than renting, right?” The explanation comes out a bit confused and in a hurry.
The silence that follows is infinite and gives me the cold sweats. Iris has had her eyes fixed on the building since I started talking, and for a moment, I’m afraid I said it all in my head and not out loud. The world feels like it’s going to collapse on me when she finally turns to me with a smile.
“Can I see my investment?” she asks, struggling to keep the happiness confined to her eyes.
I put my hands in my pocket and pull out the bunch of keys.
Iris laughs, amused. “You’ve already bought this place, haven’t you?”
I pass a hand again across the back of my neck and smile. “I talked to the guys about it. They thought it was a great idea to start with the record company, so I signed last week before they could go on with the reconstruction. We’ll split the costs of the label by five. Otherwise, it’s up to you and me if you accept the proposal.”
“Five?”
“Yes, Evan decided to go into business with us. Apparently, the way he handled our situation brought him a lot more clients than expected, and he decided to invest in a project that couldn’t have existed without him. I think that, in addition to hiring Emily, he’s going to expand his staff to a couple more agents by the end of the year. From a simple manager, basically, he can set up an agency. His only artists would be us and someone big, like the Red Velvet Curtains. He would leave the smaller acts to the new agents.”
“Wouldn’t his part in the label be a bit of a conflict with his job as a manager?”
“Not if he keeps the interests of his clients foremost as a manager. He’s always been an honest and trustworthy person. If another record company offers a better contract to his clients than ours, he’ll advise them to sign with them.”
Iris seems impressed when we enter the house, although it is actually still an open construction site with walls to build and floors to redo. We go up the stairs to the top floor and when we enter, I’m sure I’ve won her over. The living room view is spectacular, with an entire glass wall and ceiling. She’s entranced, approaching almost tentatively toward the part of the balcony that overlooks the garden and this small, happy island in the middle of a chaotic city. She inhales deeply, closing her eyes. She looks happy.
“Where do I sign?” she asks, laughing, and all my fears slip away.
“I’m so relieved you like the place and accepted my proposal, because now you can be closer to Dexter. Obviously, your cat loves me more and will come and live in my apartment.”
“That’s for sure,” she says, locking her arms around my waist.
She stands on tiptoes to gently kiss me on the lips. I pull her in and deepen the sweet kiss with all the affection and love I feel for her. I hope she can feel it. It’s a kiss that leaves me breathless, with my head spinning and my legs weak. That’s what Iris does to me: she takes the earth from under my feet and makes it disappear, letting me fall into my emotions. The only anchor I have to reality are those two big green eyes and mass of red hair that fell on me, literally, months ago and that I will no longer be able to live without.
She walks to one of the concrete bags piled up along a wall and grabs the permanent black marker sitting on it. Then, she takes my arm and pulls up my sleeve, her face concentrated as she writes something on it. “Here, that’s my number. Call me when you have a contract ready for me to sign. I like the neighborhood, I’ve decided to take it,” she says, winking.
I burst intolaughter. “And now I can finally tell you what really happened that time I walked out on stage with only half of my jeans.”
Iris wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head on my chest. “No, not now. I want you to do it when we’re an old couple, and you have to tell me the story of when we met, so I won’t forget it.”
I hold her in a hug. “I promise I will never let you forget us.”