Breaking bad, into the music business
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Will John fall prey to his producer? Kevin's contact in the music business is willing to look over some songs John wrote and let him audition. It's a big break, or it could be.
John doesn't consider himself gay, but he can't figure out what he is. Hopefully this new direction will work out for him. Will he be making music, or will the music producer make him?
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Last lines from Strange Days CH04-Linking with Kevin
After waiting about 10 minutes, I was escorted into his office. Frank was standing next to a small bar.
He was about 50 years old, very Italian, with dark curly hair. He looked to be about six feet tall. He was heavy set, dressed in a fancy Italian shirt, opened a few buttons from the neck. A gold chain rested on a hairy chest
"Hi John, welcome."
Holding a drink, he said, "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"
"No thanks," I said.
Frank turned to look at me, "
Kevin told me all about you."
I got a knot in stomach when Frank told me Kevin had talked about him, but then, of course he had. It was his recommendation that set up this interview. Kevin must have talked up his talent. I settled down and sat back in the old plush armchair he offered me.
Frank's offices were simple. The receptionist's name was Nancy. She was seated behind an old wood executive desk. It didn't even look as though she had moved into it, no pictures, nothing personal. I thought she might be a temp.
The same applied to Frank's office. His desk was old, and the furnishings were sparse. The walls were dark wood paneling, the carpeting was a terrible brown/green color.
It bothered me, but there were a few records on the wall, after all, that's what's important.
Frank opened the conversation, "So John, Kevin tells me you're a very talented singer and song writer."
"I hope so, been trying hard to perfect my style."
"And what is that 'style'."
"Soft Rock, though it borders on Folk Rock."
"Sounds good."
Looking at his watch, Frank said, "We shouldn't waste any time, I'd like to hear one or two of your songs, then I'll get a feel for your work. Let's go down stairs, better if we use the studio."
I followed Frank down, about a dozen, steep steps.
The studio was not much different from the office. The same dark walls and carpet. To my right was a small platform, there were several instruments, including a baby grand piano and microphones. At the other side of the room was a small control booth, with a large glass window that looked out at the recording studio. To the left of the control room was an alcove with a lounge chair, the cushion was decorated with sail boats. The studio was warm and didn't feel air conditioned.
"John, setup over by the stage." Frank said. Turning towards the control booth, he continued, "I'll setup for recording and give you a thumbs up when ready."
When he was in the control booth, I heard Frank talking through the speakers. He apologized for the heat and while I looked at him, he took his shirt off. I could see very dark hair and a stocky build, at least from the waist up.
"You can take your shirt off if you'd like," Frank said, "You might be more comfortable. The air conditioning crapped out on me this morning."
I didn't see any problem with that and took off my shirt. I adjusted the mic, threw the guitar strap over my shoulder and took a moment for tuning. I strummed a cord, Frank gave me a thumbs up and I started to perform. I won't bore you with the details, but when I was done with the second song, Frank waved me in to the control booth.
Frank cued up the recording while I surveyed the room, it was far from fancy. There was an old multi-track recorder, small sound mixer and an old Echorec (used for reverb and echo to voice or instrument). On a small shelf was a vintage Bogen Amplifier and, hanging on the wall, two worn out speakers.
I didn't linger on the equipment and waited to hear the recordings. Frank turned to me and said, "I watched you walk across the room. It helps if the artist is young, handsome and in good shape. We target the girls, you know what I mean?"
"I understand, that makes sense," I replied.
"We plan to target the Jersey shore this summer. We will be setting up several concerts at the Stone Pony in Asbury park, Ocean Grove, Seaside and others. We put you in as an extra and 'boom' the start of a career in music."
"I wouldn't think it's that easy."
"John, you cut a nice figure, I can tell by looking at you. I assume you're wearing underwear?"
"What?", I said, confused.
"You know, underpants."
"Why?" I asked.
Damn, I thought, maybe Kevin did give me up.
"Don't worry, I'm asking because I'd like to see how you would look in a bathing suit, get an idea of how we could market you."
Well that's a relief, I thought.
"Oh, I see what you mean," I said. I unbuckled my pants and let them drop to the floor.
"Step out of them," Frank asked.
Although I didn't know what difference it would make, I stepped out of my pants and laid them on a nearby chair. I turned around to face Frank.
"Turn around a few times."
I complied. Frank seemed to examine every inch of me. At one point, when my back was facing him, he reached out and took hold of my hips, stopping me. "You'll look good in a bathing suit. Your body is on the mark."
"Thanks," I said.
The heat in me stepped up a notch. Standing there in my underwear, with Franks hands of my hips, was waking up my cock. I moved away, out of his hold to put my pants back on. Maybe that will reverse the direction my cock was going.
"John, don't worry about your pants," Frank said, "it's hot down here and you might be more comfortable in your shorts, doesn't bother me." He took a seat on a stool by the control board and looked at me. "You're going to have to trust me, John. Do you trust me?"
