FIC: Radio Friendly 6 of 10 (Blake/Chris, PG)
Author: Clio
Title: Radio Friendly Part 6 of 10: It's What's Upfront That Counts
Pairing: Blake/Chris (American Idol)
Rating: PG
Summary: In which Blake thinks Chris should say yes.
Length: 2800 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Radio Friendly is an AU set in 1962, when New York was the center of pop music and the Brill Building was where it all happened, when a group of talented songwriters and producers crafted perfect pop hits for artists whose every move was controlled by their label. Pictures and songs will be used along the way to take you back to yesteryear-and for those who'd like more info, see the additional author's note at the bottom.
You're reading this story because lillijulianne was so enthusiastic and allysonsedai insisted that it see the light of day, because they were willing to keep reading even when I sent three chapters in one weekend, and were instrumental in the flow, in pointing out what it needed and what it didn't, and in holding my hand through the entire thing. Thank you, ladies!
Chapter 1: Come to Where the Flavor Is
Chapter 2: Where Particular People Congregate
Chapter 3: This Is the One They'll Have to Beat
Chapter 4: You've Come a Long Way, Baby
Chapter 5: Alive with Pleasure
Link fixed! If you download no other song from this fic, download the one Chris sings in this chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~December 21, 1962
If you had asked Chris before he came to New York where the Syco Records Christmas party would be held, he would have said someplace glamorous, like an exclusive club or the Waldorf Astoria, strictly black tie.
Good thing he'd had his black tie Christmas party courtesy of Cooper's, because the Syco party was at lunchtime, in a tiny nightclub near the office. Well, at least there was an open bar and no thought of anyone going back to work that afternoon. Cowell was a cheapskate, definitely, but he wasn't cruel.
It was also tradition for the songwriters to sing a song at the party, usually a Syco song that they hadn't been involved with. Blake, predictably, had no time for it and referred to it as the "Syco Junior High Talent Show." But Chris had been thinking about what he might sing for a month and only finally decided on a song the day before. He didn't know why he was so nervous; maybe it was just singing someone else's song in front of them. He'd always rather sing his own. And the crowd wasn't just the crew from the New York office, either. All thirty of Syco's employees were in attendance; even the promotional men who spent most of their time on the road were in town for the party.
And, though no one talked about it, Ryan Seacrest was also there. He'd risen to national prominence as a DJ and host in the vacuum caused by the payola scandal, which made his open "friendship" with record label owner Cowell doubly necessary to keep open, even though there were aspects that had to stay private. It was a tricky balancing act, and now that they were friends Chris could see the physical toll it took on Ryan, who seemed to live on coffee, Camels, and knishes. He worked punishing hours, he was engaging and popular with the kids, and his local afternoon"record hop" television show had just been picked up by the young ABC network. Dick Clark was definitely looking over his shoulder at Ryan.
Cowell was standing at the head table, looking every inch the proud papa. "I hope everyone enjoyed this wonderful lunch. Please join me in thanking our own Cat Deeley, the Voice of Syco, for her work in planning our party today."
Cat laughed as they all applauded. Chris wasn't sure who had planted the item in the gossip columns that she was having an affair with Cowell, but he was sure Ryan was glad for the cover. As for Cat, Chris had seen her at Cooper's enough times to know that she didn't mind the cover, either.
"The year-end issue of Billboard came out today," Cowell continued, referring to the recording industry bible that published the song charts. "And I have here the top twenty songs of the year 1962, all of which were number ones in their own right. But before I talk about them, I want to give a special mention to a song that peaked at number three, 'I Know You Don't Love Me No More', performed by Kiki and written by Brandon Rogers and Tamyra Gray, because it was the first song our own Elliott Yamin produced by himself. Congratulations, Elliott!"
As everyone applauded, Elliott waved, blushing a bit.
"At number twenty, 'Don't Break the Heart that Loves You', performed by Stephanie Edwards and written by Brandon Rogers and Tamyra Gray." He paused as everyone applauded. "At number nineteen, 'The LocoMotion', performed by young Jordin Sparks and written by Kelly Clarkson and Chris Daughtry. This is a song with a lesson to us all: even your babysitter might be a recording star."
Chris Sligh spoke up. "But our babysitter is a sixty-year-old Russian woman."
"There's a market for that," Cowell shot back. "Right, at number thirteen, 'Breaking Up Is Hard to Do', performed by Ace Young and written by Phil Stacey and Chris Sligh, who would apparently rather be a comedian."
"He's a better comedian than a piano player," Phil said, getting the crowd laughing again.
"And at number twelve, the highest charting record for Syco this year, 'He's a Rebel', performed by the Kittens, and written by Chris Richardson and Blake Lewis, a new team that I put together myself!"
Chris leaned over to Blake and muttered through his smile, "He's going to take credit for everything we ever do, isn't he?"
"He'd better not," Blake whispered back. "The sex we had last night had nothing to do with him."
Chris coughed, hoping that the coworkers looking at him would chalk his blush up to the attention and not his secret boyfriend.
"I want to thank everyone in this room for an incredibly successful 1962. I know that we have the right people in place to make 1963 even better! That includes not only our performers and songwriters, Taylor Hicks and our A&R staff, producer Randy Jackson and his team of engineers and session musicians, Bucky Covington and the entire group who put together our tours, and our support teams here in New York, but also our promotional men out in the field who are finding new legal ways to add our songs to more playlists every week!"
Chris and his fellow Brill Building-ers cheered loudly. No matter how great a song was, if it didn't get on the radio, didn't find its way onto the tightly formatted pop playlists controlled by the radio station programmers, no one would hear it and, more importantly, no one would buy it.
"And now, to continue our tradition, we will have some performances over dessert." Cowell turned to the stage behind him, where Randy and the studio musicians had set up. "Randy, are you ready? Right, well, up first is Kelly Clarkson!"
After Kelly sang a soulful version of "Don't Break the Heart that Loves You", her husband answered with "I Know You Don't Love Me No More." Chris leaned over to Blake and asked, "Is it weird that the married couple team are singing break-up songs to each other?"
Blake shrugged, making a little grimace. "Maybe?"
Tamyra was next, and she called Elliott and Blake up onto the stage with her to sing back up as she sang "The Locomotion." She made her usually husky voice sound childlike, poking good-natured fun at the seventeen-year-old Jordin, while Elliott and Blake did their best impressions of female backup singers, dancing away behind Tamyra. They were both so over-the-top that Chris hoped no one would notice that Blake could dance like a girl a little too well.
Then it was Blake and Chris's turn to feel the sting of parody. As Phil and Brandon looked on, Sligh announced, "Now, I know there's a rumor that our Chris Richardson wrote this song about his own songwriting partner, Blake Lewis. I understand, as all of my love songs are actually written with Phil in mind." Sligh paused as the crowd laughed. "And I'm sure we can prove that Blake started that rumor, because he thinks that all love songs have been inspired by his amazing personality." There was more laughter as Sligh ducked a napkin thrown at his head by Blake. "But I believe that the song was really written about Cowell, because Chris is just that much of a suck up!" With that, the band kicked in, and Phil, Brandon and Sligh did their best impression of the sexy Kittens. The crowd ate it up, rewarding them with long applause, and Chris could hear Gina and Haley's cheering loudly.
Chris cursed agreeing to close the show. He stood up and went to the piano. "I'm not sure I can follow that one up, since it's just me and the piano," Chris said, vamping as the studio band set down their instruments. "But Bucky Covington produced this show, and he decided the song order so we'll just have to trust his expertise, right?" He smiled as the crowd clapped for the popular Covington. "In the pitch meeting when we all first heard this song from Phil and Sligh, it wasn't nearly as bouncy as the single. That change was all Randy and clearly he was absolutely right." The crowd applauded again, and Chris smiled. "But I wanted to give you all a sense of what it sounded like the first time I heard it, though this might be even slower." He looked out over the crowd, catching Blake's eye, who made a "hurry-up" motion with his hands. He was right; Chris was stalling. He started playing the opening chords, then sang:You tell me that you're leaving
I can't believe it's true
Girl, there's just no living without you.
Don't take your love away from me …
When he got up on the stage at Club Caravan he nearly always sang to Blake, at least in his head. But he was avoiding Blake's gaze now, performing to the crowd as a whole, though to be honest it was Ryan Seacrest and his situation that he had in mind. He finished the song, and the room was silent. For a moment, he worried that he'd completely bombed.
And then the entire room exploded into applause. Sligh and Phil, followed quickly by Blake, led a standing ovation. Even Cowell seemed impressed, smiling at Chris around his ever-present Merit menthol. Chris stood up and bowed to the crowd, feeling oddly exposed; there wasn't even a band he could point to.
Later, when everyone was drinking and mingling, Cowell approached him, Taylor Hicks just behind him. "Mr. Richardson, how did you hide from me for so long?" he asked.
"I've been right here, sir," Chris replied. "You've heard me sing a song almost every week since February."
Cowell waved his hand dismissively. "Why didn't you come to us as an artist?" he asked.
"Um, well, I really think of myself as a songwriter, sir," he replied. He looked to Blake for support, but his boyfriend was silent, sipping at his drink, his expression frustratingly unreadable.
"I think we could make a big hit with you," Cowell said.
"The girls will love your looks," Hicks added.
"And who better to sing the songs that you and Blake are writing?" Cowell added.
"Well-" Chris began.
"No," Cowell interrupted. "Think about it over the holiday. Talk to your family and friends. You can give me your decision when we're back in the office after the New Year." He extended his hand.
"All right, sir," Chris said as he shook Cowell's hand. "I'll think on it."
"It's a great opportunity," Hicks said.
Cowell didn't even turn around. "I believe he knows that, Mr. Hicks," Cowell said.
"Of course, of course he does," Hicks replied, and the two walked away.
Chris turned to Blake. "Well," he said, "how do I say no and keep my job?"
"Why would you?" Blake replied. "I think you should do it." He took Chris's empty glass. "I'll get us refills."
Chris watched Blake walk away, more confused than ever.
December 24, 1962
Chris had written to his mother some weeks earlier, telling her that it was very busy in New York and he wouldn't be able to get away for Christmas, but not to worry because he'd be spending it with his friend Blake and some other friends. This wasn't entirely true, of course; Cowell closed down Syco for two weeks at the Christmas holiday, and Chris didn't plan on seeing many people other than Blake during their time off. They'd been dating for nine months now, and were talking about sharing a little two-bedroom in Blake's neighborhood since Chris slept over most nights anyway. Maybe it was the enforced secrecy, but it didn't feel to Chris like they had really been together that long, or really, that he'd held the attentions of the mercurial Blake for nearly a year. But he'd stopped wondering after the first week whether he'd be just another notch on Blake's bedpost-they had too much of a connection for that. And Blake's friends were unanimous that he had never behaved with anyone the way he did with Chris.
They'd found trees for sale around the corner from St. Vincent's Hospital and dragged a small one up the four flights to Blake's flat, decorating it with paper ribbons cut out of discarded bits of sheet music. Blake, surprisingly to Chris, was a complete Christmas sap, and had been playing nothing but Christmas records since Thanksgiving. He'd insisted on attending the Radio City Christmas show and seeing the window displays of every single department store in Manhattan. They'd seen the Nutcracker at the City Ballet, A Christmas Carol on Broadway, a special program of seasonal music at the Metropolitan Opera House, and a night of spirituals at Melinda's church uptown. And on Christmas day, thanks to a tip from Elliott, they were going to go see a movie and dine in Chinatown.
But tonight, Christmas Eve, they had brought home a traditional English holiday meal from a restaurant around the corner and sat in front of the tree eating roast beef and Yorkshire puddings in the flickering light.
"This is surprisingly romantic," Chris said.
"Surprisingly? Bite your tongue," Blake replied. "What could be more romantic, what says 'young loving couple' more than eating your holiday dinner in front of a fire?"
"Blake, that fire isn't real. It's a black and white film of a yule log on channel 11."
"Details!"
Chris chuckled. "So, um, you think I should be an artist?" he asked. They hadn't talked about it since the office party, but the offer had loomed large in Chris's thoughts all week, and he wanted to clear the air so he could focus on just being with Blake.
"You love performing," Blake said, not looking up.
"So do you."
"Yes, but I'm unconventional, and you're, well, not."
"How conventional can I be," Chris asked, "when I fuck a man nearly every night?"
"Okay, so not conventional," Blake said. "But I just-I don't want you to use my reasons to turn this down. We're not the same. It could be good for you."
"I suppose. I'd just never thought about it."
"Why not?"
Chris reached for more peas, trying to collect his thoughts. "When I was growing up I was always sneaking into the blues joints on the Negro side of town. The performers were so exciting, so charismatic! You just couldn't stop watching them. I mean, you've seen Melinda and Kiki. Even the Kittens are like that. And so are you, Blake. But I'm not; I don't have all that pizazz. And I wasn't, I mean, before I went into the Navy I was sort of a shy, chunky kid with big glasses hiding behind a piano."
"And since you left the Navy you're a friendly person that people see and immediately want to know, and that's what a pop star should be. Plus you're movie-star handsome."
"Blake, you're fucking me. You're obligated to say that."
"That doesn't mean it isn't true." Blake put his fork down. "Look, a hack like Hicks wouldn't be all over you if he didn't smell money, and neither would a pro like Cowell. They don't take risks unless they've been very carefully calculated. Let them worry about selling you. Do you think you'd like to make a record?"
Chris looked out the window at the snow falling on the roof of a nearby apartment building. "Can I sing one of our songs?"
"You think I'd let you sing someone else's?" Blake asked.
Chris smiled. "All right then. Yeah, yeah, I'll do it. Let's do it."
"Good," Blake said, and raised his glass, which Chris duly clinked with his own. After a moment, Blake said, "Whatever happens, I love you."
Chris looked up. "Wow."
"What? That isn't the first time I've said that."
"Yeah, but you've only said it at night, in bed, usually after we've fucked. You've never said it in the living room."
"Oh. Does it matter?"
Chris shrugged. "Maybe a little."
Blake shook his head. "You're a girl, you know that?"
"Excuse me," Chris said, "but I'm not the one who slathers himself with night cream."
"Everyone should care about their complexion," Blake said.
"If you say so," Chris said. "So, after dinner, can we make a snowman in the little park across the street?"
"This snow thing is never going to get old for you, is it?" Blake asked.
"'Fraid not."
Blake sighed. "Fine, as long as we take a bath to warm up after."
"There's cocoa in the cupboard," Chris said, smiling.
"And brandy," Blake added.
"Sounds good," Chris said. "But no Santa until tomorrow."
"That Santa, he only gives you presents when you've been good," Blake said. "But I'll give you a present for being bad."
"Ho ho ho," Chris replied.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jordin's single is "The Locomotion" by Little Eva
Ace's single is "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" by Neil Sedaka
Chris's version of "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" also by Neil Sedaka.
Chapter 7: We'd Rather Fight Than Switch. Includes Paula and her dogs, plus Taylor Hicks: Marketing Genius.
Notes: The payola scandal of the late 50s ruined the careers of many early rock DJs (though not Dick Clark, who turned State's evidence) because they had been accepting payment from record companies in exchange for playing their songs. (This happened again in the late 90s.) The story of Jordin as Kelly and Daughtry's babysitter is taken from the true story of Little Eva, who was the babysitter of Carole King and Gerry Goffey. I'll talk more about Neil Sedaka later, but he was a songwriter and recording artist in the Brill Building in the 60s, and rerecorded his own ballad version of "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" in the 70s, when it was a hit all over again. All of the songs and chart positions in this chapter are real. While I adore Channel 11's yule log, Chris and Blake wouldn't have been watching it, as it didn't start until 1966. As for the film, they probably saw Lawrence of Arabia.
Title: Radio Friendly Part 6 of 10: It's What's Upfront That Counts
Pairing: Blake/Chris (American Idol)
Rating: PG
Summary: In which Blake thinks Chris should say yes.
Length: 2800 words
Disclaimer: People sort of own themselves, don't they? Which means this is a work of fiction.
Notes: Radio Friendly is an AU set in 1962, when New York was the center of pop music and the Brill Building was where it all happened, when a group of talented songwriters and producers crafted perfect pop hits for artists whose every move was controlled by their label. Pictures and songs will be used along the way to take you back to yesteryear-and for those who'd like more info, see the additional author's note at the bottom.
You're reading this story because lillijulianne was so enthusiastic and allysonsedai insisted that it see the light of day, because they were willing to keep reading even when I sent three chapters in one weekend, and were instrumental in the flow, in pointing out what it needed and what it didn't, and in holding my hand through the entire thing. Thank you, ladies!
Chapter 1: Come to Where the Flavor Is
Chapter 2: Where Particular People Congregate
Chapter 3: This Is the One They'll Have to Beat
Chapter 4: You've Come a Long Way, Baby
Chapter 5: Alive with Pleasure
Link fixed! If you download no other song from this fic, download the one Chris sings in this chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~December 21, 1962
If you had asked Chris before he came to New York where the Syco Records Christmas party would be held, he would have said someplace glamorous, like an exclusive club or the Waldorf Astoria, strictly black tie.
Good thing he'd had his black tie Christmas party courtesy of Cooper's, because the Syco party was at lunchtime, in a tiny nightclub near the office. Well, at least there was an open bar and no thought of anyone going back to work that afternoon. Cowell was a cheapskate, definitely, but he wasn't cruel.
It was also tradition for the songwriters to sing a song at the party, usually a Syco song that they hadn't been involved with. Blake, predictably, had no time for it and referred to it as the "Syco Junior High Talent Show." But Chris had been thinking about what he might sing for a month and only finally decided on a song the day before. He didn't know why he was so nervous; maybe it was just singing someone else's song in front of them. He'd always rather sing his own. And the crowd wasn't just the crew from the New York office, either. All thirty of Syco's employees were in attendance; even the promotional men who spent most of their time on the road were in town for the party.
And, though no one talked about it, Ryan Seacrest was also there. He'd risen to national prominence as a DJ and host in the vacuum caused by the payola scandal, which made his open "friendship" with record label owner Cowell doubly necessary to keep open, even though there were aspects that had to stay private. It was a tricky balancing act, and now that they were friends Chris could see the physical toll it took on Ryan, who seemed to live on coffee, Camels, and knishes. He worked punishing hours, he was engaging and popular with the kids, and his local afternoon"record hop" television show had just been picked up by the young ABC network. Dick Clark was definitely looking over his shoulder at Ryan.
Cowell was standing at the head table, looking every inch the proud papa. "I hope everyone enjoyed this wonderful lunch. Please join me in thanking our own Cat Deeley, the Voice of Syco, for her work in planning our party today."
Cat laughed as they all applauded. Chris wasn't sure who had planted the item in the gossip columns that she was having an affair with Cowell, but he was sure Ryan was glad for the cover. As for Cat, Chris had seen her at Cooper's enough times to know that she didn't mind the cover, either.
"The year-end issue of Billboard came out today," Cowell continued, referring to the recording industry bible that published the song charts. "And I have here the top twenty songs of the year 1962, all of which were number ones in their own right. But before I talk about them, I want to give a special mention to a song that peaked at number three, 'I Know You Don't Love Me No More', performed by Kiki and written by Brandon Rogers and Tamyra Gray, because it was the first song our own Elliott Yamin produced by himself. Congratulations, Elliott!"
As everyone applauded, Elliott waved, blushing a bit.
"At number twenty, 'Don't Break the Heart that Loves You', performed by Stephanie Edwards and written by Brandon Rogers and Tamyra Gray." He paused as everyone applauded. "At number nineteen, 'The LocoMotion', performed by young Jordin Sparks and written by Kelly Clarkson and Chris Daughtry. This is a song with a lesson to us all: even your babysitter might be a recording star."
Chris Sligh spoke up. "But our babysitter is a sixty-year-old Russian woman."
"There's a market for that," Cowell shot back. "Right, at number thirteen, 'Breaking Up Is Hard to Do', performed by Ace Young and written by Phil Stacey and Chris Sligh, who would apparently rather be a comedian."
"He's a better comedian than a piano player," Phil said, getting the crowd laughing again.
"And at number twelve, the highest charting record for Syco this year, 'He's a Rebel', performed by the Kittens, and written by Chris Richardson and Blake Lewis, a new team that I put together myself!"
Chris leaned over to Blake and muttered through his smile, "He's going to take credit for everything we ever do, isn't he?"
"He'd better not," Blake whispered back. "The sex we had last night had nothing to do with him."
Chris coughed, hoping that the coworkers looking at him would chalk his blush up to the attention and not his secret boyfriend.
"I want to thank everyone in this room for an incredibly successful 1962. I know that we have the right people in place to make 1963 even better! That includes not only our performers and songwriters, Taylor Hicks and our A&R staff, producer Randy Jackson and his team of engineers and session musicians, Bucky Covington and the entire group who put together our tours, and our support teams here in New York, but also our promotional men out in the field who are finding new legal ways to add our songs to more playlists every week!"
Chris and his fellow Brill Building-ers cheered loudly. No matter how great a song was, if it didn't get on the radio, didn't find its way onto the tightly formatted pop playlists controlled by the radio station programmers, no one would hear it and, more importantly, no one would buy it.
"And now, to continue our tradition, we will have some performances over dessert." Cowell turned to the stage behind him, where Randy and the studio musicians had set up. "Randy, are you ready? Right, well, up first is Kelly Clarkson!"
After Kelly sang a soulful version of "Don't Break the Heart that Loves You", her husband answered with "I Know You Don't Love Me No More." Chris leaned over to Blake and asked, "Is it weird that the married couple team are singing break-up songs to each other?"
Blake shrugged, making a little grimace. "Maybe?"
Tamyra was next, and she called Elliott and Blake up onto the stage with her to sing back up as she sang "The Locomotion." She made her usually husky voice sound childlike, poking good-natured fun at the seventeen-year-old Jordin, while Elliott and Blake did their best impressions of female backup singers, dancing away behind Tamyra. They were both so over-the-top that Chris hoped no one would notice that Blake could dance like a girl a little too well.
Then it was Blake and Chris's turn to feel the sting of parody. As Phil and Brandon looked on, Sligh announced, "Now, I know there's a rumor that our Chris Richardson wrote this song about his own songwriting partner, Blake Lewis. I understand, as all of my love songs are actually written with Phil in mind." Sligh paused as the crowd laughed. "And I'm sure we can prove that Blake started that rumor, because he thinks that all love songs have been inspired by his amazing personality." There was more laughter as Sligh ducked a napkin thrown at his head by Blake. "But I believe that the song was really written about Cowell, because Chris is just that much of a suck up!" With that, the band kicked in, and Phil, Brandon and Sligh did their best impression of the sexy Kittens. The crowd ate it up, rewarding them with long applause, and Chris could hear Gina and Haley's cheering loudly.
Chris cursed agreeing to close the show. He stood up and went to the piano. "I'm not sure I can follow that one up, since it's just me and the piano," Chris said, vamping as the studio band set down their instruments. "But Bucky Covington produced this show, and he decided the song order so we'll just have to trust his expertise, right?" He smiled as the crowd clapped for the popular Covington. "In the pitch meeting when we all first heard this song from Phil and Sligh, it wasn't nearly as bouncy as the single. That change was all Randy and clearly he was absolutely right." The crowd applauded again, and Chris smiled. "But I wanted to give you all a sense of what it sounded like the first time I heard it, though this might be even slower." He looked out over the crowd, catching Blake's eye, who made a "hurry-up" motion with his hands. He was right; Chris was stalling. He started playing the opening chords, then sang:You tell me that you're leaving
I can't believe it's true
Girl, there's just no living without you.
Don't take your love away from me …
When he got up on the stage at Club Caravan he nearly always sang to Blake, at least in his head. But he was avoiding Blake's gaze now, performing to the crowd as a whole, though to be honest it was Ryan Seacrest and his situation that he had in mind. He finished the song, and the room was silent. For a moment, he worried that he'd completely bombed.
And then the entire room exploded into applause. Sligh and Phil, followed quickly by Blake, led a standing ovation. Even Cowell seemed impressed, smiling at Chris around his ever-present Merit menthol. Chris stood up and bowed to the crowd, feeling oddly exposed; there wasn't even a band he could point to.
Later, when everyone was drinking and mingling, Cowell approached him, Taylor Hicks just behind him. "Mr. Richardson, how did you hide from me for so long?" he asked.
"I've been right here, sir," Chris replied. "You've heard me sing a song almost every week since February."
Cowell waved his hand dismissively. "Why didn't you come to us as an artist?" he asked.
"Um, well, I really think of myself as a songwriter, sir," he replied. He looked to Blake for support, but his boyfriend was silent, sipping at his drink, his expression frustratingly unreadable.
"I think we could make a big hit with you," Cowell said.
"The girls will love your looks," Hicks added.
"And who better to sing the songs that you and Blake are writing?" Cowell added.
"Well-" Chris began.
"No," Cowell interrupted. "Think about it over the holiday. Talk to your family and friends. You can give me your decision when we're back in the office after the New Year." He extended his hand.
"All right, sir," Chris said as he shook Cowell's hand. "I'll think on it."
"It's a great opportunity," Hicks said.
Cowell didn't even turn around. "I believe he knows that, Mr. Hicks," Cowell said.
"Of course, of course he does," Hicks replied, and the two walked away.
Chris turned to Blake. "Well," he said, "how do I say no and keep my job?"
"Why would you?" Blake replied. "I think you should do it." He took Chris's empty glass. "I'll get us refills."
Chris watched Blake walk away, more confused than ever.
December 24, 1962
Chris had written to his mother some weeks earlier, telling her that it was very busy in New York and he wouldn't be able to get away for Christmas, but not to worry because he'd be spending it with his friend Blake and some other friends. This wasn't entirely true, of course; Cowell closed down Syco for two weeks at the Christmas holiday, and Chris didn't plan on seeing many people other than Blake during their time off. They'd been dating for nine months now, and were talking about sharing a little two-bedroom in Blake's neighborhood since Chris slept over most nights anyway. Maybe it was the enforced secrecy, but it didn't feel to Chris like they had really been together that long, or really, that he'd held the attentions of the mercurial Blake for nearly a year. But he'd stopped wondering after the first week whether he'd be just another notch on Blake's bedpost-they had too much of a connection for that. And Blake's friends were unanimous that he had never behaved with anyone the way he did with Chris.
They'd found trees for sale around the corner from St. Vincent's Hospital and dragged a small one up the four flights to Blake's flat, decorating it with paper ribbons cut out of discarded bits of sheet music. Blake, surprisingly to Chris, was a complete Christmas sap, and had been playing nothing but Christmas records since Thanksgiving. He'd insisted on attending the Radio City Christmas show and seeing the window displays of every single department store in Manhattan. They'd seen the Nutcracker at the City Ballet, A Christmas Carol on Broadway, a special program of seasonal music at the Metropolitan Opera House, and a night of spirituals at Melinda's church uptown. And on Christmas day, thanks to a tip from Elliott, they were going to go see a movie and dine in Chinatown.
But tonight, Christmas Eve, they had brought home a traditional English holiday meal from a restaurant around the corner and sat in front of the tree eating roast beef and Yorkshire puddings in the flickering light.
"This is surprisingly romantic," Chris said.
"Surprisingly? Bite your tongue," Blake replied. "What could be more romantic, what says 'young loving couple' more than eating your holiday dinner in front of a fire?"
"Blake, that fire isn't real. It's a black and white film of a yule log on channel 11."
"Details!"
Chris chuckled. "So, um, you think I should be an artist?" he asked. They hadn't talked about it since the office party, but the offer had loomed large in Chris's thoughts all week, and he wanted to clear the air so he could focus on just being with Blake.
"You love performing," Blake said, not looking up.
"So do you."
"Yes, but I'm unconventional, and you're, well, not."
"How conventional can I be," Chris asked, "when I fuck a man nearly every night?"
"Okay, so not conventional," Blake said. "But I just-I don't want you to use my reasons to turn this down. We're not the same. It could be good for you."
"I suppose. I'd just never thought about it."
"Why not?"
Chris reached for more peas, trying to collect his thoughts. "When I was growing up I was always sneaking into the blues joints on the Negro side of town. The performers were so exciting, so charismatic! You just couldn't stop watching them. I mean, you've seen Melinda and Kiki. Even the Kittens are like that. And so are you, Blake. But I'm not; I don't have all that pizazz. And I wasn't, I mean, before I went into the Navy I was sort of a shy, chunky kid with big glasses hiding behind a piano."
"And since you left the Navy you're a friendly person that people see and immediately want to know, and that's what a pop star should be. Plus you're movie-star handsome."
"Blake, you're fucking me. You're obligated to say that."
"That doesn't mean it isn't true." Blake put his fork down. "Look, a hack like Hicks wouldn't be all over you if he didn't smell money, and neither would a pro like Cowell. They don't take risks unless they've been very carefully calculated. Let them worry about selling you. Do you think you'd like to make a record?"
Chris looked out the window at the snow falling on the roof of a nearby apartment building. "Can I sing one of our songs?"
"You think I'd let you sing someone else's?" Blake asked.
Chris smiled. "All right then. Yeah, yeah, I'll do it. Let's do it."
"Good," Blake said, and raised his glass, which Chris duly clinked with his own. After a moment, Blake said, "Whatever happens, I love you."
Chris looked up. "Wow."
"What? That isn't the first time I've said that."
"Yeah, but you've only said it at night, in bed, usually after we've fucked. You've never said it in the living room."
"Oh. Does it matter?"
Chris shrugged. "Maybe a little."
Blake shook his head. "You're a girl, you know that?"
"Excuse me," Chris said, "but I'm not the one who slathers himself with night cream."
"Everyone should care about their complexion," Blake said.
"If you say so," Chris said. "So, after dinner, can we make a snowman in the little park across the street?"
"This snow thing is never going to get old for you, is it?" Blake asked.
"'Fraid not."
Blake sighed. "Fine, as long as we take a bath to warm up after."
"There's cocoa in the cupboard," Chris said, smiling.
"And brandy," Blake added.
"Sounds good," Chris said. "But no Santa until tomorrow."
"That Santa, he only gives you presents when you've been good," Blake said. "But I'll give you a present for being bad."
"Ho ho ho," Chris replied.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jordin's single is "The Locomotion" by Little Eva
Ace's single is "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" by Neil Sedaka
Chris's version of "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" also by Neil Sedaka.
Chapter 7: We'd Rather Fight Than Switch. Includes Paula and her dogs, plus Taylor Hicks: Marketing Genius.
Notes: The payola scandal of the late 50s ruined the careers of many early rock DJs (though not Dick Clark, who turned State's evidence) because they had been accepting payment from record companies in exchange for playing their songs. (This happened again in the late 90s.) The story of Jordin as Kelly and Daughtry's babysitter is taken from the true story of Little Eva, who was the babysitter of Carole King and Gerry Goffey. I'll talk more about Neil Sedaka later, but he was a songwriter and recording artist in the Brill Building in the 60s, and rerecorded his own ballad version of "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do" in the 70s, when it was a hit all over again. All of the songs and chart positions in this chapter are real. While I adore Channel 11's yule log, Chris and Blake wouldn't have been watching it, as it didn't start until 1966. As for the film, they probably saw Lawrence of Arabia.