Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Singer - 18. Social Media
“The offer’s legitimate.” Miles Abramonov handed Chipper and Ethan fresh Corona bottles and joined them at the poolside table. His wife had taken their kids inside to allow the men to discuss business without distractions.
Chipper adjusted the towel around his shoulders. As the sun raced toward the horizon, the temperature had dipped. “So what’s the next step?”
“Nothing right now.” Following a joint workout first thing in the morning, Ethan spent a couple of hours in the office while Chipper was at rehearsals. “With Miles’ help, I’ll put together an action plan tomorrow.”
Miles chuckled when his young client’s face showed apprehension. “Look, Chipper, we can do as little or as much as you want us to. Agents, managers, accountants, investment advisors, and attorneys will all want a piece of you. Until you hire anyone else, we’ll be happy to do it all.”
“I’m fine with that. The father of one of our friends was a partner at one of the large accounting firms. Next time I’m in Washington I’ll ask for advice and a recommendation on accounting. Same with my sister and investing. Not that I don’t trust you guys, but a thing I learned in a music business course was not to let one person or company control everything.”
Ethan vigorously nodded. “That’s smart. We can start talks with Armani about you becoming the new Emporio Armani underwear model, but we won’t finalize anything until the competition’s over. The contract you signed with the production company gives them certain rights.”
“I told Ethan I wasn’t sure if I want to win or not. If I do, I’ll end up with a deal based on what I already signed. If I don’t, I’d have more room to maneuver.”
“On to another subject. When Ethan called me about you, I had one of our researchers go through all your social media accounts. You’re good, Chipper.” Miles leaned forward in his chair and stared at him. “Real good. I played your YouTube videos for the wife and kids and they loved them. Why do you think my boys were so excited to meet you?”
Miles sipped his beer looking at his young client over the bottle’s neck. “Talent isn’t always enough to make it in the music business, though. Marketing plays a part. At least you have the look. One thing I noticed was the absence of old content in your accounts. Did you wipe them clean when you auditioned for the show? They’re too damned spotless for a teenager or a college student.”
“They’re all new accounts. When I came out to LA, one of the first people I met was a social media advisor from the production company. They suggested I might want to remove pictures showing my butt or the ones of me puking after a night of drinking.”
“Like the picture of most of our crowd mooning other boaters while on a catamaran?” Ethan’s eyebrow wiggle elicited chuckles.
“Yeah, the woman really liked that one. Anyway, Miles, it would have been too much work. Instead of deleting the accounts, I made them private, changed their names, and restricted access to my inner circle. Everyone else got a message to follow the new accounts. Then I blocked them from the original one.”
“Smart move. You heard my wife talk about her job as a college admissions counselor. Something she stresses is that universities peruse applicants’ electronic footprint. She advises high school students to clean up anything not G rated. I noticed you post daily. Is that on purpose?”
“Yeah… You mentioned marketing and all those pictures and comments are part of what the advisor suggested. Not every competitor followed through, but I was encouraged by the two guys I mentioned before.
“Bryce and Zion are models, but I was surprised at the amount of money they make through social media. Mostly Instagram for them. They took a bunch of pictures of me so I would have inventory to share if nothing special happened any day.
“They have a shitload of followers, and they’ve been encouraging their fans to follow me. They share about every other post I make. And so does that friend in DC I mentioned before. All three have hundreds of thousands of people looking at their stuff, and I’ve benefitted. I have more than any of the other contestants.”
A lopsided grin accompanied Chipper’s head shaking. “Of course, that means I get more weirdos messaging me than most.”
“Like what?” Miles expression reflected his puzzlement.
“Like offers for sex from both men and women. Like invitations to family, school, or work events. Plenty of followers from all over the world, particularly accounts you can tell are Russian. And more proposals for business opportunities than I can count.”
Ethan’s rich laughter filled the air. “Hey, even I get those, and I only have a couple of hundred followers. I responded to one to see what they wanted. A clothing company offered to sell me anything at half-price if I would plug their products in posts.”
“Repeating myself, it’s all about marketing. If you had thousands of followers, the stuff would be free.” Miles stood and shook his bottle. “Mine’s gone. Another one?”
“Sure.” Ethan drained the remainder and handed the empty to their host.
“Not for me. Long day tomorrow.” Chipper slid his across the table. “But I’ll take some water.”
Ethan had said his schedule was flexible; he would adjust it to spend time with his friend. “What do you have going on?”
“They do video shoots before every performance and show them as we go on stage. Sometimes they edit in bits from previous sessions. After that, I have a final rehearsal, and I want at least a half hour at the gym.”
“That’s not so bad. I mean, the show doesn’t go on until eight.”
“Eastern. We go on three hours earlier here in California. And before that we have to deal with wardrobe, makeup, and hair.”
“I’ll kick your ass if you turn into a spoiled bitch.”
- 59
- 28
- 11
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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