[Chapter 18: Bringing in a Few Million Dollars]
In Daisy Cuomo's penthouse duplex.
Orlando kept eating while Frank eagerly pushed the stack of newspapers and magazines he'd brought across the table toward him.
"Once your song dropped, the country music industry blew up over it," Frank said. "And that rumor about you and Madonna -- now the whole music industry was arguing about it. You're incredibly popular now!"
Orlando answered while he ate, scanning the papers Frank had laid out. He only picked up the pieces that dealt with music or the entertainment sections of the major papers. The trashier tabloids read like softcore pornographic fiction.
Country Weekly: "Old Town Road's trap rhythm and lyrics doesn't fit traditional country storytelling. This is a cynical crossover -- a consumption of country music, not a contribution. Orlando doesn't even have a 'country identity' -- he is from New York! What does he know about cowboys? He is just hooking up with Madonna!"
Country Weekly had been the stronghold of the conservative country camp. Most of its coverage criticized him.
Rolling Stone: "Orlando fused a banjo with trap's 808 beats. This is a vanguard experiment that broke down genre walls. Old Town Road marked the late-20th-century pop culture's growing diversity. His name would stick in pop music history. Maybe that's why Madonna took an interest in him."
Frank said Rolling Stone had backing from Warner. That made it "one of their own." No wonder it sang his praises so loudly.
The New York Times: "Country music had long been framed as white music. Now a brilliant young talent from New York had threaded in Black musical elements -- are you going to say it is not country? This isn't about missing core country elements or lacking 'serious artistic value' -- this is naked discrimination."
Because Orlando was from New York, because he was a city kid, the Country Weekly had attacked him. His hometown paper, The New York Times, had stepped in to back him. It was one of the few major papers that hadn't mentioned last night's rumor. It had kept some decorum -- the kind big papers claimed to have.
The Nashville Voice: "Put your white-centered assumptions away. This song is a milestone for pop culture entering mainstream country. Who has the right to define a genre? No matter what, the public love it -- look at the Billboard numbers. Old Town Road is already number one on the country chart, its sales are strong enough to hit number one on the pop chart, and it will soon top the overall chart. Looks like nobody can stop Orlando now."
Most music outlets were more appreciative than not. Besides creating a new hybrid genre, the single's sales were terrifyingly strong. It had only been out a week, and it was already climbing toward Billboard's top spot.
In music, being a rookie could be a sin; but if someone was extraordinary, flaws didn't matter -- people would elevate them anyway. In music, sales were everything -- like box office in film. The Oscars mattered because a century of reputation had turned the stamp into something that could boost ticket sales and an artist's income. Without that, an award was just another roadside trophy.
What none of them knew was that in the original parallel timeline the song had already been a legendary single: nineteen straight weeks at number one on the Billboard chart. Different era, same earworm hook and original style.
Even though Orlando was a newcomer, his looks and Daisy's involvement had given him a higher starting point than the original artist had gotten. From the start, he had Frank and Seymour advising him in the record business. They'd immediately leaned into a race-angle controversy to stoke headlines.
That made Old Town Road sell even better than it had in the other timeline. And because Warner Music and the giant behind it, Time Warner, were now full-on pushing Orlando, everything accelerated. The single dropped and already Michael Jackson and Madonna had thrown him a few compliments. As the heat rose, Madonna stoked the rumor about them. Frank figured the song would hit Billboard's number one within a couple of days.
Frank felt almost giddy at the prospect. This would cement his rep as a golden agent -- after MJ, another supernova newcomer.
After seeing all the media praise, Orlando felt a little light-headed. He understood now why so many people wanted to be stars. The spotlight felt, damn, fucking amazing.
"Several car makers are eyeing your song for commercials," Frank said. "I picked out one bid that's high and fits your image, Dodge Shadow -- sign the paperwork and you'd get $500,000 a year. Then there are commercial licenses -- supermarkets, fast-food chains, airports. I picked national chains and multinationals. If we sign those, that is over $2 million right there."
Compared to media buzz, this news excited Orlando more. He had never seen that much money in his life. Money piled up that fast -- just by signing his name?
'No wonder everyone wanted to be a big star,' he thought.
"Various colleges and arenas wanted licenses too. My suggestion is we give those out for free -- it will be good for your image, and they won't net much cash anyway."
"Then do it for free. I trust your call."
"Also, CK and Levi's are already talking to me, though negotiations hadn't started yet. If this round of commercial deals came through, you'll be looking at five to six million dollars minimum. You're going to be rich, buddy."
"Same to you, Frank. You're my manager!"
"Hahaha..."
They laughed together in the living room. Frank, MJ's former manager, had real skills -- record production, artist promotion, commercial endorsements, booking shows. His 10 percent commission felt earned.
After their laughter died down, Frank said, "By the way, I have to mention one thing."
"What?"
"You need to think about some tax-related matters."
At the mention of taxes, Orlando straightened up. Whether it was his original life or this one, and for any middle-class American and up, the IRS was unavoidable.
"What do you mean?"
"You should hire a more professional tax attorney and an accountant to handle things."
"You're right. Frank, do you have anyone to recommend?"
Frank hesitated. He'd thought to introduce some of his Manhattan contacts, but then he shook his head. "You should consult Ms. Cuomo about that. I think she can point you in the right direction."
Orlando nodded. He had noticed Frank's reluctance. The manager was good -- capable and discreet.
"Okay, I'll give her a call later."
"Alright. Rest a bit. We have a flight to catch later."
*****
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