Fame and Fortune

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Two days later, Han was heading back to the record company, down to less than fifty credits to his new name. If these higher ups that reviewed his recordings had any brains, they would tell him to take a hike. By this point, Han sincerely hoped they didn't have a single brain cell between them.

If he were being objective, he actually didn't think the playbacks he heard after the lengthy session were all that bad. He'd ended up recording three songs in total, although each song took a minimum of six tries each, which seemed to annoy the Mustafar Lava Boys to no end even though a number of the flubbed takes were their fault and not his. Pruitt had insisted he try again and again, suggesting changes in tempo and instrumentation with each new recording. By the end of the session, Han actually was starting to hear the songs as Pruitt was hearing them, not just his own voice, but the band and the backup singers. One quality Solo seemed to own was an ability to pick up new things quickly, whether it was flying ships, blasters, billiards or sabacc. And, Han noted, somewhat smugly, Pruitt had even admitted at the end of the day that he really didn't need a voicorr. He seemed to be hitting the notes just fine without electronic assistance.

Han informed him of that fact, knowing he was sounding arrogant, "I told you so."

Pruitt had responded, "Don't get cocky, kid." That little exchange had set Han back on his heels and Pruitt, sensing his sudden mood change, looked at him oddly and said, "Go home and come back in two days, Evin."

Home. He had no home. He was staying in the lower levels of Coruscant in a flop house by this point. Living with the dregs of society, back to where he'd started as a kid when he'd lived on the filthy streets of Coronet City on his home planet. Idly, he itched his wrist, then stared down at the red marks. Chig bites. Swell.

The same secretary was sitting at her desk. She recognized Han immediately and didn't bother to ask if he had an appointment. "Have a seat, Evin, Mr. Pruitt will be with you shortly."

About fifteen minutes passed before the secretary escorted Han into the expansive office of Marvis Pruitt, turned discreetly and left the two men alone.

"Make yourself comfortable," Pruitt said waving at a chair while looking down at a flimsi on his desk.

Han sat and waited, while Pruitt seemed to take his sweet time finishing his lengthy tome. Finally, the older man looked up and grinned. "They liked you. A lot. And when I told them you recorded without voicorr, they suddenly loved you."

"Great. When can I get my five thousand?"

"I take it you would like to purchase a change of clothes?"

Han looked down at the same, dull brown clothing he'd been wearing since leaving Dr. Nik's apartment. He run them through the 'cycler only once since then, and by now they looked like something you'd scrub the floor with.

"Um, yeah, sure." Han decided if he ever came into real money, he'd never wear brown again.

Pruitt shoved the flimsi across his desk. "This is your contract. Sign it, and the five thousand is yours. You're going to find out that will be just a small drop in the proverbial bucket, young man. Once you sign, we can get to work immediately finding you the right song to record, and of course, we'll have to shoot a holo-vid to go along with the song."

"A holo-vid?"

"You've seen them, I'm sure. The singer placed in a location that matches the song and he dances while he's singing his hit song, usually with a bunch of pretty girls in the background."

"Dances?" Han squeaked out, feeling his face flush and his heart start to race. This was not part of the package he had been anticipating. His experiences with dancing involved a few lessons back when he was a cadet in the military, and during the wild, uncoordinated parties that the Rebels threw to let off steam.