Millions for a Song Read Online Free PDF

We’ll be flying first class, of course.
    â€œMy man, listen carefully to Tom. Within a year—two, tops—we’ll have made our mark on the world’s major capitals. Have you heard of Seoul? Sydney? Don’t worry, because that’s where you’re headed whether you’ve heard of them or not!”
    I do such a spot-on imitation of Tom Paradis that I’ve got Mélanie, Jean-François, and Bruno killing themselves laughing. I finish off by adding, partly in jest, partly in warning, “From then on in, Tom Paradis ranked among the acting greats. He was so wrapped up in his performance that he managed to convince himself of his dreams of grandeur. Eventually, he had to wind down. That was when I said I’d talk to you guys and we’d come to a decision over the weekend.”
    I wait for their reaction. Knowing what a crucial moment this is, I can’t help pounding the point home. “This is our decision to make. The problem is we’ve got to act quickly—the shows are scheduled in the next two weeks. Either we say yes and climb on board with Tom Paradis, or it’s a no and we wait for other offers to come in sometime in the next month, the next six months, the next year.”
    They hesitate, at a loss for words. There’s a long pause. So I take the plunge. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t see why we shouldn’t work with him. Anyhow, no one in the band is eighteen yet. If ever we want to get rid of him, when the time’s right, we can just say we were naïve and let ourselves be duped by an adult. What do you think?”
    The discussion begins. Everyone has an unkind word to say about Tom Paradis. Yet no one can ignore his strongest argument, namely the two concert dates he’s ready to offer from the word go. The prospect of having a show every weekend appeals to us all.
    It’s not like anyone else has anything better to offer. Not us, in any case—we haven’t got a clue how to “sell” what we’ve got. Or time to do it either. All four of us are still in school and stuck at home every weeknight.
    Plus, we know no one in the industry. Tom Paradis’ timing is perfect, and we’d be crazy not to take him up on his offer.
    But Mélanie warns us to be careful, “Let’s only commit to a year with him. That way, if ever we aren’t happy with his services, we can move on. He can do the same.”
    Once our strategy has been established, we decide to schedule a meeting with Tom Paradis for the next day.
    As expected, no one in the band likes the man. Not that that stops him from getting exactly what he wants. The one-year contract immediately morphs into a five-year contract. “Do you think I’m crazy? That I’m going to bust my butt for you, put you on the map, and then be told ‘thanks but no thanks’ once I’ve launched you into the upper stratosphere? Listen, kids, who do you take me for? Some newbie? Hold on here! I’m Tom Paradis. I’ve been in the biz for years. I don’t need you to make a living …”
    Faced with his outright refusal, we cave. We agree to a five-year contract, each of us thinking to himself/herself that if ever a dispute arises, we can always pull out our trump card—the fact we were minors at the time the contract was signed.
    To be honest, we’re ready to sign pretty much anything. Tom has managed to convince us that, thanks to him, a dazzling career awaits.
    If Mélanie hadn’t kept her eyes peeled, we could have lost some big money. The contract was so long and written in such complicated legalese that the rest of us didn’t notice a clause stipulating that all songs (lyrics and music) legally belong to our manager—that is Tom Paradis.
    Tom Paradis seems less than thrilled when Mélanie zeroes in on the clause. He tries to wriggle out of it, claiming it’s no big deal. “Do you know how much