"Just sign right there." The blond man, Contz Beckenbauer, indicated the space for her signature and handed her the pen. "Right there, as I said. Then we'll talk about what you will sing for the record."
Els hesitated a moment. She was just about to move to dip the pen when Herr Beckenbauer said, "The offer could be withdrawn at any time, you know."
That just didn't sound right. This man was in a bit too much of a hurry for Els' comfort. There must be something in this contract that he hadn't properly explained. Els could remember spoken words very well. She had a little more trouble when it came to reading them. The counselor at the high school had called it dyslexia. That diagnosis had come as a relief. It explained why she could memorize spoken lines for plays but had trouble reading them herself.
Els stood. "I will have my father look at this." She picked up the up-time style handbag that had been a gift from Trent Partow for her eighteenth birthday and shoved the contract inside. "I've been told many times that a person should have a contract examined by a legal expert." She headed for the door, over his protests.
"I will withdraw the offer, then," he said. "You will not record for my studio."
Els turned. "As you wish. But I'm still going to have this contract 'checked out,' as they say." Perhaps you are not an honest man, Herr Beckenbauer.
Judy was almost dancing in her seat at Cora's, waiting for Els to get there. When Els came in, she jumped up. "How did it go? Did you get a contract?"
Els slumped into the booth. "I got one. But I haven't signed it and now he says he withdraws the offer. Here." Els scrabbled around the bag. "You look at it."
Judy knew about Els' problems with the written word. Els didn't like to talk about it, but they'd grown close over the last couple of years. She took the contract and worked her way through it. It was in legalese, which she didn't speak, but it felt off. That was okay; she knew lawyers. "You were right not to sign it. I can't really read it either, between the German and the legalese, but I think it's a case of "what the large print gives, the small print takes away.'"
Judy caught up to Els in second period practical math. "Good thing you didn't sign it," were the first words out of her mouth. "He'd have had you tied up for fifteen years for one thing. You wouldn't have gotten any royalties for your records, either."
Judy looked ready to bite some one's head off. "We're going to have to put the word out about this turkey. I hope there aren't a lot of people who've signed this sort of thing. Professor Gruder says it's as near to a contract of indenture as makes no difference. Except a contract of indenture actually pays you something." Gruder was one of the teachers from Jena who had come to Grantville to learn up-timer law and teach down-timer law. He was positively fierce and scared everyone in class. Except, apparently, Judy.
Els slumped into the desk. "Wonderful. I finally get a chance and this happens. I want to be a star, Judy. I've wanted that since I first discovered what it meant. Not just for me. For my family. For Trent. So he will have a wife of property, not just a player."
"You already are a star," Judy insisted. She was supported by a couple of nods from some of the other kids near them. "Besides, you know that Americans don't think that way, Els."
"No, they don't," Els conceded, after giving her a look. It was true mostly, though the exceptions weren't as rare as Judy seemed to think. "But my own people do. To become famous . . . it would mean a lot."
Judy's expression went a bit sad for a moment. Els knew she was remembering Katrina Kunz. Katrina was from a wealthy family in Badenburg. She was the one who had explained to Judy that players were not socially acceptable.
Katrina had been trying to be nice and keep Judy from making a social error that might ruin her prospects, or so Judy had insisted. She had returned the favor by explaining that in the up-time world having successful actors for friends was a good thing. Katrina hadn't taken it well. She no longer talked to Judy, who hated losing friends, especially over something that just didn't make sense to her.
Els examined Judy, her friend. Four years after the Ring of Fire, Judy was no longer the cute little sister of Sarah Wendell. She was the acknowledged queen of Grantville High. She was five feet nine inches tall and could be a runway model if she had time. Herr Schroeder had asked her. She was, in Els' opinion, the prettiest girl in school. She made Els feel better about being thin just by being there.
Judy tapped her fingers on the desk. "What you need is an agent."
Els pulled herself back from her thoughts. "Agent?"
"Right. Up-time actors have agents."
"What do agents do?"
"They . . ." Judy paused, then grinned. "We take ten percent off the top." Els gave her a look. This was Judy the imp. Judy the plotter. Els knew she was in trouble. When Judy the imp got started you ended up doing the craziest things . . . but they all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.
Judy started laughing. "An agent handles things like contracts, does the negotiating, has the contacts. Arranges things. It should be someone with your best interests at heart." Judy stood and grabbed her own bag. "C'mon. Let's go to the library. I need to do some research. Agent and manager. That's something I could do. I'm sure of it."
Els rolled her eyes. Judy wouldn't actually do the research. She never did. She would grab someone and have them do her a favor. Probably Susan. Susan was good at research.
"All right. But I've got to be at the lounge at six." Els had been singing in the lounge in the Higgins Hotel three nights a week for the past two years.
Ritter Jost von Reinhart was quite pleased with the overall situation. He was rather short at five foot four, with sandy hair and gray eyes. People who called him fat were both unfair and unwise. He was big-boned. Granted there was a certain amount of padding on the bones, but a surprising amount of it was muscle. He was, as usual, meticulously dressed and groomed. Every hair in place. There were rather fewer of those hairs than there had been in his youth. He pushed a button and the servant came and exchanged this course for the next. While his estates were near Berlin, he had a house in Magdeburg from which he did most of his business.
He was, of course, disappointed that Contz Beckenbauer had failed to get Els Engle's signature on the contract. There was still hope, though not much if the young lady actually did take the contract to a lawyer. Beckenbauer should never have let her take it out the door. Thankfully, most didn't seek legal advice. Even if this girl did, though, he still might get her. Many people were desperate to get a record cut and become famous stars in the up-time fashion. He doubted that she'd be able to do that. He had too much control already.
Jost owned—indirectly—a record player manufactory and a record cutting studio. And had a contract with Adolph Schmidt at the pressing plant. He also had several other contracts. Jost paused a moment and chewed. This up-timer catfish was excellent. Completely unlike the inedible down-time sort.
His cutting shop had contracts with several recording studios that delivered tapes to him. He owned one of them already and expected to pick up the other soon. The other one was a studio with some good portable equipment, perfectly suitable for recording live concerts and plays. It was expensive equipment—quite expensive—and he could probably pick it up fairly cheaply in exchange for not prosecuting when Jacob Trommler defaulted on his contract.
Jost grinned and patted his mouth with a napkin. It was a good contract, that one. It obligated Trommler Records to buy at least one cut master a month at a set price. If Herr Trommler didn't buy the master, he didn't just owe the cutting shop for it, he owed a penalty as well. Of course, Jacob had not been quite so naïve as the "want to be" stars whose contracts Jost owned. If Trommler did come up with something to cut a master of, the von Reinhart cutting studio was obligated to do it.
But Jost doubted that Trommler would have anything more than another speech he wanted recorded. The man was too civic-minded for his own good. Jost grinned again. The radical ones often were. Jost was a fairly conservative man. He was willing enough to use the technology the up-timers brought. He was less happy with their radical political notions. Trommler had insisted that he be able to cut and distribute anything he wanted to and hadn't paid much attention to what else was in the contract. Which meant that, soon enough, Jost would own Trommler Records.
"Because," Judy said, weeks later, "Speeches aren't especially entertaining. She was sitting in a rather dingy office outside Magdeburg where the rents were cheaper. And talking to a committed record producer. Or perhaps one who should be committed. "They're topical, I'll give you that. People need to hear them, but mostly they only need to hear them once. Maybe twice, in an election year. Records are for stuff you want to listen to every day or every few days or maybe just when you're in the mood."
Trommler Records wasn't doing all that well, not these days. Clearly, Jacob Trommler thought it was a wonderful idea to make records of speeches. Mike Stearns' speeches. Wilhelm Wettin's speeches. Speeches from the USE House of Lords and senators. Judy had gone over his sales list and inventory.
"But speeches are important," Jacob said. "Not like the silly music." Jacob broke into song and Judy winced when she heard it. "In the big rock candy mountains, you never change your socks," he warbled. "And the little streams of alcohol come a trickling down the rocks." Thankfully, Jacob quit singing. The wobbling of the guy's Adam's apple had been almost as bad as his singing voice. He started talking again, which wasn't as bad.
"How is this of value? It goes against the sanitation lessons. It goes against what we are told of the evils of too much drinking. Speeches matter, Fraulein. They tell people what is going on in the world." It was clear that Jacob, a skinny guy with muddy brown hair and glasses, was trying to impress her.
Judy sighed a bit. Since moving to Magdeburg after graduation she had been quite busy. It had taken a telegraph message from Trent to remind her of her promise to Els. Feeling guilty she had moved into high gear and found Trommler Records. "Herr Trommler, yes, they do. But they are not entertainment. A person will go hear a speech, yes. Listen to it on the radio, yes. But the election is over. It's done. And people don't want to listen to politicians spout off every day. " Judy could see him getting ready to object and held up her hand. "They aren't going to buy that kind of record. On the other hand, they do listen to music every day."
"I have inventory. The speeches will sell, given time," Jacob said. Inventory he did have, Judy knew. Inventory of a bunch of records of speeches he hadn't had to pay an artist to record. The only thing keeping this guy afloat was the one really good idea he'd had. The record sets of "Learn Up-timer English" sold well. The record sets of "Learn Latin" sold even better. True, he did have two speeches that sold reasonably well. One was of Gustavus Adolphus, the other of Mike Stearns conceding the election to Wilhelm Wettin.
"Herr Trommler, I'm not arguing the moral merits of music versus speeches. What I am saying is that people won't buy the speeches, not in the numbers you need to make a profit. You need an entertainment division to support your other, more high-minded, products. For that you need a name. Someone who is already recognized by the people you're trying to sell to. Someone like the Old Folk's Band. Marla Linder. Or Els Engel."
Jacob's eyes lit up a bit. Els had become fairly well known after singing at the hotel lounge, appearing in plays and doing a few commercials on the radio. Well, and not to mention that she provided the voice of Maid Marie for the "Robin of the Committees of Correspondence" radio serial.
"I would have to pay for cutting the records," Jacob said. "I have very little cash left, as you know. Else you would not be here."
Judy grinned. "True. But it just happens that I know someone who has a very great interest in music recording. Cash flow can be arranged, assuming you're willing to have a couple of partners."
"I already have investors." Jacob sighed. "And debts and contracts. I will not lie to you, Fraulein. The debts and contracts I already have threaten to run me out of business."
The contracts were the key to the whole deal. Friends had looked them up in the records offices in both Grantville and Magdeburg. Those friends would end up owning a small part of Trommler Records if this worked out. Judy took care of her friends.
"So when do I make a record?" Els asked.
"When I get finished with all this, this . . . stuff." Judy's voice was strained. Els looked at her. Judy looked angry. Quite angry.
"What is wrong?"
Judy sighed. " Susan and Professor Gruder ambushed me. Professor Gruder even took the train to Magdeburg to do it. That contract got him interested and he started looking into things. When he got to Magdeburg, he and Susan put together a report and are making me read it. It turns out that this Ritter Jost von Reinhart is up to something nasty."
Els rolled her eyes a bit. "Umm. Right. What is so bad? And why can't I make a record, yet?"
"If you want to sign something that amounts to an unconscionable contract, you can go right ahead. But I'd advise against it."
"What?" Els looked startled.
"An unconscionable contract is basically one that is so one-sided it makes the judge puke. The problem is that the dear ritter left just enough on the other side that the judge just might not lose his lunch. But if you're in so much of a hurry that you want to wind up practically indentured to this jerk, go right ahead. But don't say I didn't warn you."
"The contract was with Contz Beckenbauer, not von Reinhart."
Judy snarled. "Yes, it was. And Beckenbauer works for von Reinhart. He's just a front man for the creep. He'd have turned the contract over to him and you'd have been stuck but good. Just give me a little more time. I think Susan and the professor have pounded this stuff into my head. Susan says we've got to get all the girls together on this."
"As long as I get to make a record someday." Els sighed.
Judy pretended she was staring into a crystal ball, even though it was actually a coffee cup. "I see," she intoned in a mystical voice, "stardom in your future." She reverted to her usual voice. "Just keep your shirt on, will you?"
"Take a look at these," Susan said. She passed copies of various contracts around the table. The Barbie Consortium was meeting in a private dining room in the recently-built Capitol Restaurant. Judy had just returned from Grantville and her meeting with Els. Judy and several of the girls were giving the G&M rail line quite a bit of business since they'd graduated.
Susan looked at Judy and quirked an eyebrow. Always one of the more serious of the girls, Susan believed in preparation. Judy nodded, indicating that she had in fact read them and Susan grinned. Susan had been much happier since leaving Grantville. They waited for the rest of the girls and Helene Gundelfinger to finish reading.
"So," Heather Mason said, "This Ritter whoosis . . . ah . . . Reinhart, that is, has controlling interests in most of the local entertainment companies. And contracts that are going to let him wind up with a monopoly, considering how many of these people don't know squat about business. Is that a pretty fair summation?"
Susan grinned. "Ten points to Heather. And would anybody care to guess just how appreciative the USE government is going to be about the possibility of a media trust?"
"The current government or the previous one?" Vicky Emerson muttered.
"Now, now," Judy cautioned. "Prime Minister Wettin has sworn to uphold the laws of the USE."
Gabrielle, just back from a visit to the University of Jena, said, "Whatever. The thing is, this guy is trying to take over the whole media industry before it gets off the ground good. And your Herr Trommler signed the contract. So he has to buy a cut master, every single month. At a set price, in case you didn't notice."
"If we catch Judge Riddle in the right mood . . ." Susan began.
Judy grinned. Like a shark, some might say. David Bartley, now on the board of OPM, didn't call her "Judy the Barracudy" for nothing. "Yeah, maybe. But do we really want to try and break it? You'll notice that the price is set. Von Reinhart can't change it. So all we really have to do is make some records that will sell." Judy's face grew serious for a moment. "What I'd really like to do is break Ritter Jost von Reinhart. He's a self-proclaimed patron of the arts, but what he really is, is a rat.
"That will have to wait, though. Jacob Trommler has already missed two months. When you add up the fee for the cutting, the penalty and the interest, he'll owe von Reinhart a fortune if he doesn't catch up. But the contract doesn't specify that the master has to be a speech, either. It can be anything."
Helene Gundelfinger, who'd made a day trip to Magdeburg for this meeting, grinned. Like a shark, some might say. Some did, in fact. "I like it."
Judy smiled a little grimly. "It's a start. You saw the contract that Contz Beckenbauer wanted Els Engle to sign. She'd have wound up working for von Reinhart. I don't like this guy. I don't like what he's trying to do and he's way too close to succeeding. So, ladies of the Barbie Consortium, do we or do we not take this turkey down?"
A number of sharkish grins went around the table.
"Aye." "Aye." "Aye."
No one was opposed.
Jacob Trommler's investors weren't happy campers.
"How did this Jost character get so much of the business so fast?"
"Blackmail," Judy explained. "Well, greenmail, maybe, since it was all about money. I've spent the last couple weeks researching the mess. The thing about the recording industry is that if you have control of one piece you can screw everyone. Of course, you screw yourself, too. But if you have more money than the other people in the game, you can run them out of business or force them to do what you want. It's more complicated than that, really. But that's what it comes down to. And that's what von Reinhart is trying to do."
"So how do we avoid that?" Frantz Erwin was Jacob's largest, and most vocal, investor. And the unhappiest, for that matter.
"It's mostly cash on hand." At Herr Erwin's puzzled look, Judy clarified. "When von Reinhart got involved, most of the rest of you had already spent most of your money. It was tied up in things like the record press or the master cutting house. He bought out the guy who was making record players and stopped selling them. No new record players. No new record customers."
"He did," Jacob confirmed. "And none of us could raise more money to start building more."
"Someone will, sooner or later," Herr Erwin said.
Judy nodded. "Sure. If someone had had the guts, the money and the interest to go against him when he already had a factory up and running. He didn't stop making them, just selling them. The other guys in the business couldn't afford to wait or to start their own record player company. They caved and he got the cutting house for next to nothing and has a contract with the pressing house."
"Again, why won't that happen to us?" Herr Erwin's face was flushed.
"Because for a piece of the business, we're going to rescue your silly asses," Vicky muttered.
"Trommler's record contracts," Judy said quickly, giving Vicky a harsh look, "have considerable value. Also, after von Reinhart got what he wanted, he started selling record players again. Everyone who can afford one is buying them. That's a one time trick and we've got cash, which you guys didn't. So we propose to invest in this company. If you will give Jacob a bit more time. If you prefer to cash out, I'll buy your shares."
Frantz Erwin and a couple of other investors elected to cash out. They didn't want to be invested in a company run by such young people, and the offer was fair considering the circumstances. They didn't lose that much. Judy and the Barbie Consortium now had a controlling interest in Trommler Records.
"Heather, we'll need your CD collection, I expect. We'll need to have Els go through a bunch of songs to pick out what people will like. Not to mention, she learns lyrics and lines by listening to them. And I'd like, if we could, to have her cut the first hit record of 1635."
"Works for me," Heather said. "I don't see why a pretty good number of my oldies won't work, if they get translated properly. Change a word here, change a word there. It ought to work."
"But, Judy," Millicent Anne Barnes piped up, "what are you going to be doing?" Millicent still looked like a moppet, with her curly dark hair and tiny size.
Judy grinned. "I'm going to be investigating what will sell. I was struck by something Herr Trommler did while I was in his office, back weeks ago. I know a lot of us," she waved her hand at the table, "like some of the more modern music. Well, except for Heather, that is."
The girls laughed. Heather's passion for oldies had been a joke with them for several years. Judy shook her head. "The thing is, if you'll pay attention sometime, people around here don't go around doing rap under their breath, do they? Even with as much of it as some people play." Judy cast a look at Hayley Fortney, who stuck her tongue out at her.
"No taste," Hayley remarked. "No taste at all, Judy."
"Anyway," Judy said, "the song Herr Trommler sang to me—and I should probably mention that he's got no more voice than a frog . . ." The girls laughed. Neither did Judy, as she well knew.
"Anyway," Judy said, after the laughter had died down, "the song he sang wasn't rap. Or one of Heather's oldies. Or that opera that Marla Linder does, either. Although I have heard some of her Irish folk tunes being hummed around town."
"Oh, God." Hayley groaned. "Don't tell me what I think you're about to tell me." She buried her head in her hands. "I bet I don't want to hear this."
Judy grinned. "'Fraid so, Hayley. It was one of the numbers the Old Folk's Band does. Something about a big rock."
Sharkish grins disappeared. Most of the girls at the table groaned. But Helene Gundelfinger grinned and winked at Judy.
"That's just plain rotten." Mr. Buckner and the rest of the OF Band were in their backyard again. "Pickin and grinnin," they called it. "Not that I know a heck of a lot about business, you understand."
Judy nodded. She was just off the train from Magdeburg again. There were some things you needed to do in person and persuading people to sign with a record label was one of them.
"But we haven't signed any contracts." Huey Jones rattled his tambourine. "We're doing well enough already. The girls have the boarders and all. So we didn't figure we needed to make a record, back when that Beckenbauer guy tried to get us to sign up with him. We just pass the hat at the Gardens and have a meal. Suits us, that way."
"I'm glad to hear that." Judy smiled. "That you didn't sign the contracts, I mean. But not about the record. I think you ought to get all your music recorded, myself. So it doesn't get lost in time, or get all jumbled up with other stuff. It would be a part of the historical record, in a way." Judy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The breeze was a little too strong for a good hair day.
It took a fair bit of talking them into it, but Judy left with a proper contract with the OF Band.
Jost von Reinhart took a sip of beer. "It will not matter. Up-timers do not know what people like to hear. I do. So even though they have a controlling interest in Trommler Records, it will not matter."
"It isn't just the contract with the Engle girl," Contz pointed out. "They have one with the OF Band, too."
Von Reinhart's face changed a bit. Contz though he might be a little more worried, now. Just as well, Contz thought. The . . . well, fink, to use an up-time expression . . . had nipped his own production company in the bud, after all. Perhaps these girls would give him something to think about.
"So I finally get to cut a record?"
"Yes, Els, you do," Judy said. "Have you picked out the song? Or songs, for that matter. You can get about six and a half minutes at sixty rpm. Not quite five minutes if we go to eighty."
Els considered a moment. "I have listened to both. The sound quality is not that different. The eighty rpm records would be better for opera, but for my voice the sixty will do. It will mean I can record two songs on one record."
Heather nodded her head earnestly. "And that's why we think you should be recording. That way Mother Maybelle's heritage will never be lost."
"And you'll pay us to sing for the record." Minnie wanted confirmation.
"Absolutely," Heather said. "And royalties, once the sales have paid for the advance. Of course, it all depends on how many sell, but we're doing the stocking at the stores. The stores are mostly going to be taking the records on consignment, so we'll know how much of what sold."
Bennie Pierce nodded. "Always was a crap shoot, the recording industry. No way to know but to try it."
"Pretty much," Heather agreed.
"Here it is." Hayley shook her head mournfully. "Our first master. And it's a country song. Not even decent rock and roll."
"Els thinks it will sell better," Heather said. "And I do, too. So, just shut up and soldier, Hayley."
Hayley grimaced. "A country song. Shudder. Changed lyrics, and only Mr. Simmons playing the guitar for accompaniment. Yerg."
"It's going to take some time to get things turned around," Judy noted. "But Els is going to sing it on the radio program tonight. She got the writers of Robin to agree to work it in. Free advertising. The changed lyrics had had a lot to do with that."
Hayley grimaced again. "Yerg."
Tip's was quiet tonight. It usually was on Friday night, when it was time for Robin of the CoC to be broadcast on the Voice Of America. The crowd listened intently, as they usually did. The crowd at the Freedom Arches was doing the same thing. Robin was a popular show.
This time, Robin was riding to the rescue of Maid Marie, who had been captured—again. She got captured fairly often. Which was understandable since her duties as an agent of the Committee of Correspondence took her to some dangerous places. While Robin of the CoC had started out as an adaptation of the Robin Hood stories, they were, of course, influenced by the famous Gretchen Richter and Jeff Higgins. Robin was a noble who had taken on the goals of the CoC and Marie was a farmer's daughter. With her parents safe again after the arrival of the Ring of Fire, she had joined the CoC. There she had met Robin and become his partner. In a number of important ways, Els' role was more akin to the Bill Cosby role in I Spy than to the average Maid Marian. In fact, she was often the rescuer, rather than the rescued.
This time, while held by an evil ritter, she sang to the absent Robin, not knowing he was hidden just around the corner waiting his chance to set her free:
"I don't believe in right of kings,
good blood, bad blood, silly things.
I don't believe in stories told
of maidens weak and knights of old.
That might is right and weak is wrong,
or God's word can't be set in song.
That life and love are some cruel jest,
or some are simply born the best,
But I believe in love.
I believe in freedom.
I believe tomorrow's hope,
'Cause I believe in you."
The response was surprisingly fast for a world that mostly lacked telephone and telegraphs. The VOA was deluged with requests for the song. First from the area right around Grantville, then, as the days passed, from villages and towns all over the VOA's listening area.
They had thought they were ready. Trommler Records had a lot of prints ready for shipping. They sold them in the first three days. Eventually, it became the first gold record in the new history by passing the half million records mark without even slowing to look as it passed. It took some time to pass that milestone, mostly because of the time it took to stamp the records.
Of course, by then the Barbie Consortium had run off to Vienna, leaving Els' career in the capable hands of the Gertrude Schmidt Talent Agency. Sometimes called "Gerty's T&A" because of the large number of young ladies it had signed, it was listed as GSTA on the Grantville exchange. The Barbie Consortium, as might be expected, owned a fair chunk of that stock. Trommler Records was left with a down-timer merchant as the CEO and Els' Uncle Heinrich as the vice president of the Entertainment Division. Herr Trommler was now VP of News and Education.
Jost von Reinhart was not a happy camper. He had a fair number of singers under contract but since Els Engle's hit, the label of choice for aspiring artists was Trommler. Old Folk's songs, while not selling quite so well, were selling, and so were recordings from the new talents TR had signed. Even the silly speeches were selling better.
Fuming, he pushed the button to call for the next course. He was already in a foul mood. That mood was not improved when the butler carried in the next course. Whistling. That song.