Ruben and I smile at each other.
* * *
“I’m sorry,” says Geoff.
Ruben and I are seated side by side, on a Zoom call with Geoff and the rest of Saturday. Angel is wearing a black tank with SAVE SATURDAY on it in neon pink, and Jon is wearing a crisp navy-blue button-down. He’s got light stubble for the first time that I’ve seen. It accentuates his jawline and makes it clear just how handsome he is.
“I acted rashly,” continues Geoff. “Emotions were high, and I said things I don’t mean. Truly, boys, I’m sorry.”
I want to laugh in his face.
I do believe that he is sorry, but not because he has realized he’s out of line. He’s sorry because he underestimated just how powerful our fan base is.
He also underestimated us.
“Now that you’re done fake-apologizing,” says Angel. “What do you want?”
Geoff grimaces. “Fine, let’s cut to it. We at Chorus would like to start working with Saturday again. Galactic has plans to launch ‘End of Everything’ as an official single, and we could set up a marketing blitz, along with a big-budget music video. We believe, with the right push, focusing on the angle of Ruben and Zach’s relationship, we could get it to number one. That would make Saturday the American boy band with the most number ones in history. But timing is critical, and we’d need to move fast. If we reach an agreement, we’d like to start filming at the start of next week.”
Nobody says anything.
Mentally, I start putting the pieces together. This seems like a great thing, and could be enormous for young queer kids out there, like that boy in the crowd I saw when we came out. But I’ve worked with Geoff long enough to know that he doesn’t do anything out of sheer goodwill. This is to restore his public image, that’s all. He’s being ripped apart online, and if they take us back, it’ll quiet down, and make them look less like villains than they currently seem.
This isn’t to be nice. It’s to save himself.
“So, boys?” he says. “What do you say?”
Angel clears his throat. “We’ll need to get back to you.”
“What?”
I’m not sure he’s ever heard that before.
“We will consider your offer,” says Ruben, his voice clear. “However, you did effectively sever your relationship with us.”
“I—”
“So,” I say, cutting him off. “We will be exploring our options. When we’re ready, our lawyers will be in touch.”
“Jon…”
“I’m sorry, Dad, it’s just business. Goodbye.”
Jon’s window goes black. Ruben takes that as our signal, and he ends our call as well.
Everything has gone according to plan.
Ruben is flushed, and is smiling really big.
“That felt good,” he says.
And it’s only going to get better from here.
* * *
Our driver is a fan of Saturday.
She’s been talking nonstop this entire drive, asking us questions about what’s been happening with the band and our management. Given we’re in the middle of contract negotiations, we haven’t been able to answer a lot of her questions, but the fact that she’s so curious is incredibly sweet.
She’s driving us to the main office of Monarch Management, so I think she knows what we’re going to do.
I’m hoping, sometime very soon, we’ll be able to tell our listeners everything. Going forward, that’s what I want. No more secrets, no more pretending to be people we aren’t.
We’ll be Saturday, but our actual selves this time. Seeing how well “End of Everything” and our back catalogue are performing, our lawyers are confident Monarch will want to work with us, and we’ll be able to make some amendments to our contract, to make sure what happened on tour this year never happens again.
I’m sharing the car with the rest of the band. We thought it was a good idea to arrive at the same time, to show what we are now: a united front.
“So, boys,” says Angel. “I was doing a bit of research the other day.”
“Now that’s a scary thought,” says Jon.
Angel crosses his arms. “I’m not telling anymore.”
“Fine, sorry, what is it?”
“Well, I had a quick look, you know, and I’ve found that there is this really nice four-bedroom penthouse currently up for grabs in Marina del Rey. It’s got city and mountain views, and a separate theater room. Plus you can have pets! You know I’ve always wanted a French bulldog, right?”