First Chapter

Nikki kicked off her black and white suede Pumas and threw herself down on her swivel chair. She rolled back with a rumble, putting her feet up on the desk. She waited as the computer purred to a start and the screen flickered to life. Nikki logged onto her computer, typed in her password for her Instant Messenger, NBROCKS, and within seconds, the computer screen was filled with IM conversations. She searched her cluttered desk for a ponytail holder to pull back her mess of brown curls. She brushed aside CD jewel cases, pens and post-it notes. Finally, under a dog-eared copy of this month’s Rolling Stone she found a black stretchy rubber band. It had rained all day, and her hair was out of control. It was time to get down to business and she had no need for vanity now.

The neon green phone on her desk began to ring. She reached for it with one hand while she typed with the other. Mustering her carefully rehearsed mature tone, she answered.

“NB Management, Nikki speaking.”

“Hi, my name is Casey. I’m in the band, Long Story Short from Philly.”

“How can I help you?” Nikki had already started to tune him out while she hopped from instant message window to instant message window. She had been receiving calls by the dozen since the article was printed in last month’s Xposure Magazine. “Nikki Bellinger… The music industry’s rising star … Only seventeen years old … Watch out CEOs—she just might take over your company!”

On a whim, her mother, Sharon, had entered her name in a contest for “2005’s Top Ten Entrepreneurs under Twenty-one.” Naturally, Sharon had chosen not to tell her daughter, preferring it to be a surprise. Since Nikki was under eighteen, the magazine contacted her mother when she won the award as the Number One Teen Entrepreneur. Sharon planned to surprise Nikki when the story was printed. But Nikki beat her to it, when the headline blazed at her from the magazine rack at Borders. Her best friend, Michelle, dashed to her aid from the nonfiction aisle when she heard her shriek. Nikki’s tenth grade yearbook picture was blown up in full color on the front cover—a copy of the wallet-size photo her mother carried around with her everywhere. Oh God, why had she worn that cardigan sweater on picture day? Would her grandmother even notice she had it on when the pictures came back?

Nikki’s English teacher, Mrs. Grearly, had seen the magazine, too. When Nikki arrived at school on Monday morning, to her horror, there they were—thirty copies. Mrs. Grearly had neatly placed one on every desk, and the whole class clapped when Nikki walked in. She smiled at her friends—and silently cursed her mom and that darn sweater. Nikki wished she’d had the chance to dye her hair and make drastic changes to her appearance so no one would recognize her from the picture in the article, but by the end of the day, all 500 students in her school were buzzing about it in the hallways. Girls shot her snide, jealous glances, and a couple of students slipped demo CDs into her locker. Nikki ground her teeth at the memory of Mrs. Grearly making her read the article out loud to the class. The only cool thing—well, very cool thing—that came out of the contest was a grant for $10,000 to put towards NB Management and the growth of her company.

Nikki had become heavily immersed in the local New York City music scene when she was a high school freshman. Her twenty-one-year-old cousin, Beau, was a drummer in a band called Vision. Beau lived on the Lower East Side, just minutes away from Nikki’s Pearl Street apartment near the South Street Seaport. She would take the First Avenue city bus to Beau’s and spend hours watching him and his band practice and write songs. Vision started to gain attention in the Lower East Side scene and started to play at all the hip, trendy clubs in the area, like Pianos, Sin-e and The Living Room. Nikki loved his shows. Since entry was usually restricted to those eighteen or older, Beau sneaked her into the clubs through the back entrance and let her sell their CDs. Nikki used her big blue eyes to lure the boys and her tenacious, outgoing personality to attract the girls. A natural salesperson, if she thought she could get away with it, she would raise the price or piece together special “deals” to entice people to buy more CDs.

Vision began to travel all over the country. For the past three summers, instead of going with all of her friends to sleep-away camp or on a Teen Tour (the latest trend), Nikki told her parents to save their money and let her tour with Beau. She came up with clever, convincing arguments, and, as expected, they finally agreed in her favor.

Kirk, Vision’s general manager and road manager, let Nikki follow him around every step of the way. She watched over his shoulder from the moment the band arrived at a club to the end of the gig, when they loaded their equipment back into the van. Nikki was usually conned into helping load the van. She pretended to do it reluctantly, but deep down she loved being a part of it and getting teased by the guys. Kirk made sure that the club’s sound system was adequate, the CDs and T-shirts were inventoried each night, the band was paid and wasn’t stiffed by the promoter and the whole show ran smoothly. Before long, Nikki was named Vision’s honorary assistant manager.

During the school year, Nikki would sneak out during lunch period to call clubs and make bookings for Vision. The band was booming. Vision’s press coverage never failed to mention “fifteen-year-old Nikki.” For every sold-out show, there was a press clipping for her mother to add to her collection. “This kid has a VISION!” “Nikki Bellinger does it again!” “Make way for Vision and their superstar kid manager!”

Within a year she had taken a liking to a band from Boston and officially started a management and booking agency out of her bedroom in her parent’s lower Manhattan apartment. Shortly after, Beau left Vision to get his Master’s degree in Psychology, so she spent her time focusing on new bands and projects. She had the bug; business and music were in her blood.

Nikki stopped reminiscing about the past three years of her life and looked around her office. Okay, so it was her bedroom-office, but she had everything she needed to run what people thought was a full-service company. A fax was coming through her line and piles of contracts were stacked across her desk.CD cases were everywhere, and autographed band photos and ticket stubs decorated her walls. Two tall gray file cabinets were lodged in the corner. She turned her attention back to her phone call. The poor guy! She didn’t even remember his name.

“So yeah,” he was saying. “I wanted to send you a press kit and let you know that we’re coming to town this Friday night. We’re playing at The Den. I’d like to invite you to the show. I can put you on the guest list.”

“Hmm … Thanks! I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m sorry, you said the name of your band was … Long …?”

“Long Story Short.”

“Oh. I’ll write down the date. Thank you for your call.” She hung up the phone with a snicker, and then felt bad.

“Gabi, come here baby!” Nikki’s seven-month-old chocolate lab perked up her ears at the sound of her name. Nikki made kissing noises from her bedroom. Gabi charged into her lap and started licking her face.

“Gabi! Cut it out! There will be nothing left of me.” She moved down to the carpet to rub Gabi’s tummy.

She heard the front door open. It was probably her dad. Nikki checked her watch. It was 5:07 P.M. Yup, it was her dad—right on time. He walked home each day from his job on Wall Street, taking approximately fifty steps a minute. This allowed him to make it home at the exact same time every night for the last eleven years. He poked his head into the bedroom.

“Hey honey, how was your day?”

“Fine.” She continued to pet Gabi.

He waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he asked, “How are the bands?” She looked up. “Don’t ask! I just got my … let’s see…”




		First Chapter Nikki kicked off her black and white suede Pumas and threw herself down on her swivel chair. She rolled back with a rumble, putting her feet up on the desk. She waited as the computer purred to a start and the screen flickered to life. Nikki logged onto her computer, typed in her password for her Instant Messenger, NBROCKS, and within seconds, the computer screen was filled with IM conversations. She searched her cluttered desk for a ponytail holder to pull back her mess of brown curls. She brushed aside CD jewel cases, pens and post-it notes. Finally, under a dog-eared copy of this month’s Rolling Stone she found a black stretchy rubber band. It had rained all day, and her hair was out of control. It was time to get down to business and she had no need for vanity now. The neon green phone on her desk began to ring. She reached for it with one hand while she typed with the other. Mustering her carefully rehearsed mature tone, she answered. “NB Management, Nikki speaking.” “Hi, my name is Casey. I’m in the band, Long Story Short from Philly.” “How can I help you?” Nikki had already started to tune him out while she hopped from instant message window to instant message window. She had been receiving calls by the dozen since the article was printed in last month’s Xposure Magazine. “Nikki Bellinger… The music industry’s rising star … Only seventeen years old … Watch out CEOs—she just might take over your company!” On a whim, her mother, Sharon, had entered her name in a contest for “2005’s Top Ten Entrepreneurs under Twenty-one.” Naturally, Sharon had chosen not to tell her daughter, preferring it to be a surprise. Since Nikki was under eighteen, the magazine contacted her mother when she won the award as the Number One Teen Entrepreneur. Sharon planned to surprise Nikki when the story was printed. But Nikki beat her to it, when the headline blazed at her from the magazine rack at Borders. Her best friend, Michelle, dashed to her aid from the nonfiction aisle when she heard her shriek. Nikki’s tenth grade yearbook picture was blown up in full color on the front cover—a copy of the wallet-size photo her mother carried around with her everywhere. Oh God, why had she worn that cardigan sweater on picture day? Would her grandmother even notice she had it on when the pictures came back? Nikki’s English teacher, Mrs. Grearly, had seen the magazine, too. When Nikki arrived at school on Monday morning, to her horror, there they were—thirty copies. Mrs. Grearly had neatly placed one on every desk, and the whole class clapped when Nikki walked in. She smiled at her friends—and silently cursed her mom and that darn sweater. Nikki wished she’d had the chance to dye her hair and make drastic changes to her appearance so no one would recognize her from the picture in the article, but by the end of the day, all 500 students in her school were buzzing about it in the hallways. Girls shot her snide, jealous glances, and a couple of students slipped demo CDs into her locker. Nikki ground her teeth at the memory of Mrs. Grearly making her read the article out loud to the class. The only cool thing—well, very cool thing—that came out of the contest was a grant for $10,000 to put towards NB Management and the growth of her company. Nikki had become heavily immersed in the local New York City music scene when she was a high school freshman. Her twenty-one-year-old cousin, Beau, was a drummer in a band called Vision. Beau lived on the Lower East Side, just minutes away from Nikki’s Pearl Street apartment near the South Street Seaport. She would take the First Avenue city bus to Beau’s and spend hours watching him and his band practice and write songs. Vision started to gain attention in the Lower East Side scene and started to play at all the hip, trendy clubs in the area, like Pianos, Sin-e and The Living Room. Nikki loved his shows. Since entry was usually restricted to those eighteen or older, Beau sneaked her into the clubs through the back entrance and let her sell their CDs. Nikki used her big blue eyes to lure the boys and her tenacious, outgoing personality to attract the girls. A natural salesperson, if she thought she could get away with it, she would raise the price or piece together special “deals” to entice people to buy more CDs. Vision began to travel all over the country. For the past three summers, instead of going with all of her friends to sleep-away camp or on a Teen Tour (the latest trend), Nikki told her parents to save their money and let her tour with Beau. She came up with clever, convincing arguments, and, as expected, they finally agreed in her favor. Kirk, Vision’s general manager and road manager, let Nikki follow him around every step of the way. She watched over his shoulder from the moment the band arrived at a club to the end of the gig, when they loaded their equipment back into the van. Nikki was usually conned into helping load the van. She pretended to do it reluctantly, but deep down she loved being a part of it and getting teased by the guys. Kirk made sure that the club’s sound system was adequate, the CDs and T-shirts were inventoried each night, the band was paid and wasn’t stiffed by the promoter and the whole show ran smoothly. Before long, Nikki was named Vision’s honorary assistant manager. During the school year, Nikki would sneak out during lunch period to call clubs and make bookings for Vision. The band was booming. Vision’s press coverage never failed to mention “fifteen-year-old Nikki.” For every sold-out show, there was a press clipping for her mother to add to her collection. “This kid has a VISION!” “Nikki Bellinger does it again!” “Make way for Vision and their superstar kid manager!” Within a year she had taken a liking to a band from Boston and officially started a management and booking agency out of her bedroom in her parent’s lower Manhattan apartment. Shortly after, Beau left Vision to get his Master’s degree in Psychology, so she spent her time focusing on new bands and projects. She had the bug; business and music were in her blood. Nikki stopped reminiscing about the past three years of her life and looked around her office. Okay, so it was her bedroom-office, but she had everything she needed to run what people thought was a full-service company. A fax was coming through her line and piles of contracts were stacked across her desk.CD cases were everywhere, and autographed band photos and ticket stubs decorated her walls. Two tall gray file cabinets were lodged in the corner. She turned her attention back to her phone call. The poor guy! She didn’t even remember his name. “So yeah,” he was saying. “I wanted to send you a press kit and let you know that we’re coming to town this Friday night. We’re playing at The Den. I’d like to invite you to the show. I can put you on the guest list.” “Hmm … Thanks! I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m sorry, you said the name of your band was … Long …?” “Long Story Short.” “Oh. I’ll write down the date. Thank you for your call.” She hung up the phone with a snicker, and then felt bad. “Gabi, come here baby!” Nikki’s seven-month-old chocolate lab perked up her ears at the sound of her name. Nikki made kissing noises from her bedroom. Gabi charged into her lap and started licking her face. “Gabi! Cut it out! There will be nothing left of me.” She moved down to the carpet to rub Gabi’s tummy. She heard the front door open. It was probably her dad. Nikki checked her watch. It was 5:07 P.M. Yup, it was her dad—right on time. He walked home each day from his job on Wall Street, taking approximately fifty steps a minute. This allowed him to make it home at the exact same time every night for the last eleven years. He poked his head into the bedroom. “Hey honey, how was your day?” “Fine.” She continued to pet Gabi. He waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he asked, “How are the bands?” She looked up. “Don’t ask! I just got my … let’s see…”

	copyright © 2006 Cari Gelber, all rights reserved