gyatt damn!

2 WEEKS AND 6 DAYS UNTIL SHOWCASE

7:56 AM

You saw a wonderful sunrise this morning, had went back to sleep, and woke up almost two hours later.

Just like you suspected, your very public meeting with Lex Luthor yesterday traveled through the city. By the next morning, you had received twelve calls from Earl alone, and at least two from everyone else. You even got calls from some old project managers from gigs in the past.

“Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while but I heard…”

“A while” is a massive understatement. Try two decades. You couldn’t even remember this man’s name.

“Whaddup! Heard you were shacking it up with Lex Luthor! What’s it like and will he be able to attend an event for…”

“Shacking it up” made you grimace. You knew word would spread, but rumors? Your expectations were too pure for the backbone of Metropolis. Not to mention, the entitlement? What is it with people and expecting you to provide for them?? First Lex Luthor, now idiots on your cellular device?

“____. I know what’s being said about you can’t be true, right? You’re not having… relations with that man right?”

This one was from Earl. You couldn’t believe a man who’s known you for two decades would actually believe you were sleeping with his personal devil. You would never! You hardly wanted to entertain the thought.

You… and Lex Luthor romantically? Your names didn’t even sound right together. You couldn’t think about it for too long without getting uncomfortable at the thought.

“So… do we all need to sell our souls now? Mine’s already gone so let me know if I have to move to hell soon.”

Trent.

“I don’t believe you’re having sex, but those pictures of you is some damning evidence… I’m curious, call me back…”

You didn’t know Isa—usually the voice of reason—could have such a nosey side.

Side note, there are pictures?!

You could only imagine the conversations you were about to have in the next three hours. You might as well throw out the whole rehearsal, nobody would’ve wanted to play anyway. Who wants to play some boring Latin jazz when they could be all up in your business. Like, literal business. That’s all the meeting was, business!

You eventually gave up on listening to your voicemails as to stop yourself from having a fit. You needed a clear head in this moment. You have nothing to defend, it was a simple business meeting.

However, those pictures of you both mid laugh were going to be a hard hill to climb in discussions… To their credit, you really did look like you were enjoying each other on a date. You knew that wasn’t the case though, you both are in a budding friendship, nothing more.

It’s not weird to have meetings with a client OR friend for that matter!

You tried to console yourself from the inside.

You could wholeheartedly understand where they were coming from. You aren’t dim, you knew how this looked. You were completely embarrassed at the beginning for this reason. It was in your best interest to get into groove after he pointed out your discontent.

And besides, if you were being honest, you were genuinely enjoying yourself out there.

It wasn’t often you made new friends, and you at the very least appreciated every new connection. And as you’re sure some nosy people around you heard, you kinda had to.

“I want you to stop performing.”

Those words sat on your heart like a weight now with all the bad press. After next Friday, you had one more meeting with Lex. You hoped your weightless progress hadn’t been stripped from you. You quite enjoyed feeling normal on a Friday.

9:48 AM

You walked into the familiar coffee shop, hauling your heavy limbs to the register. Luckily, you’d just missed the morning rush. You were the only one in the shop.

Brianna, in a opposite fashion to your own, hopped to meet you with a pep in her step. You were glad she was having a good day. “Hey you! What can I do for ya’ today?”

“I’ll need three dozen donuts again and any alcohol you have.”

Brianna gave you a look. “It’s 9 PM somewhere right?”

You gave her a deadpan.

“What’s the matter?” She inquired, looking concerned.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard. I went out with Lex Luthor on a business meeting yesterday and I am going to need to convince the entire band that I am not “shacking up” with him.” You massage your temples.

Brianna looks unperturbed, shrugging. “Sounds rough but if I’m being honest I’m not understanding why everyone cares so much. You’re getting that bag and sometimes that requires some extra elbow grease.”

You could just hug this girl. “Thank you! See, it’s nice to talk to someone of sound mind!”

And innocence, you theorized, she is 17 after all.

“Besides, I would get with him too. He tips well.”

You make a face. “What do you mean tips?”

She gasped. “Right! I didn’t tell you. But like right after, like the DAY after you told me you were working with him he came in the store! I was so surprised. Apparently he stopped by because he heard great things and when he tasted a donut he tipped like.. 100 bucks! It was sooo cool!”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. What an interesting coincidence. “How funny,” you say offhandedly.

“I know right! Like what are the chances?!” Brianna was ecstatic.

You exhaled like you were laughing, shaking your tired shoulders. “Right, what are the chances.”

You supposed you shouldn’t worry, what was there to worry about. But something about Lex showing up—or touching as he would say, yuck—at your niche little coffee shop frightened a small part of you.

You were happy to work with Lex, you knew where you stood and how to out maneuver any attempts he could make to buy what you were selling. But was Dough’s Holes exempt? Were any of the almost 100% of local, family owned businesses exempt before LuthorCorp?

You could suddenly understand Earl’s point of view with more clarity.

“But yeah, you said three dozen?” Brianna questioned, breaking you out of your spiral.

“Yeah! And no alcohol, I was joking. Water is just fine.”

“Gotcha!”

You took a deep breath, finding some spot to sit and wait. You shook your head, trying to lose some of the weight.

—

11:00 AM

Everyone was there 15 minutes early, you didn’t start until 11.

On top of that, nobody brought their instruments.

You were in for it.

“Sooo, it’s 11 now! Spill.” Someone said.

Lex smiled to himself, watching from his LuthorCorp desk. He knew breaking into your cameras was necessary, but never would he have considered it to be fun. After all, you’re hardly ever in the studio by yourself. He’d have to place cameras in your piece-of-shit, tiny apartment soon.

The thought of him watching you alone, showering—

Thoughts for later, thoughts for later. He reminded himself. Can’t risk an erection with a meeting in five minutes, oh how you tortured him.

He rested his head on his hand, arm standing on the desk. He was having a time watching you talk about him, trying to justify your date with him yesterday. He liked to make you think you were in control of the situation, you suggested “triple b” after all. It’s not his fault he required you to act like a human in all situations.

“I want you to stop performing.”

He leaned into his hand. You are so cute. He could watch this for hours. He wished he could bottle it and immerse himself in it.

Of course, your “family” would be skeptical.

“Family…” he recalled out loud.

Your slip up gave him insight, a sudden aha moment. To his annoyance, he needed to pivot his plans. Friendships are easy, fickle. But family? To the point of a freudian slip?? An unconscious heartfelt acknowledgement of peons that don’t warrant your attention???

How could he have not seen that? He’s been following you for a year.

Ever more reason for the cameras in their apartment.

Clearly, thanks to this stupid group, he wouldn’t just have to enchant you, he’d also need to break them.

With a smile, he had another moment of insight looking at the concern pouring out of your “family”.

It’s time for another test.

—

1:30 PM

You were in the final stretch.

“I just don’t understand why he would need updates every week?” Sonny had a hand on his temples.

If you were being honest, you didn’t understand either.

“Yeah!” Delano yelled from across the room. “And why only with you? A little predatory idnit?”

Your face contorted. “Ehhh, “predatory” is a very… negative word and I wouldn’t say that.”

“Fuck that. I say that rat bastard’s making moves.” Via scoffed.

“I-I,” Nicole stuttered. “I just don’t like this at all! Uppity folks they-they just… they move differently from the rest of us! And now one’s enveloped you in it’s circle!”

You turned your head. “Listen, Lex is a lot of things—”

“FIRST NAME BASIS?!” Everyone exclaimed.

You sighed. “Yes. As I was saying, he is a lot of things but he is not some type of mythical monster. He can actually be quite funny.” You didn’t catch yourself smiling in reminisce.

“Don’t tell me you think you’re actually entertaining a friendship with this man,” Julius sighed.

“Fine, then I won’t tell you.” You replied sassily.

Everyone gasped.

You didn’t understand this the more you went along with it. Had the last 3 and a half hours not told them this enough? You felt like you were going in circles.

“I’m going to be honest with you all, I don’t think it’s bad to have friends in high places.” You remarked.

Everyone gasped again, almost like what you said was this massive hot take.

“I agree with you, but Luthor’s no friend, dawg. He seem shady as fuck, I’m not gon’ lie to you.” De’von frowned, acting the most sincere you’d ever seen him be.

You sighed for what felt like the millionth time. It was time to wrap this up.

“My friends, I will agree to disagree on your concerns. At this moment, my friendship with Lex is not a problem. So far, he has shown himself to be kind and even considerate, believe it or not. If—and I mean if—he becomes a problem, then by all means, save me, tell me I told you so while I get a restraining order or something, I don’t care.

“But for the moment, this is good. Dare I say, I enjoy this man’s company and on top of that our friendship possibly brings more gigs our way? Win-win!”

“Holy monologue,” Lee muttered.

That’s how you knew your words went through one ear and out the other, not even a lick of processing.

Why do I even try?

“Fine,” Oseye conceded. “We still love you, we just wish the best for you, okay?”

You smile. “I know that, it’s why I’m not mad. I know this all comes from wanting to protect me. But I assure you all, I can take care of myself.”

Everyone collectively smiled, deciding to shrug.

“I guess we can’t be too mad at you making friends,” Isa giggled.

“Yeah! And we’ll need our pianist this Friday!” Petey pointed out, excited.

You laugh. “I haven’t forgotten about Formal Friday.”

“And that man isn’t coming right? You both don’t plan on having a “meeting”.” Dayna enunciated “meeting” with air quotes.

You shake your head. “Nope!”

You didn’t notice but Earl didn’t talk the entire time.

2 WEEKS AND 4 DAYS UNTIL SHOWCASE

7:46 PM

Practice was over 16 minutes ago. You always were the last to leave, it was your studio after all. Sometimes you’d get stragglers who wanted to talk or invite you to ice cream socials. Today was neither of those days.

Today was a day you’d call an “Old Man Chat” day. It was characterized by Earl taking the longest to pack up—almost on purpose…— and be the last person in the studio with you. And so far, with Nicole having left just a minute ago, it would seem today was checking off all the boxes.

You were in for it, again.

You sighed, putting the cover over your old wooden piano. You could feel his gaze in your back.

You supposed you were due this talk. He hadn’t spoken all that much in the days after the band’s “come to jesus” talk. Any real thoughts he could have for you would have to wait until he was ready to give them

“Hey.”

—which you supposed was now.

“Hello,” you nervously responded, facing him.

He scoffed. “Don’t give me that. You knew this was coming.”

You smile awkwardly.

He picks up his trombone case and music book. “You know the drill, walk with me.”

You pick up your bag and walk out the door with him, locking the studio before starting the trek back to his home.

“I’m gonna start this off by saying I’m not going to scold you or anything.”

“Thank goodness,” you take a sigh of relief.

He snickers a little before returning to sincerity. “I want you to know that I care about you deeply. Hopefully our 22 years of friendship displays that enough.”

In your 22 years you also found out that Earl took a long time to get to the point.

“But I cannot stress enough how you should not continue your friendship with that man, at least not after the gig.” He frowns.

You frown in return, stopping at a crosswalk awaiting a turn. You glance at the cars driving by.

“He’s torn up communities, _____. You were too focused on surviving to see it, but he’s changed so much in this city.” He looked somber in reminisce.

You weren’t even going to pretend to say you understood.

The crosswalk turned. “Hold an old man’s hand to cross the street would ya’?” He smiles at you.

You smile in turn, taking his hand and taking careful steps.

“As I was saying, he’s bad news. They all are. Changing the world and framing it as jobs that go back into the community.

“I mean I’ve had cats that were forced to move out of their homes. Shops that had to pick up and move to whole other states.”

You got to the end of the crosswalk but he didn’t let go of your hand.

You could notice he was getting teary.

“It was damn travesty.”

“But it wasn’t all LuthorCorp was it?” You asked, not meaning to mention out loud.

“No, but it was all of them. Lord Brothers or other one note assholes driving prices, driving people like us out.”

A single tear fell from his face.

“I don’t want you to get driven out either,” he sniffed, “—or in for that matter.”

You laughed at that but you soon realized he wasn’t trying to make an innuendo.

“But Earl, so far he’s been good. I hear you, I do, but maybe this could be a different case?” You test the waters.

Earl looks at you sincerely. “You’re 33, you’ve had experience with liars in the past right? This Luthor is no different.

“I don’t know what that man wants with you, but it’s nothing good.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You processed his words for a moment.

You wanted to argue, hope that everything wasn’t too good to be true. Maybe you were a little too old for naivety. “Yes, I do. But you must also know that connections are not so easy to sever before a gig.”

He nodded his head. “Of course! Do it for the money right now, but afterward, there is no “enjoying his company”. His kind chew people like us and spit us right back out.”

You held in any conflicting thoughts. You didn’t enjoy the mention of “kind” like he was an entirely different species.

“He will eat you up and leave nothing left, you hear me?”

“Yes, I do.”

He smiled, tightening his grip on your hand. “So do me a favor, don’t mingle after the 25th.”

Those words resonated with you somewhere deep inside. “You got it.”

“Can you promise me?”

You felt a new weight fall on your chest.

You look him in the eyes. “I promise.”

2 WEEKS UNTIL SHOWCASE

Waking up from your second sleep, you smiled to yourself.

Formal Friday is today.

Rising from your bed you patted yourself on the back, having already done your dry cleaning earlier in the week. You had a 1930’s outfit planned that was just the bee’s knees, you only wore it for Formal Fridays.

Standing up, you’d realize the familiar Luthor-style weight in your chest wasn’t there. You relished this change of pace, walking to your bathroom to freshen up. You liked when Fridays were as they should be, days for no stress, nothing to gather your nerves for. Effectively, no Lex.

Part of you felt bad admitting that as you brushed your teeth, looking in the mirror. He was good to you that day and days prior, rather generous actually.

But Earl’s words… part of you still didn’t like them, but you could at the very least be a little cautious. He’s also not your father, and you should make decisions for yourself. But you also understood you would be a small fish in Luthor’s gigantic pond, wouldn’t it be an oddly placed friendship anyway?

Maybe it’s for the best, but the potential for so many opportunities through being a friend. But that isn’t what friendship is about! You shouldn’t be using people, you enjoy them and whatever comes with that is an added bonus!

And you couldn’t kid yourself, you enjoyed Lex Luthor so far!

“Ughh!” You exclaimed out loud in frustration.

You shook your head, almost attempting to get Lex out of your head. You thought about him too much. Today is not about him. It’s about you, the band, and the community.

6:42 PM

Dressed in your 1930’s wear, you met up with everyone at the studio. You always needed to solidify what you and the band were actually going to play, and you were all performing in almost an hour.

“Did we want to play all the things we have in preparation for our LuthorCorp gig as practice?”

“Hell fucking no. I’m not fine with screamer notes all night ok?” Winnie grimaced.

Sonny rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be the entire night, Winnie!”

“Besides everyone,” Emmy exclaimed, “I think we should bring out our contemporary music! We have some amazing compositions from moi and our amazing~ pianist! And we’ve practiced them before!”

You nodded. “I could accept that.”

“Wait wait wait, we haven’t practiced them since last summer!” Dayna disagreed.

“All the more contemporary if you ask me. Good improv experience too if you encounter a hiccup.” Earl shrugged, words laced with years of experience.

Everyone seemed okay with that.

“All right gang, it’s settled. See you all at The Fitzgerald in”—you looked at the time—”an hour and 9 minutes.”

9:06 PM

The crowd was screaming at you and the band during your encore. Part of you felt bad, the next group needed to go but then another part of you didn’t care.

You reveled under the spot light, ascending an entirely different plane where keys and your hands were the only thing keeping you grounded. Music playing gave you a different type of euphoria that you couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was just like when any other artist makes art or someone is enthralled in the passion of whatever they love.

You were entering the final stretch of your song, deciding to do an encore in Latin music much to the detriment of the trumpets. You were a riot, traversing through basslines and chords and entire runs of notes with no lapse in skill, no fatigue.

You were having a hand cramp and you couldn’t even feel it.

The song ends with your piano solo, a lone voice as everyone backs up for your final magnum opus. Through this you remind your community why you’ve been Grammy nominated. You played your ass off at every opportunity of course, but there was something about playing for the people who were your first fans 25 years ago that ushered you to a new echelon.

Ending on a triumphant major triad, you came face to face with reality. The crowd roared at your performance, and you were fighting for your life not to well up in tears from your hand muscles actively spasming.

Still, you received immense praise as your band came over to pat you on the back. Despite your pain, you felt amazing.

You knew that this community loved you, you’d known that for years at this point. But that didn’t mean that the praise didn’t feel any less wonderful each time. Some people made a point to grab and examine your hands from the audience, asking if your talent oozes from them. Or in other cases, people flirted with you, asking for you to make them “sing like your piano”.

All of it was very flattering. You’d wear warm cheeks for the whole night because of it.

As you were ushered off stage with the band, you all talked about how amazing the performance was and how amazing you were as you exited the building.

Someone asked if everyone would want to go out for ice cream, you shook your head. You noted that your hands needed a break, everyone understood.

And just like that, they all left you to your devices, waving good byes and good jobs and see you tomorrows.

You walk back into The Fitzgerald with a sigh, trying to come back down from Cloud 9. You felt weightless. You continue to walk to the bar, ready to converse with your favorite bartender.

“Hey player,” he smiled.

You chuckled, in a positive daze. “Hey Luscius, how about something sweet today? Surprise me, you know what I like.”

He raised a brow. “Adventurous today I see?”

“I might as well, I’m having fun.”

It was his turn to chuckle, fixing you up something sweet. He handed you a good old fashioned… shirley temple?

“Luscius, I mean alcoholic sweet.”

“Oh I know, but that guy over there asked that anything you ordered that was alcoholic be ordered with him.” Luscius pointed to your left.

Far off in a booth, there was a man in a gray three piece suit. You couldn’t believe it.

—

You plop down onto the plush leather seats and get a tinge of deja-vu. “What are you doing here?” You ask, coming out worse than you expected.

“Hello to you as well, Director.” Lex chuckled, not looking like he took offense. He continued, “You were wonderful up there, by the way.”

You took a sip of your shirley. “Thank you, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Would you have acted differently if I told you?”

“No, it just would’ve been nice to know if a client was taking a “peek in the workshop” so to say. I wouldn’t have performed our Latin encore.”

He waved you off. “It’s no trouble, Director.”

If you were being honest, your two promises weighed on you in this moment.

Your demeanor shifted. “Lex, I need to have a conversation with you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to need alcohol?” He smirked.

You stayed serious, he understood and mirrored your stoicism.

“We’ve had this conversation before but not in the on-the-nose way I’m about to speak about it with you. You’re Lex Luthor. I’m a small fish in your very large pond. Let’s just call a spade a spade.”

He looked displeased with that. “I hope you didn’t take my equals comment as a slight to your experience.”

You shook your head. “This isn’t about that. I’m saying that you, your company, has shaped Metropolis in ways that have affected my community. And upon realizing that I am concerned about the ethics of our friendship.”

“Please elaborate.” You couldn’t discern his expression.

“Lex, your empire destabilized one that already existed, a community of people I interact with every day. A community I am a part of,” you roll your eyes, realizing you need to be specific, “poor people.”

He looked like he processed those words carefully. “Is this in relation to my “urban development” plan?”

You openly frowned.

He raised his eye brows. “Ah, I see. I suppose calling it that in it of itself is a little regressive.”

You scoff. “You think?” You take a sip from your shirley. You felt so uncharitable, breaking the mold of your usual interactions.

“I apologize. Being honest with you, before this conversation, I hadn’t realized it posed any issues.”

You’re taken aback, but wanted him to continue.

“You likened my company to an empire earlier so think in that metaphor for a moment. A “king” does not know every facet of every community, that is what is what my lower management is for. I was never told at the beginning how this would harm people, nor was I told as we were working.”

You pursed your lips. “I find that a little hard to believe, Lex.”

He visibly frowned. “Suspend whatever belief you have of me for a moment. This is no excuse, but I was young, coaxed by those who knew more than I did about what they thought was best, and I went along with it.

“I’m 33 now. Looking back on it, especially with this in mind, I would’ve gone about everything in a completely different way. I had no intention of hurting the lowest sectors of the city.” He mentioned sincerely.

There was a tinge of sorrow to his words. You could make a guess that he really meant that. And if you were to suspend your belief, you could extend a little empathy yourself.

You took a second to even marvel the situation: you are—in the politest way possible—telling this man off about his wrong doings, and “this man” is Lex Luthor?

He gave you an expectant look, searching for a reaction in your face.

You concede, the sides of your mouth twinging into the smallest smile. “I believe you, and I didn’t mean to come off so harshly.” You take a sip of your shirley.

He looked like he started breathing again. You hadn’t realized he was so tense. He actually cared about that conversation. A part of you was flattered, maybe you both really were equals?

“But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Luthor.” You smirk, serious and playful.

He sighs, chuckling.

You inhaled. “I might believe you, but—since you don’t want me to perform—you must understand how hard it is for me to trust you completely.”

He raised his brows again. He didn’t seem like he was expecting that, he looked like that this whole conversation. He acted as if he didn’t plan for this.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you continued, “I enjoy being friends, truly—and I would still like to be. But I hope you can understand how my fullest, unbridled trust must be earned over time.” You smiled.

He nodded to that slowly, like the gears were turning in his head. “I do understand, and I will do my best to foster that trust.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised. You were half way expecting him to call off the gig right here.

He further conceded. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“What are friends for?”

You both took a moment.

“Where would you like to go this next week?” He asked you.

You smiled. “You pick and I’ll attend. Anywhere is fine.”

He stood up out of the booth, dusting himself off. “An email will be in your inbox by the evening on Monday,” he stated.

You look up at him, feeling content. “Good night, Lex.”

“Good night.”

You heard the clicks of his heels slowly getting quieter as he walked away.

It hit you.

"He didn't buy me a drink!"

—

10:03 PM

With a harsh swipe, all of the things on his dresser shot to the wood floor. He then shouted into the empty dark void of his home, turning a garish red.

“What the fuck!!” He yelled.

What even was that?? When did you gain that type of courage?? That skepticism??? Who messed with his Director?!

His cute, ignorant, kind, fawning Director that asked “I’m sorry” at every turn? Was that always there??

At this point, his jacket was already off. He was pacing around his house, replaying the moments in his head. He stepped on the broken glass left in wake at every turn, not caring about the former vases they once were. He couldn’t begin to wrap his head around it.

He’d never seen that aspect of you, and it threw him off balance. He had never planned for this you! This you that told him that “I can’t trust you, I hope you understand”.

He’s the one commanding! He’s the one establishing boundaries, throwing you off. Never the other way around!

He’d need to whip you back into shape.

Wait…

You’d never think that yourself.

His eyed widened at a sudden epiphany.

“It wasn’t you, it was them.” He whispered to himself.

He marched to his home office, tearing open the door and tapping into his computer. He rabidly sifted through all the video files, camera recordings, and pictures he had of you from the past week. He remembered that after practice you’d walked with some old fuck—he didn’t care enough to remember his name—back to his house.

It was Monday? Yes, it was Monday!

The traffic cameras were shitty, but he could see you walking. He peered through all the perspectives you were taken in, looking to watch you and that man’s mouths closely. He could read lips decently well.

He’d written off this conversation, believing that you’d write him off if he mentioned something like before. He was planning his next steps, this moment would be inconsequential. But through reading you both to the best of your ability, he found the fault.

That piece of shit told you about his work, enough to the point that it made you change your behavior, undoing the work and meticulous planning he’d created. He was planned up to this time next year!!!

Now he has to account for your stupid “trust”. He has been waiting long enough!!

He only barely salvaged that confrontation. Your ignorance saved you yet again. He’s a genius! Of course he knew about the consequences of “urban development”! It didn’t matter!

Those that could work—like he did—and win their way back would do so, and those that couldn’t didn’t. It was very simple.

Holding his head in his hands, elbows hurting from the harsh desk they were plastered on. He needed to get a fucking grip. He could do this, this was no issue. It even sweetens the deal! Nothing good is ever obtained easily, you were no different.

He realized that twice tonight. First in your truly amazing encore. Witnessing you fly was euphoric, such an expression of relief and beauty. He’d felt that himself, and you were the second person he’d ever seen do so.

He wanted to understand it, needed to know it inside out. What about your craft pleases you so much? Is it like his? Is it entirely different?

And you were always so cute. If today went his way he would’ve offered to massage your hand. That would’ve been his test. He mourned the evening he’d ought to experience.

Maybe it was for the best. He could hardly resist eye fucking you as is.

He took a deep, measured breath. That’s all he needed to do, remember you, the objective, the spoils he’ll gain and he was fine. He’d be more bored if you were too easy, he had enough of that already.

He’d get you soon enough.

Looking up from his hands he looked outside his office door for a moment, noticing the trail of small glass shards and debris in the shape of his footsteps.

He wiped the sweat off his brow. He’ll need to call a maid tomorrow.

a/n ; I’m starting a tag list. Here’s the link to sign up for it: it's a google form

Long end note incoming, I have much to say.

I hope you all care about Earl as much as I do. I’ve modeled him after the many old jazz musicians I’ve performed with myself :)

I’m sorry for the lack in updates for a minute. I spent a lot of time working on how the reader should act and making them being 33 believable (which might explain why I emphasized it so much, forgive me I had to remind myself over and over lol). I’m not an adult yet so this is a challenge for me :’)

Additionally, I know Lex isn’t 33 in the movie. I just liked the idea of him and the reader being the same age, they are meant to be foils of each other after all

From my playlist - Someday, Sweetheart by Benny Goodman Trio

♪♫~⠀⠀

Hello! My name is Percie. I'm black and I use he/she pronouns.

I've been writing for ages (since elementary school, so 7 years) and currently about to graduate high school.

I love...

purple—my favorite color btw—bet you couldn't tell

jazz, honestly music in general is a huge love of mine

em dashes and semi colons

memes/reaction images

old fucks

writing

knowledge

critique

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4 WEEKS UNTIL SHOWCASE

While gazing at the sun, caffeine in hand, you felt that familiar heaviness.

Today is the day. The first day.

Taking a sip, you tried to picture what the rest of the day would look like. Practice, you probably needed to take notes, the check in, probably a lot of ass kissing, the outfit you wear, charming but not campy, the list goes on.

Looking away from the sunrise, you begin to get back into bed. You hoped your nervousness wouldn’t affect your dreamy creative output.

11:46 AM

With a yawn you pulled up your pants. Usually your naps were not only short but fulfilling, and this past one hadn’t been any of the sort. You’d wake up rested, with bright new ideas for compositions. This second sleep felt—in a way—completely dark.

That has never happened before.

Lobbing your heavy limbs to your closet, you went searching for an outfit suitable for a meeting with Mr. Luthor. You hardly knew what to wear. You couldn’t rehash the business professional outfit from last time, it’d be too stuffy and he would definitely notice. You can’t let Lex Luthor think you only have four good formal outfits, even though you do.

You pick out one of your oldest ensembles. Brown, yellow-ish undertones, fitting for the night life you’d be accustomed too, but maybe too personal?

He’s put me in such an odd position.

You have to balance something chic for dinner, but not too eye catching. This wasn’t a date after all.

With a sigh, you pull out your oldest, most well loved black outfit. Black can never let anyone down, it’s already formal. But it’s had so much tender love and care… You could only hope the restaurant had low lighting.

This is the best I’ve got.

1:57 PM

Typing away on your computer, you realized you needed to spend money on a neck pillow. Your couch was, admittedly, very comfortable, but it couldn’t offer timeless neck support.

Attempting to forget your discomfort, you looked back at what you were doing. You knew it was early, but formulating lesson plans could prove helpful later on.

You’ll continue your tenure at Metropolis University soon enough. It may be May, and classes just ended, but you’ll be back in August soon enough.

5:30 PM

Rehearsal is in session.

You tried to take notes as much as possible, jotting down quick notes as your band would sight read new charts. Admittedly, you all were having some trouble. Latin jazz was baked in syncopation, stern articulation, dramatic dynamics, and if you weren’t all in sync, it was easy for things to fall apart.

Not to mention, your poor trumpets were dying not even 30 minutes in. Arturo Sandoval—though a living legend—was fond of torturing himself through notes above the staff.

Hell, even you had trouble. If you didn’t stretch your hand from one side of the piano to the other while maintaining a good harmony you could throw the whole band off.

But luckily for you, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve all played music like this. You were in no duress, but would Mr. Luthor feel the same?

You wondered if you should lie.

6:50 PM

You looked at your clock on the wall. You needed to stop now if it meant you could meet Mr. Luthor on time.

“Alright gang,” you began, “let’s wrap it up.”

Delano looked bummed. “Why so early? I was having fun.”

“Says you. Shit, I was ready ‘bout an hour ago,” Via hissed, already putting away her tenor saxophone.

“Not as ready as I was.” Winnie argued, “Trumpet 1 on “A Night in—mothafucking—Tunisia” Latin style is no joke. It’s already 11/8, now I have to play so high I could rival Uranus?”

Lee chortled. “Heheh… Ur-anus.”

“Of course you find that funny.” Sonny sighed.

“Why’d you have to write it that high anyway?” Winnie pointed at you.

“Sandoval-like is what’s requested of us, very unfortunate for the trumpets. I didn’t make it easy on myself either,” you chuckle, holding up your hands in defense.

Winnie seemed unsatisfied with that answer.

“Anyways guys,” you gazed at the clock: 6:55, “I really need to get going.”

Trent raised a tired brow. “Where to?”

“A meeting with,” you halted.

You had a feeling that you shouldn’t tell everyone you were going to a meeting with Lex Luthor at a restaurant. Even though you know it’s just a meeting, you didn’t have the time to hear everyone’s suspicions and opinions on the matter.

“—my bed.” You continued.

Julius frowned. “So I’m guessing no ice cream shop tonight?”

You kiss your teeth, you forgot about that. Since this practice was so late, many times the members of the band would eat dinner before practice. As a tradition, you’d all treat yourself to a well earned dessert afterward like a family.

“No, sorry friends. This headache and the love of good rest urge me to go home.” You replied bashfully.

“I hope you rest those hands too. We’re gonna need you in tip top shape tomorrow morning.” Earl smiled. “Can’t have you cramping.”

You laughed. “Don’t jinx it.”

7:30 PM

You were just on time, and by the hair on your chin too.

The Aether, to your surprise when you arrived, is a restaurant located on the top of Lord Hotel. It’s higher than where your original meeting with Mr. Luthor was. You paid no attention to the name of the place, but maybe you should have? It touches the first layer of the clouds.

And, to your surprise, it also slowly rotates.

Upon your arrival, you were immediately recognized by the host. He then guided you past a lot of expensive looking individuals to a private sector of the rotunda.

There, sitting by the window lined wall, was Lex Luthor.

You clutched your more stylish bag tighter.

With a close of the door behind you, he was alerted to your presence.

“Good evening, Director.” He greeted, walking to meet you with an outstretched hand. “I hope you had a pleasant drive here.”

You chuckled, returning his hand shake. “Oh I don’t drive in the summer, but it was a wonderful walk.”

He raised his eyebrow, lighting touching the small of your back to usher you to your seat. “You walk in the city seasonally?” He looked like he’d never heard the concept.

“Yes sir,” you replied, pulling out your chair and sitting in it.

You noticed the water and bread in front of you. The water was in a tall glass, chilled, with no ice. The bread was a small loaf delicately seasoned with what looked like a small leaf, olive oil placed next to it in a small container, all on top of a neatly folded white napkin. It matched the one that stood on the top of your plate, silverware delicately placed on either side. In front of your plate was a small red menu coated in leather and gold letters embossed on it that spelled out: liquor.

You had never known this level of bougie.

“What’s stopping you in the winter?” He asks, sitting in his own chair across from you.

“The weather, mostly. That and people can be maniacs to pedestrians in the winter—” you cut yourself off, “Not that people aren’t insane all seasons, but more show up when snow’s out.”

Small talk was not something you were fond of all the time. One minute it’s a great way to break the ice and loosen your nerves, the next, it’s another method to sound uncouth.

He looked like he was enjoying himself. “I admire your reasoning. Speaking of, how do you reason your progress has come along since we last met?”

You began to pull out your journal. You made a mental note to begin taking notes every day, not just Fridays. “Well this past week we’ve been honoring your request and prepared some pieces of mine to perform for the first bit. It wasn’t difficult, I’ve written much bossa nova in the past.”

He took a sip of his water, reminding you of the water and bread in front of you. You hadn’t eaten since lunch.

You continued. “Today was our first day delving into what you require for the last bit.”

“I can tell.”

You scrunched your brows. “I’m sorry?”

“Your handshake was different than how it was when we first met. You’re tense.”

You reflexively slackened your body. “I didn’t realize,” you admit.

He laughed at your reflex. “Unfortunately,—and correct me if I’m wrong—you can’t unflex your hand. All that playing would require some outside assistance.”

“You are not wrong, sir.” You laugh with him, messaging your hand with your other hand.

“But regardless, it was successful, yes?”

You take a big swig of your water, doing a double take from how smooth it is. Who knew water could be smoother than it already is?

“Plenty. I will be honest, we had some road blocks but it was no big deal,” you wave off.

You were both promptly interrupted by your server, who introduced himself and offered you both your first course and two wine glasses. Apparently the other four courses would be on the way.

“What wine would you like?”

Mr. Luthor spoke first, “Gagnon-Kennedy Zinfandel if you have it.”

You don’t even know what those words mean.

“We do sir! And for you?” The waiter looked at you.

“Uhm, water is fine.”

Just take the easy route.

“Nonsense.”

Fuck.

“Something sweeter for my companion please, pinot noir perhaps? Any vineyard is fine.” He requested for you.

At least he asked for you.

You’ve drunken alcohol before yes, of course. But you’ve never really had wine. If you did it was white wine and that’s all you’d known it as, no specifics. Red wine—you presumed—was an entirely differently world.

With an enthusiastic nod, your server walked away.

“Forgive me for asking but, have you ever tasted red wine before, Director?”

He could see right through you. “No,” you replied flatly.

“You have not lived then. I’m honored to be your first introduction.”

You pursed your lips in attempt to hide your embarrassment. “I appreciate you putting me on, sir.”

“Lex.” He retorts.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Call me Lex,” he starts, shuffling in his seat to lean in closer to you. “If I’m being honest, Director, I would like for us to be friends. Friends have no formalities.”

You gave a look that suggested you weren’t expecting that. “A toast to friendship then, Lex?” You request.

He continues to smirk. “When we get our wine, yes.”

You looked down at your food in front of you. It was some kind of clam, two of them, probably an oyster glazed in an unknown oil and what looked like pepper. You pick up your fork and attempt to scoop out the contents.

“I hope you’re fine with me taking the liberty of a pre selected menu.” He apologizes, picking up one of his oysters and drinking it’s contents like a glass.

“I don’t mind. I can be indecisive so I appreciate the decision,” you mutter.

He slurps down his last oyster, wiping off his hands. He licks his lips, looking at you. “But you were saying before we received our food…” he beckoned you to continue.

“Yes, I was talking about road blocks right?” You look at him for confirmation.

He nods.

You take out your notes. “We had some trouble with sight reading a piece I had made. It’s a rendition of a Night in Tunisia by Duke Ellington but more Latin inspired. It took the whole rehearsal to wrangle but we will be getting it in no time.”

When you looked back up from your notes, you’d realized from the way he was gazing at you that he probably had no idea what you were talking about.

“You’ve heard of Arturo Sandoval so you’ve surely listened to Duke Ellington right?” You ask, testing the waters.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he conceded, shaking the boat.

You’re surprised. “Well, uhm, let’s just say that the piece is technically difficult. And by technically, I mean—”

“—technique.” You both said in unison.

You both laughed.

Your wine arrived, but Lex urged you to continue.

“And if the original piece is hard on its own, shifting it to an Sandoval-like composition made things harder,” you grimaced.

“How so?” He quirked a brow, taking a sip of his now full glass of no-doubt-super-expensive wine.

“Where do I begin?” You ask incredulously. “I don’t think you want to know, Lex. I can’t think of a way to explain without getting specific.”

Lex smirked seemingly with his whole body, leaning back almost as if to take in the entirety of your words. “Try me.”

“O-K, but I’m going to need alcohol.” You take a swig of your wine.

Your eyes widen.

Lex smirks harder than he was before. “Do you recall what I said before?”

He held out his wine, you hold out your in return. Clink!

You blush a little. “What did you call this wine again?”

—

Your conversations with Lex were surprisingly illuminating. You didn’t think he’d be this personable. Conversations flew and he was genuinely interested in listening to you and adding to conversation whenever necessary.

Whatever this wannabe “meeting” was was definitely more pleasant than you were expecting.

You’d made it through the last five courses without issue, possibly nerd-ing out too much about jazz in the process. Now you were faced with vanilla gelato.

You didn’t understand the difference between gelato and regular ice cream. It tasted just as good in your eyes without much issue. You charted it up to your unrefined taste.

“Now for the next time, where would you like to meet?” He inquired.

You were mid spoonful, making sure to savor your ice cream before you swallowed it. You weren’t lying about your headache from earlier, the ice cream—no, gelato, helped you a bit.

“I don’t think I could recommend you any places you’d enjoy, Lex,” you unremarkably assess, making a move to take another spoonful.

You couldn’t see it but he looked offended. “And what do you mean by that, Director?”

Realizing your hubris, you slightly choked on your gelato, quickly swallowing your recent bite. “Not in a negative way! I just mean that the places I frequent and the places you frequent reference our respective tax brackets.”

“But that doesn’t render them incompatible, hit me.” He gestures to himself.

You think for a moment.

“How about Big Belly Burger?” You survey, starting off strong.

“That works just fine, one of my subsidiaries leases that building actually.”

“Oh?” You react curtly.

He hums in response. “You’d be surprised with how many things I touch in this city.”

“Touch” is quite the operative word.

“I already am by that alone!” You fake laugh.

Please don’t tell me any more of what you touch, Lex Luthor.

He smiles. “It’s settled then. I’ll set up an appointment. Same time?”

You take another bite of your gelato in thought. Eventually you frown, “No, probably 8 to 8:30 ish. Triple B’s all the way on the other side of the city.”

“Nonsense, I can have one of my cars pick you up.”

You furrowed your brows. “Oh there’s no issue, I’m perfectly fine with walking.”

“I’m not fine with you walking.”

“I’m sorry?”

You sure have asked that a lot today.

“If you’re worried about any cost, or rather, deduction, it’s no issue. I’m offering this as a common courtesy.”

Well, that was your biggest concern. But you also mulled over the ethics. This wasn’t a date.

He could see through you. “And I assure you, I carry no ill intentions. It’s only a car ride.”

I guess it’s fine then?

“Sure, that works for me!” You agreed, albeit shakily.

“Excellent. It will be in front of your apartment complex at 7.”

I’ll have to end practice earlier.

In the midst of your mental note, the waiter comes over and brings the check. You pull out your wallet from your bag.

“I’m taking the liberty of paying tonight, thank you,” he asserts, taking the check out of your reach.

“But—”

“But nothing, Director. Different tax brackets, right?”

You can tell he meant that jokingly, but you felt a twinge of scorn from that statement. You hoped your earlier statement didn’t offend. You were just being honest.

“Right,” you concur.

10:03 PM

Closing the door to your apartment, you slackened in posture when met with the familiar air of your apartment. Everything felt slightly less heavy, the meeting with Lex today probably helping take the load off. Everything didn’t feel as tumultuous over time, and you could loosen up a little bit.

That still didn’t shake the little anxiety you had about the next meeting. You didn’t know how to feel about meeting Lex in diner that’s known you for over 20 years. What would other people think? You could only pray you weren’t the talk of the town by the next morning. You frown at yourself, you should’ve suggested something more low key—hehe.

You creep towards your bedroom, promptly collapsing onto your bed—possible wrinkles be damned—and kicked off your shoes and socks.

You felt like you were about to have a great night sleep.

—

9:41 PM

You left, and he could feel the vacancy you left in the room.

He was surprised by you yet again. He figured you’d be so much quieter for this “meeting”, feeling uncomfortable with the potential romantic implications. From what he observed, you took it seriously, on the chin. How could be so foolish to expect anything else?

He since got up and looked out the window, attempting to find you walking back home down below. Unfortunately, you and that black outfit that needs to be thrown out couldn’t be assessed among the city lights. But it was fine, he knew where you were. He always knows where you are.

In his hand was your spoon you used for the gelato. From how you were eating it, you looked like you really enjoyed that final dessert. It filled him with an unfamiliar giddiness to know that he was able to satisfy you so deeply. He hoped it was better than that stupid ice cream shop.

In his reminisce, he smirked.

He diligently brought the spoon up to his lips, recalling your own. He could only wish. Soon he opened his mouth, clasping onto the spoon. His tongue raced to the traces of your saliva, unfortunately tasting an overbearing amount of vanilla.

3 WEEKS UNTIL SHOWCASE

This week you and the band have made excellent progress.

You’ve steadily introduced new pieces for the gala, voting on which ones you should continue practicing and which ones to scrap. Luckily, you all wouldn’t have to play that long—an hour and a half at max if you could recall correctly—and you really appreciated that.

You’d been playing piano since before you could walk, you were no stranger to tired hands. But this routine of loud, bombastic music with expansive harmonic progressions began to exercise your arms with how much reaching and slamming you were doing on your keys.

Lex Luthor was putting you to the test, and you don’t think he properly understood it.

You were happy though, good things to report.

5:32 PM

You stand before everyone.

“Now everyone, before we start I do just want to reiterate that we will be stopping by 6:30. I’d already mentioned it before in our GroupMe but for anyone that was unaware, there you go.” You mention, talking with your hands.

“You didn’t mention why!” Oseye blurts out, hands cupping the sides of her mouth like a microphone.

“I think I speak for all of us that our progress has really excelled this week and we could all deserve the break,” you admit, half lying.

“True, but when have you ever been so courteous?” Julius chuckled, teasing you.

You mocked offense. “I have been plenty courteous!”

You get some looks around the room.

“Fine, I’ll never do anything nice every again. Speaking of, no Formal Friday next week!” You kid.

Everyone is up in arms about that.

You wave them off, bending down to your bag to get your score. “Joking, joking! I wouldn’t miss Formal Friday for the world.”

Not even for Lex Luthor.

You take your music and sit down at your piano. “And remember people, do your dry cleaning! Formal Friday means no jeans okay?”

7:00 PM

You stumble a little bit as you hop to get into your dress shoes. On the doorstep of your apartment complex was a black SUV, not a spec of dirt or city grime on it.

As you approached, a gentleman from the driver’s side of the car hopped out to open your door. With a thank you, you stepped up on the ledge only to meet piercing blue eyes.

You freeze in your tracks. “Mr. Luthor!” You exclaim reflexively. “What brings you here!”

You internally sighed at yourself. What a stupid question.

He offers a hand from inside, helping you into the car. He looked like he understood your reaction. “I hope it’s no issue we’re in the same vehicle, plans changed on my end and another car was no longer available. I know you were expecting a ride alone.”

The car door slammed.

“It’s no issue,” you reassure, “we can get a head start on the meeting!” You smile.

He continued to look at you. You feel the car pull off.

“So this week was infinitely better than the last in terms of preparing music for the gala part.” You take out your notes.

“In particular, we—”

“Wait.” He stopped you, stretching a hand in your direction. His hand eventually found itself near the nape of your neck, touching your outfit. He found some lint and flicked it into the void of the car. “Now continue.”

You feel your cheeks get a little hot. You didn’t pay attention to every detail as well this time in your stupor to get home. Curse your lint roller for being out of sight!

You calmly meet his gaze. “As I was saying, we’ve done better this past week. We’ve really gotten into the grit of our pieces and enjoyed playing them. Fortunately, my own compositions and even some of my family’s will be featured on the event.”

“Family?” He raises a brow.

“Ah, I meant band mates. Freudian slip I suppose.” You blush, giving an awkward smile.

“You consider your band mates family?” You couldn’t discern whether or not he was making fun of you or asking a question.

“Yes sir! We had a new edition this year but for the most part, everyone in that band has been in my life for, at least, the last four years?” You awkwardly chuckle.

You feel the car hit a pot hole.

He hummed. “Forgive me for asking, but you don’t have any family?”

“If you mean blood, no.”

He furrowed his brows.

“Not like a tragic orphan situation, they just aren’t in my life anymore.”

You couldn’t see why this mattered, but didn’t voice it.

He just looked at you. It felt like he was trying to discern whether you were real or not by sight alone, like a specimen.

You break eye contact. “Well, anyway, the music you request is coming on smoothly. Everyone is excited to play and have fun. Maybe even get a taste of the gala food if that’s a possibility.”

His gaze suddenly softened. “Yes, of course. You’d never be barred from the festivities.”

“We deeply appreciate it, and everything you’ve offered us.”

“The appreciation is all mine. Thanks to you, I have breathtaking music on display for my event.” He emphasized breathtaking, gazing into you.

—

It felt odd getting out of a rich person’s car to one of your favorite—and therefore low cost—spaces. It contrasted greatly with the ways you’d arrived previously: by yourself 21 years ago as a broke kid in need of sustenance, tired and hungry with homework to grade, with the band after a highly successful gig every summer, the list goes on.

Walking in, it was unfortunately packed. If they weren’t under a rock, everyone here would know who the two of you were, and even more so, how curious it is you’re both here together. Serves you right for suggesting Big Belly Burger on a fucking Friday.

Trying to bury your embarrassment, you get seated, walking past a ton of eyes from all ages, especially the babies in high chairs.

You lean into the familiar plush faux leather chairs and rest your hands on the crusty surface of the diner table.

Lex is sitting across from you content as ever, not a care in the world. If he also felt embarrassed, he was damn good at hiding it.

Soon enough, a lady in an old school teal apron and hat came over to the two of you with water and a pad and pen.

“What would ya two like?”

“I’ll get a vanilla milkshake and salty fries.” Best combo in the world.

“I’ll have the same.”

The waitress took away your two menus and trotted back to the kitchen.

“The other day you said you come here often?”

I did?

“Yep,” you mutter, trying to ignore the looks.

He quirked a brow. “You’re tense, Director. Something on your mind?”

“No, just discomfort. We were having fun in practice but my arms feel like they could break off any minute.” Technically not a lie.

He pursed his lips, reaching for his straw encased in paper wrapping. “Be honest, is it the place?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me just fine, Director.”

What does he want me to say??

He opened his straw with a stern tear, not even looking down as he did it. This felt like an interrogation.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, sir.” You admit, slugging your shoulders.

He hummed, placing his straw in his water. “Two things,” he held up two fingers. “One, it’s Lex. Two, that’s the problem.”

You couldn’t discern where he was coming from.

“I don’t think we’ve properly broken the ice. You feel like I’m larger than life and everyone currently staring at this table is confirming it.”

You don’t know what to say.

“I assure you, we are closer to being equals than anything else.”

You uncharacteristically scoff at that, wanting to take it back.

He noticed your regret. “See, that! That is what I want.” He pointed at you.

“You want me to scoff at you?” You ask incredulously.

He rolls his eyes. “No, I want you to stop performing. I said at the beginning that I would like us to be friends, and friends don’t get nervous being in public with other friends—or call them “sir” might I add.”

Oh, you got it. “I apologize, s— Lex. I hope I didn’t offend. I think you can understand how interesting the predicament of our meeting is. I don’t believe I’ve ever met with a billionaire in such an open space.”

He seemed satisfied with that answer. “I can see your perspective. But understand carefully, friends show you their whole selves at all times. Perform on the 25th, be true otherwise,” he paused, taking another swig of water, “Can you promise me that?”

You can hardly believe he’d be so perturbed by your professionalism. “Understood, Lex,” you smile.

“Excellent,” he outstretched his hand, wanting to shake yours. “Pleasure to meet you, Director of the Moonshine Band, best in North America. I’m Lex Luthor.” He smirks

You couldn’t help but laugh, firmly returning his grip. “Nice to meet you as well.”

9:54 PM

The rest of the night went without hitch, and the heaviness that had become commonplace on Fridays began to leave you.

You both talked about everything, his work day, your band day, his more annoying employees, your beloved band mates; conversation rolled off in peaceful ebbs of mutual laughter and banter, you both found a suitable rhythm. A cacophony made symphony.

“I’ve actually never had fries and a milkshake, least of all dip fries in the milkshake.” He mentioned, taking a bite of a fry coated in milkshake.

“Hold on, you’ve never had fries? Or a milkshake?”

He shakes his head. “You misunderstand, I have never had them both together by themselves.”

“You have not lived then. I’m honored to be your first introduction,” you mock him from the other night.

He catches on and he laughs at you.

The bill has been on the table for at least an hour. You both savored your food and relished in conversation that you hadn’t even realized it was almost 10 o’clock.

“Oh, let me mention before I forget. I won’t be able to meet with you next week, what’s a good alternative?”

He furrowed his brows, mid bite. He stopped himself and placed the vanilla fry back down. “If you don’t mind me asking, why?”

“The band and I have a tradition where we play in a local speakeasy for what they call “Formal Friday”.” You explain, using air quotes.

His brows didn’t stop scrunching. “Formal Friday?”

You take a sip from your water, finishing it. That was your fifth glass. “Do you know about 1920’s flapper style clothes or 1930’s zoot suits? Basically everyone attends in their best old school outfits and tries to relive the glory days of jazz and ragtime. It’s very fun and the band and I really enjoy going.”

“How quaint,” he articulated matter-of-factly.

You turned your head in question. “Now what does that mean?”

“Nothing, I’m just surprised. I’ve been in this city my whole life and it continues to be expansive. I didn’t even know speakeasies still existed,” he admits.

“But you know Arturo Sandoval?”

He gives you a look. “Business trip coincidences and actual knowledge are two different things, Director.”

You chuckle. “But yeah, and it’s gonna be awesome. Despite the contents of the event, people don’t actually have to play older music. It’s actually encouraged to play something new, contemporary even.”

“Really? Is there any occasion where people can play older music?”

“Yeah, Throwback Thursday.”

He laughed at that, “Of course, how could I expect anything else?”

You both took a beat.

“But to answer your question, we don’t have to call or anything. I trust you and your band’s steady progress.”

You smile wide. “I appreciate it!”

You take the bill before he does. It was an easy $19 to pay.

“How much is it?” He inquires.

“No, Lex. Different tax brackets right?” You smirk.

He chortles, his shoulders moving with his laugh. “Right,” he concurred.

a/n ; Fun fact, "The Aether" is a real place that exists called The Highlands in Detroit, Michigan. I've been, it's super bougie. From my playlist - From This Moment On by Ella Fitzgerald

Fun fact x2, Ella Fitzgerald and I share a birthday >:)

♪♫~⠀⠀⠀

5 WEEKS UNTIL SHOWCASE

Walking to LuthorCorp was a longer trek than your studio. It was located in the heart of Metropolis on the “Power Strip” aka Metropolis’ Power Road, equivalent to Silicon Valley with some local and franchised businesses in between LuthorCorp and its competitors. With you living closer to the outskirts of the city with a studio close by, going across town felt a little arduous—especially on a busy day like Friday.

You arrived at the tower just a little bit earlier at 11:24. You made sure you checked you had everything before you left. The only thing you needed was your Midol and music if any of these “constituents” or even the big boss himself could or would be interested in reading. But you came to the conclusion a second appointment with your band would probably need to be happening in order to approve music and such.

Gazing around the humongous building you were standing in made you feel tiny—like you were entering something way bigger than yourself. You felt like you were being watched, not knowing what to do except lean against the wall and wait for your strongarms in green ties to scoop you up.

Now was the perfect time to look preoccupied on your phone.

The next four minutes flew by as you pretended to be engrossed with whatever instant gratification your Twitter feed offered you. You hardly used it so the old, grimly 2000’s esque memes that you’d liked ages ago were all you’d see. One of these days you’d upgrade, but from what you’ve heard about the platform, part of you was satisfied with your outdated memes.

Just as the clock turned to 11:28, you got a tap on your shoulder.

Two tall walls of a men returned your look, each sporting an ear piece as they looked down at you. “This way,” one directed, saying your name.

As you silently followed behind the walking mountains, they steadily took you up 58 stories by elevator to the department you’d be working with. As you ascended, you could see through the profound lack of walls aside from the ceilings and floors that the building was almost like a plaza. In the sense that every couple floors seemed to have their own distinct suites with distinct business going on in that area. It was akin to the complexes with a plethora of clinics, businesses, and salons that you’d noticed in your childhood.

And for this to go on for up to 99 floors?

You tightened your grip on your bag when you finally reached your destination. The first thing you saw was a sign saying “Make a better world — George Washington “ in bold print on a partition wall that separated the view of the office and the elevator. What was with this company and George Washington quotes hinged on plausible deniability?

Stepping out of the elevator, your two helpers did not accompany you the rest of the way, simply beckoning you to the front desk of this suite behind the partition. Following their instructions, you craned your neck past the wall to find an empty desk and some chairs up next to the wall. The desk had the name of the department on it, accompanied with noticeably green LED lights illuminating the black print. It clashed well with the unusually yellow lighting in a corporate office. It looked like you were walking into a hair appointment, it looked… intimate. Fitting, you suppose, but odd for the all sterile, all dull LuthorCorp.

Soon enough, a young lady in a black pencil skirt and white button up came back to her desk. She hadn’t noticed you.

You sat there for a moment, wondering if she would notice your presence without you saying something, but she seemed engrossed in whatever she was looking at on her computer. Getting up you walked up to the desk.

“Hello,” you introduced yourself.

She looked up at you, widening her eyes. “Wait, are you that famous jazz musician?”

Now you widened your eyes, blushing a little. “Yes, I’m here for an appointment with the committee and Mr. Luthor for 11:35?

“Yep, they told me all about you and your appointment. Everyone is excited to meet you, including myself,” she smiled.

Standing up, you walked with her to the meeting room, which was in white lighting like you’d expect. What also accompanied you was five sets of eyes, most of them eager. The change in lighting and visibility made you tense. It’s not like you were scared, no, you were intimidated. Negotiations were always awkward for you despite your apparent “charisma”. You tended to let your music speak before you did, and in these situations where words had to be just as technical as your music… it was always daunting, and the pressure to deliver always weighed on you.

You were stationed in a decently sized conference room with a view of the city below to your right. The table was long vertically. With three seats on the longer sides, and one seat at the very end. Three of the people you were meeting with were on one side, and two on the other. Most notably, Luthor himself—and another unnamed “constituent”—was not here yet.

The members that were there stood up to greet you, outstretching hands and telling you their names. Supervisor, Troy. Treasurer, Kelly. Secretary, Joseph. PR Coordinator, Justin. Safety Director, Sam. You recited to yourself in thought.

Sitting back down, you all got to business.

“What is the type of music this event requires?” You began.

The PR Coordinator—Justin, was it?—smiled incredulously. “What do you mean? Jazz, obviously.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Well there are different styles of jazz. Do you want big band, blues, smooth, bossa nova…?” You paused at the blank stares you got. “Maybe something else entirely?” You elongated your “maybe”.

“What would your suggestion be?” The president inquired.

“Well, the itinerary is a talent showcase, awards ceremony, and then gala correct?” You saw nods. “From my experience, the best thing to do for the first and last parts of the event would be bossa nova. Its musically interesting but low-key, allowing for conversation and mingling to occur and something fun to tune into if guests and students wish.”

“Love that! Absolutely keeping that in mind,” Joseph—the secretary?—muttered whilst typing notes away on his computer.

Troy chimed in, humming in corporate disapproval. “If I’m putting myself in the mind of a college student competitor—sorry, participant here, I would honestly want the first part to be lowkey, something calm to compete with my crushing nerves. Then at the end, when I might or might not have gotten the prize, a louder, bombastic sound would couple with my either ecstatic joy or deep sadness, ya know?”

LuthorCorp was hellbent on making you self reflect every single moment. Troy talked with his hands and his language suggested he was a beast in Marketing 101 in college. If this is what you were going to be dealing with for the next thirty minutes, you knew you were gonna need Midol.

“I understand and I see that, Troy. We can play any “loud, bombastic” sound you think fits. What music did you have in mind?”

“Ehhh maybe Shostakovich? George Gershwin?” The Safety Director—Cam??—spoke.

“Yes! Exactly, thank you Sam.”

A quiet beat passes.

You began reaching down for your Midol when you heard the door open behind you. Paying a quick glance, you were promptly frozen in your reach.

Lex Luthor appeared in front of you, heels clicking as he entered the room. A girl with brown hair and a generic black outfit followed behind him that you could only assume was Heighther.

Forgetting about your burgeoning headache for a minute, you stood up from your chair in a way that was definitely too fast and awkwardly outstretched your hand.

“Hello Heighther, we spoke over emails but it’s wonderful to actually meet you.” You begin. She takes your hand awkwardly in turn, acting as if she’s never been offered a hand shake before.

Thus, you turn and face the guy behind the company with your best smile, “Mr. Luthor, pleasure to meet you. My band are happy that you’ve considered us to play at your event.” You outstretched your hand.

Mr. Luthor looked you up and down before firmly returning your handshake. “The pleasure is all mine,” he replies, saying your name.

Steadying your nerves after that interesting first introduction, you sit back down, covertly wiping any sweat from your palms on the lower half of your body.

Mr. Luthor walks in long, measured strides to his seat, his secretary seating herself next to him on his left side. He begins, “Sorry for being late, what have we talked about so far?”

Joseph speaks first, “We’ve discussed our requests for music to add to the respective moods of the different parts of the event. Our musician here suggested that we do “blossom nova” for both the showcase and the celebratory gala. Troy suggested that we do something quiet in the beginning, and something loud for the gala.”

“And I also suggested that the loud music be something of Shostakovich or Gershwin!” Troy added, proud of himself.

Mr. Luthor gave him a look that you didn’t know how to describe, but it was definitely synonymous with disappointment.

With a sigh, he spoke. “I will honor the suggestion of Supervisor Troy and our Director’s. I think bossa nova is a wonderful idea for the showcase, and to continue with the latin theme the end could be some of Arturo Sandoval or things of the like?” He looked at you for approval.

You couldn’t hide your surprised expression. “You know about Sandoval, Mr. Luthor?”

“I had the pleasure of listening to his music during a recent business trip to Cuba.”

“And you tuned in?”

You did not mean to say that out loud.

You got weird looks from everyone in the room. “I… I just mean that it’s surprising to me that you would even care about music. Respectfully sir, you don’t seem the type.”

He returned your remark with a small eye squint that you couldn’t discern the origin of. Was he offended? Flattered? Discombobulated?

To everyone’s surprise, he smirked, exhaling in a manner that would imply a small laugh. “You assume a man of science has no taste, Director?”

“Not for the humanities.”

He had another puzzling expression.

“Regardless,” you return to polished professionalism, “We can fulfill that request for you fully. I have music that my group and I have written that fits the bill you require, and if you would like, playing Sandoval is no problem either.”

“No, I don’t need to hear what I’ve already enjoyed, Director. Show me what your group has to offer.”

Surprise me.

You and Mr. Luthor seemed to be locked in an unspoken staring contest as you spoke to each other. As tensions eased, his gaze seemed to trap you less and less, becoming a goading force—challenging your creativity.

Troy sighed, “Now for the elephant in the room: cost.”

The treasurer—you weren’t even going to try to remember her name—pushed up her glasses. “Yes, we were prepared to play as much as 150K, considering the length of time we request you play and with the same endurance every time.”

Who knew Lee’s estimate was right on the money? And that girl hardly knows anything about anything.

You took out your calculator before saying anything. 150,000 / 16 = 9,375. Unsatisfying. “Before I agree or deny to anything, what’s the budget for the event?”

“1 million.” Lex curtly responded. “150,000 to the student with the most promise, 100,000 to second, 50,000 to third, 200,000 for the venue, 30,000 for confections.”

“That leaves 470 grand.” You remark. “I’m not saying we hit the budget here, but you are asking for the best band in North America.” You paused, hearing the Sonny in your head cheer. “Double that initial investment and we’re in.”

The treasurer guffawed. “300,000 dollars?!”

”Yes. My band and I live in Metropolis, that alone requires a lot of coin. 18,750 dollars per member is shooting low as is.”

I’m being gracious right now. Money is the one thing you never play around with.

The Treasurer you don’t remember the name of looked at her peers for defense, each were met with a different type of shrug.

Luthor didn’t look phased in the slightest. “I’ll do you one better with 470,000. Lets max out the budget. That’s,” he paused, pinching his brows in thought for a moment, “29,375 per member?”

Disregarding the fact 470 bands—hehe—were just thrown at your feet, you quickly used your calculator, affirming his calculation.

“Take it as a hopeful investment. That LuthorCorp and the Moonshine Big Band can continue with a pleasant relationship in the future.” He said flatly.

To be honest, you were only heckling the price earlier because you knew that these people had the money to do it. Wayne Enterprises had not paid you as much, but they also didn’t ask you to play as long. But they did give you and your band a well appreciated $350,000. Never have you touched a little under $500,000, never.

Your face unconsciously responded to the train of thought you were going through in your head. Luthor noticed before you did.

“Something wrong, Director?”

Straightening yourself, you marveled at the situation, chuckling at your expression. “Not at all, sir.”

You paused.

A big smile crept onto your face. “Thank you.”

His gaze got more intense as he smirked, “You’re welcome.” He took a beat. “Now I do want to make sure progress is moving satisfactorily over the next few weeks so a couple check ins will be required, preferably every Friday night.”

You shake out of your big smile, returning to professionalism. “That can be arranged. My band and I have rehearsal every Friday from 5:30 to 7 and we’d be happy to accommodate—”

“You’re mistaken, Director.”

You raise a brow.

“I meant for these check ins to be with you alone. I don’t need the whole band.”

Troy looked like he was about to correct him. “Well I don’t know about Fridays, Mr. Luthor. I have golf—”

“Further correction,” he interrupted, eyes burrowing into Troy, “just the Director and I, alone.”

Wait what?

“What say you Director? How’s 7:30 at the Aether every Friday?”

“That’s great,” you reply before you could stop yourself.

“Excellent.”

—

You closed the door to your apartment softer than you usually do. Everything felt heavier, like your reality had to confirm that what just happened really happened.

After that interesting conversation, you talked for a short while about a “confirmation rehearsal” where Luthor and his board will sit in and hear you and your band play some music, safety concerns, and transportation which LuthorCorp was also offering to cover with a taxi car service and amicable storage space for instruments. The $470,000 was stretched to $475,000 after that.

Luthor still hadn’t batted an eye.

You couldn’t even begin to fathom that, waving your hand to four hundred and seventy five thousand dollars like it meant nothing. And to him, it really did mean nothing.

He is a Forbes list billionaire, richest on the entire planet earth.

That truth hadn’t dawned upon you until meeting the man in person. And meeting him again and again every Friday at 7:30? You didn’t even want to think about it.

Walking into your bedroom, you got comfortable. You sat on your bed, eventually laying back to look at the ceiling. You brought your hands to your face, placing them on your cheeks.

You gazed at your bedside clock: 1 pm on the dot.

The band is never gonna believe this.

—

4 hours and 30 minutes later, practice was in session.

Surprisingly, everyone was here on time, even De’Von.

“Hello everyone, you might be wondering why we’re in our family discussion circle again. I met with Mr. Luthor and his people earlier today.”

Everyone’s eyes widened in anticipation. “I realize that I never informed you all of the visit, which I apologize for. I was told to show up at LuthorCorp today for an 11:35 appointment yesterday after 7 pm.”

“Hold up,” De’Von started, “we meeting with Lex Motherfucking Luthor?” His eyes looked like saucers.

“Yes.”

“Dude I told you!” Lee piped up.

“Bruh that’s crazy.” He put his hand on his forehead.

“Anyways, the discussions were a success. For the actual event, we will each be getting $29,375.”

The gasps that erupted from the room startled you a little.

“Each of us get twenty nine thousand three hundred and seventy five dollars?!” Emmy yelled, enunciating the numbers.

“Yes.”

“And there’s no interest, no nothing?” Earl raised a brow.

“Yes.”

“Did he offer that amount himself?” Trent asked, halfway floored by this information.

“Yes.”

You heard Trent collapse on the floor.

Winnie looked like she couldn’t believe it. “No taxes on what we’re paid?”

“Yes.”

“And we’re not selling our souls right?” Julius squinted his eyes looking at you.

Ok now this is getting ridiculous.

“Yes! He said to take it as a “hopeful investment” that we’ll come back in the future.” You used air quotes.

“That’s fucking crazy.” Isa uncharacteristically stated.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Delano yelled.

Sonny frowned. “If you ask me, he could’ve given more.”

“Yes so, along with that $470,000, we also will have transportation and a sort of “dress rehearsal” with Mr. Luthor and his associates on Monday the 21st at 3 pm.”

Dayna looked perplexed. “Wait, like, playing for him?”

You nodded. “It’s just to make sure we’re on the right track. He wants us to play bossa nova for the first showcase bit, then some Arturo Sandoval like music for the gala after the awards ceremony.”

Earl looked conflicted. “That is a lot of money…”

”Dawg I know right? Like what the fuck!” De’Von was bouncing off the walls.

“Maybe too much?” Nicole alluded.

Earl pointed at Nicole in agreement. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking!”

“I don’t know, Earl,” Sonny started, “I say we don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Exactly! And besides, we don’t have to play for him again right?” Oseye looked at you for confirmation.

You shook your head. “No, not at all.”

Earl still didn’t seem satisfied, but steadied himself regardless. “O-K.”

“Just to recap everyone, we have now four weeks to practice and prepare music for the event. We will have a confirmation rehearsal with Mr. Luthor on the 21st at 3 pm. In the meantime, let’s get—”

“Wait wait!” Petey interupted, “Are we still doing Formal Friday next week?”

You brought your hand to your chin, those “check-ins” still fresh in your mind, “Maybe not next week, or the week after...”

Petey looked sad. Hell, everyone looked sad.

You sighed. “How about the… 18th next month? That’s a Friday right? We’ll do it then.”

You supposed Lex Luthor would have to forgive you.

a/n ; As I'm writing a chapter, I listen to either my overall jazz playlist or just one song I had on repeat. And as a tradition, I will share the song I either feel like resonated with me the most while writing or the one I had on repeat. No one has to listen to the song of the chapter, it's just a fun fact.

On repeat - Amazon by João Donato

♪♫~⠀

5 WEEKS AND 2 DAYS UNTIL SHOWCASE

The first thing you remember every morning is the sun hitting your eyes. Your first sight every morning was a beautiful sunrise; a menagerie of pink, red, and yellow, only elevated by the view of the sea separating Metropolis from the rest of the continent.

Despite your prolific night life on the keys, you always made it a goal to see the rising sun. It’s here where your best concepts for music came along, your mind scrambling for coherent thought as it ever so slowly transitioned from slumber to awareness.

After the sunset, you’d go back to sleep for a couple hours—calling it your second sleep, closing the blinds and facing away from the light. Your dreams would be where your musical concepts manifest, taking form into melodies you’d remember and jot down as soon as you got up. It became a habit for you to keep a notepad by your bedside.

Waking up for the second time, you’d stretch, expose yourself to blue light, shower, and fix yourself a healthy dose of caffeine.

Today was Wednesday, no band practice, your “off” day. “Off” in the sense that you don’t have work, but you wouldn’t call your music making “work”. Besides, your head was always in the clouds, creating something delectable for the ears.

Your “off” day would be spent putting the ideas from your dreams into reality or reading your emails, sipping your morning drink of choice. For example, right now, leaning on the island in your kitchen, you were reading emails. Over the years you’d accrued a lot of spam for whatever reason, and they all just loved to crowd your primary inbox. You frowned, seeing yet another discussion post from this website called Quora that you knew nothing about. You had sworn you unsubscribed…

You deleted and moved on to the next message, and instead of meeting another spam message like you expected, you’d gotten quite the curious request:

Hello,

My name is Heighther, a secretary on behalf of Lex Luthor, CEO of LuthorCorp. We wanted to inquire about your soonest availability for an appointment where Mr. Luthor and his associates could meet with you and your band to assess if you’d be ideal for our “Youngest and Brightest Metropolis Minds of STEM” showcase event next month on Friday the 25th—see the file attached below for additional details.

Regards,

Heighther “Heather” Pitts, MBA

…

Clicking below the dotted line to make sure this wasn't some sort of prank, you were met with a laundry list of things that reminded you why they were below the dotted line:

CEO Secretary’s Office

LuthorCorp Towers, Suite #100B

8804 Power Blvd

Metropolis, MI

48323-4611

Office #: (313) 001-6767

[email protected]

“If we are wise, let us prepare for the worst” — George Washington

You sighed to yourself, your heart rate accelerated. This was real. Only a billionaire like Lex Luthor would have his employees quote George Washington in their post script.

You had thoughts.

First of all, you were not fond of the messaging in the email. It reeked of entitlement. It didn’t ask if you were even interested in performing, just that you had to provide your soonest availability. It was as if the notion of declining such an offer was a forgone option. You’re a purveyor of the musical arts, of course you would rejoice at being chosen. You rolled your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you surmised that it probably “wasn’t that serious” and, if you were being honest, a part of you was excited for this opportunity. You were already well accomplished, a prodigy in your field and was recognized and beloved as such, but you could never mind a little excess. Performing for billionaire Lex Luthor—”billion”, which is an impossible number to even imagine aside from understanding it was a big number—would definitely provide you and your loved ones a comfortable amount of excess.

Not to mention, the networking opportunities could be endless if this was the event you had in mind. Rich people always loved all things blues, bossa nova, and electrifying, at least the cool rich people anyway.

You’d never thought Lex Luthor would be one of those “cool rich people”.

Second of all, they need to change that name.

Finally, “Heighther”?

You felt like you shouldn’t judge, it’s not her fault. However, this poor woman’s parents has none of your respect.

5 WEEKS AND ONE DAY UNTIL SHOWCASE

After waking up from your second sleep, you got dressed for the bright summer sun above you, feeling comfortable in bright colors. In the bathroom, you’d brushed your teeth and moisturized your skin. Checking yourself in the mirror, you smiled.

You’d decided yesterday to sleep on the email, saying you’d wait till today to discuss it with your band rather than call them all to discuss. You had practice today anyways, and it’s not like the email was going anywhere.

Sure, you liked the idea of performing, but if your band didn’t like the idea of playing for some (likely) uppity, entitled one percenters and sleep deprived college students, you weren’t going to do it.

This would hardly be the first time either. In the almost ten year run of your band, you and your people had been asked to perform at a myriad of events. Whether charity, famous weddings, or private event, as long as you were compensated or it weighed well on your conscience, you were happy to bring your band.

However, the decision always came down to a vote. If the band didn’t want to go, you couldn’t force them. This was your worry for the LuthorCorp request.

Looking the “attached files” from the email, you read that this event was supposedly a sponsoring type deal. The “Better World” division of LuthorCorp hosted an opportunity for bright young graduate students entering their senior year to submit projects that they not only had ideas but prototypes for that would “make the world a better place” if they were given funding. A bit like if Shark Tank was more humanitarian and less finance bro. Apparently, this was their fifth annual contest.

Cherry on top? The students would be guaranteed infamy, praise, and a job at LuthorCorp for their dream to come true.

Walking out of your room, you found your essentials bag with all your sheet music, snacks, and caffeine that you’ll need throughout the day. Getting your keys from the ceramic bowl you had by your front door, you left your apartment.

You had a car but hardly used it except for when you needed to go long distances or in the winter— Metropolis traffic AND weather was no joke. The walk to the studio where you practiced was short, making it easy for you to traverse. It was actually quite pleasant, with the scenic views of the skyscrapers and occasional trees towering over you, the distant honking of someone that probably has a DUI, the air of business, commerce, and a twinge of must, you’d grown to love taking walks. Plus, as a piano player, you needed to get your walking in. Sitting down for too long wasn’t good for you.

On your way, you’d stopped to get some donuts from your local Mom-and-Pop shop. It was run by the cutest little family, started by two honest old folks who then imparted the business to their granddaughter Brianna. You’d become a bit of regular as you’d stop by to get treats for yourself or your band.

It was in your best interest to start the day off with you satisfying your group, especially with a request to play for none other than Lex Luthor.

Brianna, kind as ever, greeted you warmly upon entering. “Hey, you! How are ya’?”

“Good, thank you. Yourself?”

“Just fine! You coming in for the two dozen of donuts or for your summer usual?”

You chuckled, “Three dozen actually.”

Brianna’s eyes widened, “Woah! That’s a ton of donuts, who are you trying to win over this morning?”

You shook your head. “Not who, more like how many.” You paused to lean in and whisper to Brianna, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve gotta convince my band to play a gig for Lex Luthor.”

She gasped so loud. “Are you kidding?!”

You shushed her mid laugh. “No I’m entirely serious.”

“Good lord! Well, good luck. I’ll bake these donuts real nice for you then! Just a pinch more sugar than usual!”

”Thank you, Brianna. It means a lot.”

She giggled, ringing you an acceptable $25 and a bottle of water on the house. Soon enough you were out of the shop with donuts in hand.

Walking the rest of the distance, you got to the studio an hour early. This was by design. Entering, you switched on all the lights, set up the posture chairs in a circle—signaling to your group once they got here that an important “family” discussion needed to be had—, and setting up a nice table with your donuts and a print out of the email and attached files for them to peruse as they came in.

In the meantime, you unsheathed your piano and began playing a couple runs you’d written down from your dreams this morning. Usually, when you did this, you’d get a spark that told you you were making the type of music you loved. But today, you felt like whatever you played was the equivalent of a blown out socket. You didn’t know why this was, attributing it to the unconscious stress you were probably under.

Aside from the proposal discussion, Thursdays were always reserved for what you called “chart trials”. Where your compositions you’d written and some from your band mates would be played and the group would make collective efforts to bring the charts to life. It was fun to see the talent that lived amongst you in the room. Playing music required skill yes, but to write it and make it satisfying was an entirely different beast.

Standing up from your piano, you glanced at the clock and according to the time, your members should be strolling in any minute now.

“Hi dearie.”

Speak of the devil. “Hello, Nicole.”

Nicole was your groups resident “meemaw”, a sweet old lady who just recently requested to join your band on bass trombone. When she laid eyes on the email, her soft features contorted in something greater than surprise.

Following her was Earl, another sweet old man who never went anywhere without his flat derby tweed hat and trombone. His reaction was much the same, with him looking at you incredulously as he sat down.

Your other band members followed soon after: your vocalists, your rhythm section, trumpets, and woodwinds. You were only missing one of your sixteen members.

Ready to begin, all of your members were looking at you like you didn’t exist while taking a couple bites from their donuts.

“Hello, everyone,” you introduced, “and before you ask, I’m considering it.”

“You better fucking consider it!” spoke your male vocalist Emilio, affectionately nicknamed Emmy for soon to be obvious reasons. “This could be my big break! Imagine, me, picked up by some hotshot producer!”

Rolling his eyes, Julius—the band’s lead alto saxophone player—spoke up, “Now I know this band is just a big stop on your greater career Sinatra, but we should consider the amount of pressure this brings us.”

“Julius seriously? Pressure? We’re Metropolis’ Moonshine Big Band, second to none in the entire North American continent. We were made for this type of deal.”

You personally couldn’t help but agree. The pressure to perform was the very least of your worries for this endeavor. Your band was more than capable of appeasing this request confidently. It was really only a matter of comfortability with the venue and organization.

“Respectfully Winnie, we’re the best in the world. How dare you sell us so short?” Sonny—your baritone sax player—giggled, resulting in a high five from Winnie—your lead trumpet player— who were sitting right next to each other.

You heard a loud sigh from Earl. “Look kids—”

“Oh here he goes again. Look guys he’s going to remind us all he’s 54!”

“Delano if you don’t let the poor man speak I swear…” Nicole spoke, glaring at your drummer.

“Y’all don’t know just how much LuthorCorp owns this city—which is fair because most of you were too young to remember anything different.. Delano,” Earl continued, side eyeing him, “I mean in the last twenty or so years of it being here, it changed it in ways that I’d never thought I’d see. I saw entire strips bought out by subsidiary companies owned by Luthor, ending so much of the authenticity this city had.” He took off his flat cap, holding it over his heart. “Are we really prepared to align ourselves with that?”

Earl did actually propose a good question. You hadn’t even considered that. You weren’t a Metropolis native, only having been here as a result of biological family issues. By the time you were comfortable enough to focus everywhere besides yourself, LuthorCorp already had its footing for a good while.

“I’m going to address the elephant in the room here and say the amount of money we’d probably get from this would be enough for all of us to support our costs of living for the next.. nine months? And that’s wishful thinking.” Isa—your guitar player—quickly blurted out, pushing up her glasses.

“True. The minimum they could give us would be like, what… 150K?” Lee—your bass player—added. “Oooo! You should calculate the probability and shit you always do, babe,” she asked, gesturing to Isa.

“This is tricky!” Oseye—the band’s third trumpet player—stated. “On one hand, I understand where you’re coming from Earl, I don’t want to sell our souls to the devil here. But, we could be absolutely swimming in it!”

“Oh please, have any of you actually worked with Mr. Luthor?” Trent—the band’s second alto saxophone—asked. “He’s a STEM guy to the fullest, you think he cares about humanities? You think he’ll give us money? He’d give me more money for engineering a new type of paperweight than pay any artist their dues. After all, ‘technology makes the world go round’.” He rolled his eyes, displaying the prominent bags he had.

Dayna—the band’s female vocalist—scoffed. “You can’t think so negatively Trent! I mean we performed for Bruce Wayne and he paid us handsomely! He had such kind eyes…” she reminisced dreamily.

“Lex Luthor is no Bruce Wayne, Dayna.” Trent retorted. “He chews things up and spits them out like it was nothing but a small task in his day. I have to agree with Earl.”

Your group took a moment of silence, all of you in thought. Plenty of good points had been brought up that you had only vaguely considered. But even despite the warnings, you still wanted to go through with it. You made a mental note in your head of things to iron out with the secretary you were most likely speaking with later—if the group voted to consider going forward however.

“Well, guys,” your band’s newest trumpet player Pete or “Petey” as he was quickly being called murmured, “since this is my first year with you guys, I’d love to perform with something this big with you all. Plus, as long as we discussed these concerns with them, I’m sure we could succeed!”

Via, your often pessimistic life of the party tenor saxophone player chuckled. “Kid, you are so naive that it’s almost adorable.”

“Excuse you Via, I am not a kid. I’m 19,” Petey turned his nose up at her, putting his finger up.

The group chuckled at his demeanor.

“Okay everyone, do we have any remaining points we wish to share?”

“How do you think of it, hon?” Nicole asked you, curious.

“Yeah, how do you think of it? Do you have some interesting Director take not yet considered?” Julius playfully chastised you.

“First, I’m no one’s ‘director’, Julius, we’ve been over this. Second, not particularly,” you responded. “If I had to say something, I’d say that this is a great opportunity for us to get out there in the really wealthy crowd. Additionally, if we did go through negotiations, addressing both concerns posed by Earl and Trent, there’s no way I’d allow us to be bought out or underpaid.”

Everyone seemed to hum in agreement.

“Just a hunch here but I think that you and Lex could find some common ground,” Isa suggested. “You’re both prodigies in your own fields—it could help with these negotiations.”

You were surprised for the second time this week. “Thank you Isabella, I hadn’t considered that.” You marveled, your eyebrows raised.

You processed that info and tucked it away for later. “Alright, now are we ready to vote?”

Mostly everyone nodded.

“Those in favor put a thumbs up, those not in favor put a thumbs down.”

“Wait! What about De’Von,” Petey asked.

You shrugged. “We know what he’s gonna say.”

“’It don’t matter to me, it is what it is.’” Everyone said in unison, resulting in a bout of laughter from all of you.

In total, out of the fifteen bodies in this room, you only had four naysayers, making the remaining “yay-sayers” win by a landslide.

“It’s settled then. I’ll email them back after rehearsal. Now, as we set up chairs and get stands, does anyone have music for chart trials?”

—

The afternoon after practice was largely uneventful save for you emailing back. You decided to treat yourself to dinner, taking yourself on a date. You gave yourself at least one night out a month, saving the other days for takeout or whenever you could cook something up.

On these “self-dates” you tried to neglect the allure of scrolling on your phone, not to seem more “alone” to the likely sorrowful gazes you’d get just out of your vision. But with this request, you at the very least kept your phone face up on the table with the ringer on. You only operated on one social media platform, being Twitter, and had notifications eternally turned off. Your most used “app” was a reading website, hence the scrolling.

Just on the cusp of taking a bite of your food, you got a DING from your phone. You tapped the notification and sure enough, it was a reply from that secretary. It was also past 7PM, you hoped this “Heighther” was getting overtime pay:

Good evening,

We hope this email finds you well. After discussing with Mr. Luthor, he and his constituents would be happy to discuss logistics with you tomorrow at noon at LuthorCorp Towers, and if you are satisfied, show you the venue and grant you access.

In the left tower, security dressed in black suits and green ties will be escorting you up to Mr. Luthor’s suite promptly at 11:28, giving you just enough time to get to your 11:35 appointment on time. Please come with any materials you might need for negotiation.

Best,

Heighther

…

Out of curiosity, you clicked below the dotted line:

CEO Secretary’s Office

LuthorCorp Towers, Suite #100B

8804 Power Blvd

Metropolis, MI

48323-4611

Office #: (313) 001-6767

[email protected]

“Let them come” — George Washington

Again, you had thoughts. You hoped so many thoughts wouldn’t become a common occurrence. For one, the entitlement was still prevalent. Perhaps you should pack some Midol just in case you might need it for negotiations tomorrow…

Secondly, why green ties?

Third, would you be walking into a room of Luthor and his board of potentially eight or so others? You weren’t familiar with CEOs and their “constituents”.

And finally, George Washington said that? And what relevancy does that potentially fake quote have for a tech company?

You hoped tomorrow wouldn’t be this inquisitive.

♪♫~⠀⠀⠀

This breeds a calculating mastermind type of lover, where his love language is knowing exactly what buttons to press to build one-sided codependency for his partners.

A good example would be Angela/The Engineer. Gunn implies in the Behind the Scenes with Lex that Mr. Luthor had some level of romanticism with her, which makes so much sense. Angela did not become The Engineer without guidance from Lex. She had the seed of hating metahumans ideal, but she could not have grown into the raging "I gave up my humanity just for you, Lex Luthor and oh also Superman and totally not because of my faith in you" powerhouse we see in the movie. (I do not see enough people talking about the parallels between them and the Joker & Harley Quinn btw, it's such good subtextual storytelling. I cannot give enough praise to James Gunn.)

If he's like this for someone he at least mildly liked, what of someone that he was actually enamored with? Not with them just for superficial stuff or sex?

Lex would constantly monitor them and always want to know where they were and who they might be with. He's the only thing you should depend on, why else would you not be in his sight? To cheat on him? To talk to another less cool person?

And he doesn't discriminate, anyone is a threat, everyone must be "preapproved".

As this interpretation serves, he's incredibly jealous in nature. He wants everything you could possibly offer at 100%, 24/7, 365.25 days.

Because in his mind, he's provided you with comfort and abundance. With his wealth, you didn't need to work a day in your life, much less worry about expenses. Anything you want, you get.

Lex can abuse this as the perfect guilt trip for whenever you ask for something like space, painting his partner as someone who doesn't love him because they asked for the one thing he will not allow them to have out of the many things he gives you. "Greedy", "unnecessary", and "spoiled" are all word I can imagine him describing his lover within an argument.

Speaking of arguments, say you have a disagreement and he fucks up. He'll say something super rude, resulting in a boundary broken that you cannot look past.

I think in this situation he'd test the waters for a couple days, see if the world of his wonderful nights of passion can win you back emotionally.

When they don't, he won't say "sorry". He'll try to buy his way out of it, providing the excess that was part of the problem in the first place.

Like, he'll take you out to dinner and give you a necklace made of real emeralds because he's a fiend for green, saying sensual things like "think of it as my kisses on your collarbone and neck". And when you recognize that he just can't say sorry--or don't, I know some people are very easily satisfied (like myself) --you'll decline the gift.

And when you decline his gift that you are so very obligated to accept because why would your spoiled ass not accept it, he'll rehash the argument you had and give you the cold shoulder.

The next parts can go in multiple different ways depending on the living situation/degree of control.

If you're the combative type (like me, twinsies) then you'll most likely point out that he's (intentionally) emotionally constipated, how he can't make apologies with fickle, superficial shit!

If you both live together, in short, you're cooked. He always has another spot to sleep at. If you want to be so unappreciative, he'll show you what it looks like when he actually doesn't care.

If you both don't live together, he'll find a way to punish you by either messing with your money or messing with your ability to keep your home. He has connections all over Metropolis. No doubt he'd have connections with your employer or your landlord. And even if those don't work, he can always go nuclear and kidnap you. But I think that last option is only in extreme measures.

Lex had to get where he was somewhere, and that does include a level of charm and ass kissing at the rapid rate I suspect he grew his business.

Small diatribe on how I headcanon how he came to be LuthorCorp billionaire CEO (feel free to skip because I kind of sound like that gif of that guy pointing at his cork board with red thread and pins often referenced w/ conspirators (lol)):

I think he was in college at some prestigious university and, get this, was in college for 5 years starting at 17, learning 4 degrees in biochemistry, mechanical engineering, computer science, and robotics with a minor in theoretical physics. He then started the company with nepo baby money and too much free time. Allowing him to grow his business for the next decade (22-32) until the events of the movie. -Of course, this is a little far-fetched and works under the assumption that Lex is not some self-made genius or that LuthorCorp is not a business that was passed down to him from his parents. But I'd be remiss to say that I thought about it in any other way.

Back to Lex' romantic abuse!

This cycle of him hurting you and then reminding you of your dependency seems sooo tiring. And if his lover has self-respect, they'll (attempt to) leave.

Only in this moment do I think that Lex would say the word sorry. Not really because he meant it, but because after everything that he put his love through, he knows they'd love to simply hear the words "I'm sorry" to validate them.

--And the cycle continues.

a/n : i could honestly write more but i think about abusive dynamics entirely too often lmao (i need to touch grass, it's obsessive), i hope you enjoyed!

If you like my interpretations feel free to read my fanfics: Project Supernova and Let’s Make STEAM. #shamelessplug

If you have any requests for Lex related suggestions, please let me know in my ask box!