He was about to open his mouth and say something, when the discussion went on between Rebecca and Julie over his motives for bringing Maria Liao home; the reality was that there wasn't anything deliberate about it, man meets woman at party, they drink quite a bit and wind up getting out of a really fucked up party that looked like it was turning ugly, broken windows and all, so they could keep the whole thing going on a more private note. While in the cab, and to the discomfort and/or amusement of the guy driving, they can't keep their hands or lips off each other. They stagger home, not having remotely discussed Mark's roommate or her boyfriend, or how bringing Maria home might somehow be revenge for that, manage to get in the door before they're getting clothes off and manage to get the door to his bedroom shut so they can snort some blow and screw.

It wasn't precisely a well-thought out plan, any of it.

In any case, the fateful text message arrived with a torrent of thoughts, including disbelief -- was it because Martin Smythe had put out the word about his band that Reckless Life got attention, or was it Shamekiss turning on contacts for them? He hazily recalled partying with those guys last night, which perhaps explained why there were other text messages there about how awesome it all was. He wasn't quite prepared to really respond to that backlog, even as Jules got over his shoulder, read his message and then shouted in his ear.

[indent][sub]Forwarding this to Harry, he does contracts here in the city, he's a guy we need to stay in touch with. Do we have any idea what's going on here?[/sub][/indent] 
He wrote that back to Cave, even as Jules was talking about it, figuring that if anyone was going to be a boon asset in this situation, it was the only father figure he ever knew. Harry Cohen was an intense, sharp-tongued workaholic that nonetheless would come through on this stuff; the guy had a complex about it not working out with his mother, and kind of stayed in his life; right toward the end, he's the one that hooked Mark on the guitar, though Mark quickly outgrew Harry's three-chord teaching. That last Christmas, age 13, he'd gotten the Gibson SG, a guitar still sitting in his room, though it had different strings and was customized to Mark's taste, it was still his first guitar and where he learned his sound.

[indent][sub]Dude, it's a meeting with Paul Neven. He was at the damn show.[/sub][/indent]

That was more than he could process, so he sank right back down on the couch as Rebecca started talking about Julie, getting it off her chest perhaps and he nodded along a bit, chewing on what she was saying, echoing his thoughts really, before sitting himself up and forward, brushing his hair bach over the ear so it was out of his eyes and looking Rebecca right in hers.

"Look, the thing you gotta know about Julie is this -- she picks boyfriends to please her parents, and her parents want her with guys like Bryce because it means she doesn't have to worry about the future. Rich guys. Powerful guys. People with connections. I don't get it, but that's why she asked me if bringing Maria here was some sort of planned thing, because that's kind of what she's used to, not this spontaneous thing where, well, yeah. Her relationships are weighed against the approval of her parents, who don't want her to struggle." He certainly didn't deliberate anything ahead of time or weigh Maria Liao as mating material.

"So it's complicated," he finished.

Then the buzzer went off, and she went to let Bryce in the stairwell; they had a minute or two, seeing as they were five floors up and had no elevator.

"But if this deal happens, I mean Edge is a big one right?"

"Yeah, they're a label known for setting the trend. It's not some small fish."

"But doesn't that make you the sort of guy that Julie dates if you cut a record and get big? I mean, if parental approval is predicated on success and money..." Rebecca asked, perhaps a bit naively.

And that's why Mark laughed, "Even if that happened, and I don't know what the future is, I know this much -- rock musicians are not what they have in mind when they think of success."

"But an asshole like Bryce is," she asked pointedly.

Mark sound resigned when he asked Rebecca and leaned forward, lowering his voice, "You've met Jules' family, right?" He'd apparently had this discussion before with the band.

"Of course."

"Nice people, but did you ever notice how emphatic they are about their espectations?" Mark asked, pointedly.

"Okay, but it bothers you, right?" Rebecca persisted, even as she leaned forward to match Mark's undertone.

"Yeah. But Bryce has one outstanding talent," Mark told Rebecca.

"That is?" As Bryce knocked.

"He's got a fucking forked tongue," Mark said flatly, "and he knows how to use it."

That wasn't pulled out of his ass -- there was a song in the works by that name. 

---

Bryce showed up with flowers, Rebecca did not look impressed and Mark busied himself with actually finishing his coffee and silence reigned, even as Bryce went on about Mark not actually paying the bills -- that was a complete fucking fabrication, but he just watched him impassively as he stored away more material for "Forked Tongue" and promised, absolutely, to make that song one of the best he ever wrote -- something sardonic that painted a picture of a man that smiled and patted you on the back while looking for a place to stick the dagger. He didn't really intend to make Bryce a Muse, but if you needed The Man in a song, he was a fucking avatar of The Man.

There was a brief exchange of looks between he and Rebecca -- neitehr were impressed, perhaps because Mark was another man and Bryce didn't try so hard and Rebecca because she'd seen guys like this.

"Not sure what's going on because it's just a meeting. It might not be anything." He was playing it down for Bryce, but probably not as well as Bryce played the asshole while keeping a woman strung along -- in the scheme of things, Mark simply wasn't as good at dissembling as Bryce was, he'd never be glib or fast on his feet with a cutting remark. But he found he could bear the whole thing quite well by keeping 'lyrics' and 'material' in mind.

"Well, maybe if you get a deal of some sort, at least you'll be able to afford some sort of place to live if you pool together with some of your band buddies, right?" He made the band sound like it was just some dudes chugging beers and playing covers, but in a sense, Mark was used to this and, quite frankly, the night before made it very clear that things were not quite as they seemed to Bryce.

Edge records was huge, and they did not follow trends, they set them. They picked up transformational artists, they didn't mess with what popped up in the wake. He'd sort of explained that to Rebecca, but if she wasn't music, she might not have quite grasped the significance; Paul Neven, their former top man, now in honored retirement, was respected and feared across the music industry, a man whose moves were watched by all press. He'd been quiet for a few years in retirement, but the dude was showing up at the office for a meet with Reckless Life? That was something that had him jittery, and it perhaps showed as he stood there in the kitchen, mutely processing everything for a moment.

"Might wanna lay off the coffee there, Mark, the way you're shaking. I guess it's a big deal even for a deal with a small label, huh? Hey, I'm just trying to give him good advice for handling the pre-meeting jitters," he told Rebecca, who'd given him an imperially-lofted eyebrow. "Julianne cares and so do I." Oh how well he pretended the hurt.

Those words made him see red. Mark opened a drawer, pulled out a Colt 1911 and pulled the trigger; a loud boom and a round, red hole sprouted right between Bryce's smug, condescending fucking blue eyes, dead before he could wipe that 'I'm better than you' smirk off his face. The gun recoiled furiously but Mark brought it back down and lined up the sights again. Then, as the body crumpled to the kitchen floor and blood pooled out, Mark fired three more into Bryce's face to make sure the funeral would be closed-casket. So quick, so easy, so right.

Except it didn't happen that way, no small part due to the drawer containing not a gun, but merely rubber spatulas and whisks,but it was wonderful to consider the daydream, briefly, as Bryce managed to say those words with just enough sincerity to gull something like 60% of the population. Mark tried to overcome his shock at hearing that arrant bullshit by desperately scrambling in his mind to find something else to think about.

Either he didn't know what Edge records was or Jules didn't relay that when she told Bryce too much already -- not that Mark could reasonably expect Bryce not to get things out of his girlfriend. But he didn't like the way Markwatch worked, in that Jules would feed things to Bryce and Bryce would use it all to try and pick an argument where Mark would come off like the asshole. 

In any case, Maria managed a strut out into the area, managing to pull eyes her way as she did -- freshly shampooed and wearing one of Mark's shirt with the club clothing of the night before, which helped draw attention away from the 'walk of shame' attire beneath, and Bryce's eyes seemed to click a bit as they homed in.

There was a momentary assessment between two predators recognizing their own, as well as the opportunities. For example, Bryce saw a beautiful Mexican-Chinese girl (someone he'd never touch due to racial considerations, since he came from an Orange County Republican family) with a toned, lithe body that strutted like a champ through the place and the reason why 'Julianne' was on edge this morning while Maria very carefully catalogued Bryce's blonde, muscular, somewhat tanned USC fratboy looks as well as the immaculate J. Crew attire down to the the boater shoes, and saw the reason why Mark seemed subdued, which was a complete turnaround from earlier when she had seen Mark, before Bryce entered the equation.

They both ran two calculations; avoid but work to similar ends. Each saw in their likeness a person that could help drive a wedge between Mark and Jules.

"Oh, you must be Julie's boyfriend. Brian or something?" Maria played off the whole thing with an airheaded Cali girl act, but made eyes at Mark even as he poured her another coffee and handed it over, as a gesture of gallantry as well as something to do besides talk to Bryce.

It got him an, "ooh, thank you babe," and a quick kiss; however much Bryce didn't approve of the likes of Maria Liao for her ethnic ancestry, he couldn't help but wonder how the fuck a guy like Mark managed to swing that move -- the girl was smokin' hot and Mark Verona didn't have a pot to piss in. It upset Bryce's ideal of what the world should be like.

"I think I'll go check on Julianne," Bryce said, as he beat the hasty retreat.