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The Patron

“Shall we get to the contract then?”

Robbie took a long breath, rubbed his full cheeks, and brushed back his curly brown hair, which looked more like it belonged to Kathleen Turner in the 80s than someone his age. His childhood Les Paul guitar, nicks and all, rested beside the charcoal, leather couch which had swallowed him up as soon as he’d entered the room.

Across from him sat the woman who’d told him to call her “Jane” (which just happened to be the name for a woman he liked best). Jane wore a gray suit with faint vertical stripes and a white blouse not buttoned all the way up. Her hair hung in ivory strings to her neck, but she didn’t seem much older than her late twenties, like him.

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember who he’d gotten her business card from, but he was glad she’d managed to fit him in. Still, the office gave him an odd chill despite the setting sun streaming through and the sweaty embrace of the couch. It looked like any of a dozen offices he’d seen over the years. Everything was minimalist and either gray, black, or white. Jane’s desk looked like oak with all the color removed. Her hands rested before a neat stack of papers. She wore a smile which curled just a little too much into her face.

After apologizing for his silence, Robbie asked, “Sorry. Just thinking it over. This is a big deal.”

Jane gave a slow, deliberate nod. “This is indeed a big deal, Robbie. But it’s just a few, small signatures.”

Pulling himself out of the depths of the couch, Robbie cleared his throat and asked, “Could you run over the important parts one more time?”

Though her smile didn’t waver, Jane’s already-dark eyes seemed to deepen under her brow. “Of course. You are a talented musician, Robbie, known to a few fans as the guy who sings really nice and provides last-minute filler between bands at the local clubs. You are desperately late on your rent, your girlfriend was just laid off, and you’ve been looking for a second job. There’s money you need to repay your uncle and you’re worried about whether your mother will be able to keep her house. Those are the important parts.”

Robbie frowned slightly and couldn’t quite remember if he’d told Jane all those things when she’d asked about his situation, but he ignored that and noted, “I mean about the contract. I was hoping I’d be able to get more gigs, maybe put together an album.”  

Jane shrugged with her hands. “I’m here to help you, but that’s not what I do. Whatever songs you’ve made in the past are now ours as well as any songs you make in the future. You needn’t worry about the details. So far as gigs, since I’m a nice gal, you can play as many covers as you like to whatever drunkards are conscious when you take up your pick. However, your name, image, and any associated products are all property of Patron Arts Incorporated in perpetuity under the contract. There’s a few minor addendums, but they’re all here in writing.”

Robbie fidgeted and cleared his throat. “That seems rather harsh. At least I still have my voice.”

Jane’s smile tightened ever so slightly as she noted, “It may seem harsh but consider the upside. You’ll be making more in a month than most people make in a lifetime. You won’t have to worry about anything. You just need to sign.”

Gently, she pushed the papers towards him with a black pen in her hand. Robbie thought about it a while but took the pen with a memory of his mother sobbing into her tired hands. She’d bought his first guitar, she’d taken him to lessons which led to shouting matches with his father. More than anyone, she didn’t deserve to cry.

With a succession of “name where I’ve marked” and “initial there” over more pages than he expected, the contract was complete. As he passed the papers back to her, she gave him a black cube which looked like a polished piece of coal and explained, “This represents the only work you’ll need to do, as per page seventy-three of your contract.”

He got a little upset when she explained the details he’d neglected to notice. But there was nothing he could do about it. Jane watched him drag his body through the double doors leading to reception and leaned over to point out, “Oh Robbie, you forgot your guitar…”

His head drooping, he just batted a hand behind him and continued on. With a shrug, Jane had her people send it off to the incinerator.

Her next appointment was dressed up quite fancy while Robbie had arrived in a dark t-shirt and weathered jeans. With her smile at full strength, she welcomed her new client.

“Toby! What a pleasure! Come, sit.”

Toby gave a tense nod which looked ready to tip his head off his neck. With a swallow, he sat in the couch across from her massive desk and soon sunk into it like so many before. She strode to the chair opposite him, a full head higher with her hands folded in front of her.

“My name is Erin. Shall we get started?”

Giving a more nervous chuckle than he expected, Toby noted, “Erin. Funny. Love that name.”

With a cock of her head and a grin, ‘Erin’ commented, “Aren’t you a charmer…and a remarkable artist. I’ve seen so much of your work online.”

Toby nearly put on a scowl. “At least I have one admirer. The only sort of flattery I usually get is someone claiming my work as their own and selling it on shirts.”

Reflecting appropriate sympathy, Erin shook her head. “My word. That’s terrible.”

Sighing, Toby muttered, “For all the time I put into it, for all my practice…there are people who always think my prices are too high for my commissions. But I need to eat. My day job takes everything out of me physically. I want to do art full-time. I’d love to do it. Can you help me?”

Erin leaned forward with her hands tented. “Toby. I would absolutely love to help you. I want to be a patron for every artist of every type. I don’t want you to worry about anything. And, believe me, you will make art.”

The bubbly feeling inside Toby reflected as a grin which just wouldn’t quit from his face. He asked a few more questions than some of Erin’s other clients, but she had easy answers. She assured him that medical coverage the likes of which only afforded politicians would be made available to his entire family. She let him talk but she nodded through his stories about the dementia which had recently seized his granddad.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

For all his questions, he didn’t delve that deeply into the end pages of the contract when Erin finally brought it out. And it took little more than a nudge from her when it came to the signatures. It was nearly record time.

She passed the black cube to Toby same as all the rest and addressed his confusion with the usual note and added, “For you, might want to keep it with you all the time.”

Setting the pen aside, Toby frowned and responded, “I don’t understand…”

With a wave of her hand, Erin explained, “Probably best understood by doing. Think of something you’d like to draw.”

Toby followed her directions. He thought of a female soldier on a battlefield, tattered and tired, her jumpsuit patched in several places. Numerous silvery aliens loom in shadow through the windows of the house she’s holed up in while she attends to her wounds. He thought of the shading the scene would need and the expression on her face. And then…the cube gave a quick flash.

And then…Toby looked away and strained. She’d asked him to think of a drawing. Something…it was clear just a moment ago. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. It had just vanished.

Before he could put his confusion into the form of a question, Erin explained, “That, as noted in your contract, is the work you’ll do for us. In a way, it’s far easier than any laborious drawing you did before. No tired hours on the computer getting the layers just right. No waiting as the masses of the net just passes it by with a glimpse. No more being paid slave wages for incredible work. I save everything you create inside you and harvest it as it was intended. And, in return, you get everything you could ever want.”

Toby put his hand to his mouth. “But it’s gone. What happened to it?”

“It’s Patron Arts Incorporated property now. From here, well, trade secrets.”

Gathering together all the strength he had to push himself out of the couch, Toby fumed, “You can’t do this!”

Erin dipped her head and noted, “I can and I will. You signed the contract. You agreed to all of this. Don’t worry your precious head though. You have a bounty of ideas and images inside you. Just keep sending them along to me and I’ll send you your paychecks.”

Staring down at the black cube in disgust, Toby shook his head. “But I wanted to draw.”

Offering an indifferent shrug, Erin noted, “You can still draw. Circles and lines and all that. Simple stuff. Maybe even a stick figure or two I wouldn’t be interested in. But the rest are mine. It’s only fair. I’m taking care of you now. Your every need will be paid for.”

Clenching his teeth, Toby spat, “Not everything can be bought and paid for.”

Erin gave a little snort. “You think that now. But give it time. Or void the contract…but be warned…I don’t take kindly to former clients.”

Toby looked away and reached for the door as he muttered, “I wish I’d never met you…”

She kept on her contented face until he was out of the room. With a chuckle, she muttered, “So long as he doesn’t become another Eddie.”

Eddie. Quite a name around the offices. She’d just thrown him out for the seventh time last week. He was wearing bits of a trash bag. So much potential when he started out but perhaps not as much depth as she’d hoped for. She’d mined him seven times with diminishing returns. Oh well, that was the past.

She buzzed Troy in reception to send in the next future client. Though she started the same presentation, she had a feeling about this one early on. He seemed familiar from his goateed jaw to his long coat. She introduced herself to him as Cassie and then she stopped herself.

“Cassie…. I should’ve known. You gave your name as Felix on the application but you’re David and your brother is one of my clients.”

Arms folded on the edge of the couch to support himself, David nodded back to her. “And you’re the one who drained my brother dry.”

She cracked her neck.

“Your brother got everything he wanted. I even let him see a few of his sculptures he dreamed up and hear their praises. What more could he want?”

David just looked on in disgust. “You stole his heart. He wanted nothing more than to make beautiful things. Now, he can’t do anything. He just drinks and stares at the floor. He’s a shell!”

Cassie raised her hands. “I gave him what his contract entailed. Fair pay for lovely creations. If he hadn’t met me then he would’ve been dead by now after years of being broke. It’s not my fault he didn’t have any hobbies beyond sculpture. You should have him take up collecting.”

He cursed at her and she didn’t flinch as he continued, “I’m convinced you’re the Devil!”

She couldn’t hold back a laugh as she answered him, “Devil? How quaint…If there were such a thing, he’d be far below my pay grade.”

With a sigh, David admonished, “That’s the first true thing I’ve ever heard from you.”

“Oh, come now, no sour grapes. We can still do a deal. It won’t be as sweet as your brother’s, but you’re not a bad writer. What use are ideas and half-finished stories to you when I can take them and make them shine?”

David yanked himself from the couch and turned to the door before simply saying, “Never.” And he was gone. She scowled. She hated when she didn’t get one.

Relaxing, she buzzed reception.

Troy’s dulcet English accent came through the speaker.

“Yes, ma’am?” With his voice, it sounded like ‘mum’ with a slight R.

“Troy, cancel the rest for today and reschedule for next week.”    

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I assume you will recognize David next time you see him and I will not be seeing Eddie again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Because if that doesn’t happen I will rip your throat from your body and make you watch a stray dog devour it as you drown in your own blood. Clear?” She didn’t raise her voice above her normal tone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Love to the wife and kids, Troy. Goodnight.”

A final answer from Troy was implied but unnecessary. Before leaving, she pushed open the doors to the closet in the back. Her pale features and hair glimmering in the glow of all contained within, she whispered privately, “Today was a good harvest…”