American Entertainment 1978: New York Night Fever

Chapter 96 The Game Begins

"Becky has a boyfriend at school, so she won't go around telling everyone, you don't need to worry."

When Zeke woke up, only he and Michelle were left in the dormitory. Becky's bed was messy but empty.

Michelle was sitting on the edge of the bed combing her hair. The morning light outlined the soft contours of her profile, and her blonde hair shone with a light tan color in the light.

She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and walking barefoot on the floor, looking refreshed and relaxed.

"Good morning, disco star." She turned around and smiled at him, her eyes as bright as the California sky.

Zik sat up and looked at the girl. Some words swirled in his chest, but he still said them: "Michelle, actually, I have a girlfriend too, so—"

"This will be our little secret—" the girl interrupted him with a smile, her tone devoid of any reservation, only pure joy, "But God, Zeke, I really didn't expect to meet you at work. I was thinking that day, it would be great to meet someone who really understands Hollywood."

She was beaming with joy, chattering away like a tireless lark.

In Zik's view, Michelle was the quintessential California girl: cheerful, sunny, and full of energy, with no complicated guile in her eyes. She had plenty of collagen, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, and her skin had that uneven, honey-toned look that comes from years of sun exposure in California.

She recounted how she was a "bully" at school when she was little, and other kids would come to her when they wanted to fight. She never thought she was charming and said she was always the oldest girl in her class, and probably the ugliest. Things started to change in fourth grade when she discovered the most popular boy in her class and got into a fight with him.

This made Zeke laugh: "So, did you date him afterward?"

"Of course not, that boy was terrified—" Michelle made a face, then excitedly started talking about her hobbies: softball, oil painting, and Mexican food. Sure enough, there were softball equipment in the corner of the dormitory. Looking at her slender but smooth shoulders, Zeke thought to himself, no wonder others can't beat you.

She spoke candidly about her family: her father, Dick, was an air conditioning and heating contractor; her mother, Donna, was a housewife; and Michelle was the second of four children, with an older brother, Rick, and two younger sisters, Didi and Lori.

In a short while, he said everything, as if he were talking to an old friend he had known for many years.

"I was tired of standing all day, sweeping cans, and listening to customers complain endlessly about the ripeness of a cantaloupe." Michelle rested her chin on her hand, a longing look in her eyes. "The other day, listening to a customer launch into a long-winded explanation of a melon, I asked myself, 'If I could have anything, what would I want?' The answer was: acting."

With dreams of entering the entertainment industry, she signed up for the Miss Orange County pageant. This regional competition was small in scale, but it offered direct entry to the Miss California pageant in June. And among the judges for Miss California was an agent with Hollywood connections, which was her biggest reason for signing up.

Getting excited, she ran barefoot over and pulled a velvet box from a drawer. Inside were a small trophy and several cards. She showed them to Zeke like treasures; the cards had her pageant registration photo printed on them, with a set of numbers written next to them:

33—24—34.

"I think I'm doing alright, right?" she asked somewhat nervously. Without waiting for Zeke's reply, she got up and pulled out a swimsuit and a pair of high heels from the closet.

She changed in front of Zeke, awkwardly steadied herself in the high heels, and then tried to walk the runway in the cramped dormitory space. To be honest, Zeke thought she walked a bit stiffly and cautiously, and it was obvious that she hadn't received professional training.

"What do you think, Zeke? Do I have a chance to win Miss California?" She stopped, leaning against the wall, fine beads of sweat on her forehead, but her eyes shone with an astonishing light.

Zik smiled and said, "I can't say for sure. I'm a musician and I know nothing about beauty pageants."

The girl walked over somewhat dejectedly, sat down next to him, and rested her head on his shoulder: "What about the disco competition? Is it too late for me to sign up now? I saw in the newspaper that the finals will be broadcast live on TV—"

Zik shook his head. He knew the rules by heart: "It's too late now. The adult group started 20 days ago. Casablanca held offline auditions in conjunction with major disco clubs across the United States. It only accepts amateur dancers and is divided into three groups: male solo, female solo, and duo. The final 24 groups will advance to the live TV competition."

Michelle's face fell instantly: "Then I guess I'll have to keep participating in beauty pageants—but I don't have the money for those modeling classes, I don't have the money for photographers, and I don't want to sign any contracts with those modeling agencies; they seem like scammers. Zeke, what do you suggest I do to get them to say YES?"

"That's not necessarily true." Zik turned his head to look at her.

He was very impressed with Michelle; he found it very easy to get along with a girl who was completely unguarded and without any guile. Most importantly, her first meeting with him had given him a wonderful threesome experience and a precious revelation. Of course, he wanted to keep this treasure of a girl by his side.

"Michelle, you're paying attention to the disco competition not for the prize money, but for the extra resources the champion receives, right?"

The girl nodded, her eyes becoming focused. The winner of this competition would get the chance to sign with Casablanca, become the go-to backup dancer for their artists' music videos, participate in a nationwide disco tour, and simultaneously perform on Casablanca's subsequent tour stages—these were the real temptations.

"Although I can't get you into the competition, I am a musician. You can appear in my music videos in the future."

"Even if you can sing, you might become a singer. In the future, I not only want to release albums, but I also want to start my own record production company."

This is the new revelation Zeke received, and the new determination he made after dealing with Bill Ocuin yesterday.

"Let the games begin..." he murmured to himself.

What he saw and heard during this period made him realize that in the record industry, only by establishing his own record company could he be considered to have truly joined the game.

Being a group of spoiled rock stars like KISS is not his pursuit. Moreover, his recent experience selling merchandise has taught him a very simple truth: the fewer the intermediaries, the more profit.

He can obtain a constant stream of good songs through divine intervention. He sings the songs that suit him and uses the ones that don't suit him to promote his own artists.

He could completely control the mastering process of the records, get the largest share of the profits, and control all the copyrights.

As for distribution and promotion, they can be outsourced just like Jacques Morali did.

While this model isn't perfect—the resources obtained from record companies may not be as good as those from their own artists—it has the advantage of being able to take the most lucrative part of the entire industry chain.

At the same time, starting a record label represents a bigger stage. He could become a strategist, a driving force, just like Neil Bogart or Bill O'Quinn.

"Appear on screen? Really!? Like in 'Sweet Dreams'?" Michelle sat up abruptly, her eyes wide.

"Of course, that music video was also produced by me."

"I studied classical ballet, piano, and organ when I was young, so I have a foundation in instrumental music, but I never had any formal vocal lessons or systematic singing training."

“It’s okay, Michelle.” Zeke took her hand. “Believe me, Hollywood isn’t a good place. It’s much dirtier than you think. Your voice is very distinctive. I can take you to Los Angeles and find you a vocal teacher. It’s not difficult.”

"But can I really do it?" The girl was still a little insecure, unconsciously biting her nails.

"If you observe the mainstream charts yourself, you'll find that technical singing skills are not the ticket to entering the record industry," Qi Ke patiently explained. "The industry's definition of singing skills leans more towards timbre, narrative power, and personal charisma."

"Whether it's disco, pop, rock, or folk—look at Donna Summer, the Bee Gees, David Bowie, Mick Jagger, and also KISS, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty,

Billy Joe — Strictly speaking, neither of them were top-tier singers, but they both became big stars.

"Have you thought about why?"

Zeke's words were like a ray of light, instantly illuminating the confusion in Michelle's eyes. As she processed this information, her expression gradually shifted from doubt to eagerness.

"You mean—I don't need to sing like an opera singer?"

“That’s right. You don’t need to be a vocal beast like Tina Turner, Kate Bush, or Aretha Franklin,” what you need is style, attitude, and a quality that makes you memorable at first glance.” Zeke laughed. “Of course, you also need a good song.”

Michelle was incredibly efficient. She completed the withdrawal procedures from Kinsey College that very day, packed her bags, and, carrying a small suitcase, followed Zeke straight to Los Angeles.