Page 34 of Your Rhythm
“It’s Matt.”
“Right, right.” He waves a hand at me and laughs like I’ve made a joke. “Our strategy is mainly focused on Ace at the moment. We like the new angle he’s taking as rock’senfant terrible. There are too many good guys on the scene right now. ‘Homegrown boys with big dreams’ isn’t going to cut it. To take things to the next level, you need—”
“To actually focus on our music again.”
Everyone turns to look at me.
“Shayla said all the concert reviews were shit,” I continue. “Doesn’t that bother anybody? Isn’t that what matters most?”
David clasps his hands together, mouth set in a tight line. “Look, I get it. This is your dream, your passion. It’s what you’ve worked your ass off to get. We’re here to make that dream come true, but to turn you into world famous rock stars, we have to make the world actually care about who you are. Trust us. You know how huge the other bands on this label are. This is what we do.”
“And you’re going to do that by pumping Ace full of alcohol and letting him puke wherever he wants?” Shayla pipes up.
I fight the urge to hug her right then and there for siding with me.
“I’m not a fucking monkey,” Ace grumbles. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
David just presses on. “We’re going to do this by manipulating the media for you. You all just need to keep a low profile for awhile, and we’ll handle the rest. Forward any attempts the press makes to contact you to us, and we’ll set up interviews and brief you on what position to take.”
“Wait, so we’re being scripted now?” Cole demands.
“You’re being guided,” David corrects. “You’re all very new to this. Like I said, journalists are snakes. We’re here to protect you from them. You just have to let us do our jobs.”
“Do we even have a choice?’ I can’t help muttering, glancing at Shayla for confirmation. She shakes her head.
“All right, well, good meeting with you all. Glad we got that on the table. I’ll forward more details to your manager as needed. I’m sure you have things to discuss, so feel free to use the room for as long as you want.”
David stands, smoothing down his slacks before leaving us on our own.
“I don’t like it,” I blurt out.
“I don’t either,” Shayla agrees, “but you still have to do it. Complying with the PR department is part of your contract. I can’t schedule your press engagements anymore.”
JP leans forwards. “I don’t like them telling us what to say, but they do know what they’re doing, right? Like he said, all the bands on this label are huge.”
“And total sellouts,” I counter. “Can you name a single group on this label whose stuff you still like?”
“We’ve been over this before,” Ace cuts in. “We agreed when we signed the deal that we weren’t gonna let that happen to us. We’re different. Atlas is just a tool to help us get where we want to go. You said that yourself.”
He’s right. I said exactly that in the weeks leading up to us signing the contract. I remember how sure of ourselves we were, how many evenings we spent in the basement splitting a twelve pack and shit-talking about being the new kings of rock. We always knew we’d eventually clash with Atlas, but we swore to ourselves we’d get through it without giving in.
The fact that Ace seems to remember those days too, despite everything that’s happened since, gives me some modicum of hope. Maybe this is just our first test, our chance to prove we can stay true to our word now that the music world’s not all rose-coloured anymore.
That doesn’t shut up the other worry that’s bouncing around my head, though.
“What about Kay Fischer?” I ask.
“You mean the snake?” JP snickers.
“She’s not a snake,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Shayla gives me a curious look. “What about her?”
“Can she still interview us?”
She shrugs. “I guess she’ll have to go through Atlas now if she still wants to talk to you. I’ll email her and let her know.”
“I can do it,” I offer before backtracking a bit when Shayla narrows her eyes at me like she’s caught the scent of something suspicious. “I have her number from when she interviewed me. It’ll save you some time.”
“Right.” Her eyes keep sizing me up. “You watch yourself, Pearson. All right?”
