Page 58 of Your Rhythm
She gestures to the second woman, who leans forward to start shaking all our hands. Her thin, platinum blonde bob falls into her eyes as she does. She tucks it behind a pair of glasses that I can’t stop from reminding me of Kay, even though the two of them look nothing alike.
“Nice to meet you all. I’m Amy Kilroy.” Her tone is clipped and firm, like she’s used to rushing around and getting straight to the point.
“Amy has worked as a manager for a few of our groups here at Atlas.”
I tense up right away, and I can tell the other guys do the same.
“We have a manager,” I say, my jaw feeling tight.
“You do,” agrees Nadine, “and she’s a very good one. This isn’t about replacing her.”
Somehow, hearing her say that just makes me think that’s exactly what this is about.
“We wanted to go over Shayla’s strategy with you, to check in on how things are going,” Nadine continues. “We thought it might be helpful for you to talk to someone who’s had experience managing musicians with the earning potential we’re trying to get you up to.”
“Shayla’s done well so far. The fact that you’re signed to this label is proof of that,” Amy tells us, “but I can help you make sure she’s ready to take you to the next level.”
“We’re not ditching Shayla,” I assert. “She’s more than capable of doing her job.”
“I’m sure she has been. However, when a band becomes a hit, like Atlas is setting you up to be, things happen she might not be able to foresee, things she’s never had to deal with before.”
“She never had to deal with negotiating a record contract with a major label before, and she did a pretty good job of that.”
Amy’s eyebrows rise up above her glasses. “Are you sure about that?”
I can’t tell if she’s bluffing, but I don’t really care.
“Yes I’m sure.”
Her eyes drop briefly to my clenched fists. “I think we’re getting off to a bad start. Why don’t I give you all some more information about me?”
She gives us a synopsis of her career, and even though she doesn’t directly mention Shayla, it feels like she’s purposefully drawing attention to the differences between them. I know Shayla only did a year of college after high school; Amy’s got an MBA. Shayla’s only ever worked in Montreal; Amy just got back from two years in London. The list goes on and on.
“So all of that to say,” Amy concludes, “I’ve worked with groups in your position before. I know what it took to get where you are, and more importantly, I know what it takes to get you even farther.” She pulls out a tablet. “I’ve looked into your career and come up with a strategy I’d use if I were managing your band. You can check it against what Shayla’s doing for you now, to see if she’s on track.”
She starts firing off her game plan, and I tune most of it out. I’m realizing that I don’t even know what our contract says about management. I do know that we’re the ones who signed it, not Shayla, and it strikes me that all these ‘suggestions’ may just be a bit of preamble. We may not even have a choice when it comes to letting Shayla go. If we lose her, we’ll be ripping out half the threads in the fabric that holds this band together.
To my relief, Amy and Nadine wrap things up and tell us we can use the room for as long as we want to ‘discuss amongst ourselves.’
“I don’t want to get rid of Shayla,” I announce, jumping up from the couch to start pacing the room, fingertips drumming against my thighs.
The guys all nod, but for some reason they look uncomfortable.
“None of uswantto get rid of Shayla,” Ace begins.
There’s a heavily implied ‘but’ at the end of his sentence. I stare hard at him until he sighs and continues.
“Parts of what they said made sense.”
“What parts?” I demand. “The parts about firing the person who’s the entire reason we’re here? The person we know we can trust and rely on? The person who busts her ass for us every single day?”
“They never asked us to fire her.”
“Can you even hear yourself?” I don’t realize how loud my voice has gotten until it starts reverberating off the walls. “They’re manipulating us. These people play mind games. That’s their job.”
JP gets off the couch too and stands to face me. “Canyouhear yourself? You sound like a crazy person.”
“No one’s firing Shayla, man,” Cole adds, “but they’re right; she’s never done this before. Maybe she could talk with this Amy chick, see if she’s ready for everything.”
“You think that’s what they want? For them to talk?” I drag a hand through my hair. “They want Shayla out of the picture so they can have someone in their pocket managing us.”
Ace stretches out in the empty space on the couch.
“You’re turning into a conspiracy theorist,” he says languidly.
“And you’re turning into a drunk.”
I march over to the door before he can say anything in answer.
“I need some air,” I announce, and then I leave them without another word.
