Page 82 of Your Echo
She’s already gone through this with me, but she gives the guys time to take it all in.
“I’m going to ask you for a lot of hard work for not a lot of return. Your contract will reflect that. We’re going to be very grassroots while we’re getting set up, very DIY. It isn’t going to be glamorous or easy. As far as your career and earning potential goes, signing with me is in every way a step back instead of a step forward. If I was your manager, I’d tell you to go with someone else.”
When no one interrupts her, she leans forward on the couch, steeple-ing her fingers.
“What Icangive you, and what I think makes this whole thing worth your while, is honesty. I can give you a promise that you’ll always be met with honesty in everything we do together. You will be part of a label that wants your success not just because it’s good for us, but because it’s good foryou. I can give you enthusiasm. I can give you passion. I can give you a commitment to making your band the best it can possibly be. I’ve always shared your dream, boys, and I want to do whatever I can to make it come true.That’swhy you should sign with me.”
I can feel it. Twenty years from now, when they’re making a documentary about our career, this is going to be one of the moments we look back on. I don’t know where we’re headed next, but this feels like a turning point, like we’ve finally made it through the bumpy detour and are back out on the highway, fast-tracking our way into the future.
I just wish the rest of my life felt like this too. I pull my phone out and glance at the time. I’m due back at my apartment in twenty minutes, and I’m suddenly glad I scheduled my second meeting of the day in the morning as well. My stomach churns at the thought of what I’m about to do. Better to get that shit over with as quickly as possible.
Shayla spends the next few minutes going over details with us. Since she can’t manage us herself, she’s going to put us in touch with some of her colleagues in the industry. When we met for coffee, I asked if we could just get someone from her agency, but she said that could be a conflict of interest, since she’ll also be the head of our label. All I really care is that we get someone trustworthy who can help us sort through whatever legal mess we’re in with Atlas, and Shayla promised she knows several people who fit the bill perfectly.
She makes her excuses a few minutes later and heads out, after JP tries to hug her again and she bats him away with her arms.
“I missed that angry lesbian,” he says wistfully, once she’s gone.
“Me too,” Matt agrees. “I don’t know if it’s because of the way she scares me or the way she inspires me, but just fifteen minutes in the same room as her and I’m already all revved up to get shit done.”
Matt’salwaysrevved up to get shit done, but I still share the feeling. If it weren’t for my busted rib and the fact that I need to get out of here, I’d be slinging a guitar around my neck and demanding we write a new song on the spot.
“I’m going to have to follow Shayla out.” I get up from my seat. “I’ve got...someone to meet.”
“I hope it’s not a drug dealer!” JP chimes.
Matt and Cole glare at him.
He lifts his hands in surrender. “Too far?”
I’m already up the staircase and leaving the building when Matt jogs up behind me.
“Hey, wait,” he calls. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
I turn to face him.
“Usually it’s just me who takes care of shit like that,” he explains, “so thanks.”
“It’s not going to be like that anymore,” I tell him. “You’re not the only one this band matters to, and it’s time I started acting like it.”
Matt nods.
“And Stéphanie?” he asks after a pause. “Did you take care ofthat?”
I flash him a grin that probably looks closer to a grimace. “On my way right now.”
By the time I make it to my apartment, I’m sweating, even though there’s finally a hint of autumn in the air outside. When the idea came to me, it seemed easy. Straightforward. A simple price to pay. Now that I’m mere minutes away from actually doing it, ‘easy’ feels a long way off.
The guy who replied to my ad is waiting outside the building.
“Sorry I’m late,” I call out, digging in my pocket for my keys. “Come on up. They’re all upstairs.”
He’s a nerdy-looking guy in a polo shirt. I lead up him to my apartment, and when we step inside, they’re all resting on their stands where I left them, right in the middle of the floor. I hear Polo Shirt inhale, and I almost gasp too. Standing side by side like that, gleaming in the morning light, the instruments are enough to take any guitarist’s breath away.
“You mind if I have a look?” the guy asks.
I make a sound that’s close enough to a yes. My throat feels tight. He inspects my three best guitars with the reverence they’re due, and I really hope the fucker knows how to play. They deserve someone who knows how to play.
I cough and hope my voice comes out sounding normal.
