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“This is not true, and you know it.” Emily straightens her back and squeezes the pencil in her hand in a grip so tight I’m afraid it will break. “Evan is going out of his way to get you out of this dilemma. He hardly sleeps at night trying to find a solution—whether it’s to get this damn album released or to release you from your contract.”
I watch her defend me fervently, but I understand what they’re going through. They see their only chance of success sinking into a putrid stalemate for three years and have reached their limit. I would have gone crazy much earlier.
“We should listen to the record company…” Taylor’s words almost come out in a whisper, but it’s as if they were shouted in my face.
I look at him and see him casting glances at Martin in a silent conversation, one they don’t want to share with me.
“We’ve already discussed it, and the answer is no. If you decide to do that, I’ll leave the band.” Lilly speaks for the first time since we locked ourselves in the Jail Records conference room an hour ago after receiving the email from their producer.
Looking at her, my stomach tightens in a nervous grip. Her eyes exude honesty, but her loyalty comes from her relationship with Damian, one of my dearest friends, not from the fact that she is confident this problem will be resolved very soon.
“We’ll find another bass player,” Martin spits poisonously.
“If that’s how you want to play this, then you’ll also have to find another singer.” Luke’s dead serious tone makes Martin squeeze his jaw into a vise grip. Their staring contest is so intense I’m afraid they may punch each other.
I hadn’t realized this circumstance has created such a deep rift within the band it might lead to their possible breakup. I glance at Emily, and the restlessness painted on her face accurately reflects what I feel in my chest.
“Do you have something you want to say? Keeping us in the dark doesn’t help anyone.” I bring back their attention, but all four look down, almost ashamed. The reaction makes me uncomfortable, as clearly the problem concerns me, and from their hesitation, I gather it must be something personal.
“You are not helping if you’re not open with me,” I say.
Taylor drops the bomb. “They suggested a new manager who could help us make the ‘career leap,’ as they called it. They basically made it clear that we can release this damn album if we choose him.”
I study them for a few seconds and inhale deeply to try to calm my nerves before saying something I might regret. “Did they give you a name?” Maybe I know him and understand what game they’re playing.
“No, they’ll choose one from their agencies and let us know. They implied that if you’d known how to do your job by now, we would have already released half of the four albums,” Luke explains, mortified by the words he has to repeat. “They’re bastards, Evan. We know you’re the best in the industry.” He tries to sweeten the pill, but it’s no less difficult to swallow.
I force a smile and look them straight in the eye, one by one, pausing to consider their feelings and trying to figure out if there is still room for me in their lives.
“I know this situation is terrible. You’re paying for the fact that the Jailbirds left, and that’s not fair. You have no idea how bad it makes me feel that everything we’ve built keeps getting hit with setbacks beyond our control. You can choose another manager if you think it will benefit your career. I won’t stop you if that’s what you think is right, but I ask you to trust me one last time. I promised you I would resolve this situation and I’m not giving up.”
I watch as my words settle into their chests, and even Martin’s stern gaze relaxes imperceptibly. It’s a step forward compared to an hour ago when they were ready to pounce. The guilt that grips my stomach is suffocating; I will never get used to the shattered faces of this young band seeing their dream, the one they worked so hard for, slipping out of their hands, and with it all hope for the future.
“You have our trust, Evan. We don’t want to change managers,” Lilly reassures me, but I realize that the thin thread that holds this working relationship together is fraying at an alarming rate.
I nod. “I’ll keep you updated on everything, okay?” Not waiting for them to answer, I get up from the couch and leave the conference room and the Jail Records building, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Shall we talk about it at lunch?” Emily’s voice from behind startles me. She’s the only one who understands how much the pressure of this job crushes me. She works with me day and night, witnessing my battles, disappointments, and moments of difficulty. It’s as if she has a map of my feelings and bad moods as she navigates beside me, sometimes shedding light on parts of the journey that are hidden from me.
I nod and walk in silence until we reach the small café a few blocks away where we usually escape to have lunch and discuss our work day. We order a sandwich and a bottle of water and sit at one of the tiny tables along the sidewalk. It is a small independent place famous for its desserts and freshly prepared lunches. Given the tiny space inside, it’s often difficult to find a table, especially on a beautiful day in early June like this, when the skies are clear and the air is not yet thick with humidity.
“What do you think they have in mind?” she asks, taking a sip from her bottle to wash down a bite of avocado and salmon sandwich.
“They want to cut me off altogether.”
Emily studies me, chewing, her forehead wrinkling as she tries to make sense of my words.
“I own a part of Jail Records. They want to cut off anyone who has a working relationship with the Jailbirds.”
She thinks about it a bit, leaning back in her chair and observing the trees across the street that give privacy to a row of luxury homes located in upper Manhattan. “So if that’s what you think, there’s no solving the Red Velvet Curtains’ problem. Either they fire you, or there will never be any album coming out,” she says coldly.
I glance at her and notice the expression of disgust on her perfect face. Sometimes it’s hard to find the strength to shift my gaze away from those intelligent hazel eyes or those lips that pout adorably when she’s focused on something.
“Unless I can find a loophole in their contract or a way to go around the record company,” I admit and feel the frustration shine through my voice.
This whole thing has caused many sleepless nights, but my hands are tied, making me angrier than anything else has since I left home.
“How are you, Evan?” Her question takes me by surprise and causes me to look directly at her delicate features and the long brown hair that frames them.
