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“That if it doesn’t resolve quickly, I don’t know how long the band will last,” she admits sincerely.
I nod. That’s the impression I had during the meeting. The rift between Luke and Lilly on one side and Martin and Taylor on the other is increasingly evident.
Emily looks at her friend, then subtly at me, and worry covers her face. Many bands, even more famous than this one, have broken up for much less. It’s a miracle they have not already found other jobs.
“I’ll try to do what I can, but if it gets to a breaking point for any reason, I want you and Luke to consider changing managers.” Emily’s head snaps toward me with wide eyes. “I don’t want you to blow up your career to please me. Friendship is one thing. Work is another. I will always remain one of your dearest friends, but if it’s impossible to continue with our working relationship, it is better to make a clean break before the friendship also suffers.”
No, I wouldn’t be happy to see them leave, but if reassuring Lilly that she doesn’t have to feel guilty can help, I’m the first to not put pressure on her. She is the only one keeping a clear head in the band. Luke is blindly following her as he always does. If I don’t help her by alleviating her guilt, she’ll end up giving in under the pressure crushing her right now.
“Okay, I appreciate it, but I want you to solve the situation, not step aside. At the moment, Luke and I can still keep the others under control. None of the three feel like leaving the comfortable Manhattan apartment to return to Brooklyn. Three years ago, you convinced me to get out of the pit where I had buried myself. Now it’s up to you to get us out of this.” She smiles at me, and this time the gesture is less tense. “And now I’m going back to the three thorns in my side because I promised I would bring coffee, and I’ve been gone for two hours.”
She gets up and hugs me, something she doesn’t often do, and it makes my heart tighten in a vise. I watch her disappear among the people filling the streets of Manhattan at lunchtime, and when I look back at Emily, I notice she is studying me with concern.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes nail me to the chair, and it’s challenging to flash her a smile and find the right words to seem in complete control of a situation that is getting out of hand.
“They’re just a slightly tougher client than I’ve had in the past, that’s all.”
But the expression on her face tells me I did not convince her. Nevertheless, I continue. “And we have to find others as well. We can’t just focus on Red Velvet. We need artists for Jail Records and pretty quickly if we don’t want to go bankrupt.” My voice is firm, and I force a smile on my face. “Do you have any ideas about that? Where to look?”
For the moment, we’ll manage to stay afloat, especially after the success of the documentary. Still, the expenses continue to eat up what we’ve set aside at the speed of light, and before the end of the year, we will have to use part of our savings if we want to produce and promote another album. Or decide to think about our retirement and shut down the record label.
She looks at me for a few seconds too long, and I know she’s aware that I’m trying to divert from the topic we just went over with Lilly. Luckily, she decides not to investigate further and supports my attempt to distract her. She reaches out a hand and rests it on mine, perhaps to reassure me, but the contact puts me on such edge that I jolt away. She frowns and looks at me strangely but doesn’t say a word about my reaction, admittedly an over-exaggeration for such innocent contact.
“I would say to find someone not too famous, to avoid paying stellar advances. Besides the bands playing around New York, YouTube is a good place to start.”
She seems invigorated as she answers my question, and I’m glad she has countless ideas. But I don’t hear them. Not even a syllable can reach my brain, too busy reliving the conversation with Lilly. It’s strange how anything else completely loses meaning compared to her words.
Losing the Red Velvet Curtains as a client is not only a personal defeat that burns, it’s also a punch in the face to my public credibility as a manager. In this industry, reputation is everything to find new customers. The old record company will play the dirty game of amplifying the rumors of my defeat. Not finding artists willing to sign with me means sinking Jail Records.
I look at Emily, smile at her, nod at her words, and answer with a “Yes, of course” and another smile, but I pray with all my heart that she doesn’t ask more questions. She would understand I am light years away from this conversation, that the worry is devouring my heart and brain, and that all control over my job is slipping from my fingers. And what hurts most is that if she notices this, I’ll risk seeing the respect for me in her eyes disappear. The mere thought that she may no longer come looking for me for advice on how to do this job makes me sick.
“Mom! Are you home?” I push the front door open with one foot while holding my laptop bag and the laundry basket in my arms.
I walk into the usual Sunday afternoon chaos that makes me smile after a week of tension in the office had skyrocketed. After we met Lilly on Monday for lunch, the bad mood haunted us until the weekend, like a black cloud over our heads. The kids shouting in the backyard and Gabriela’s thunderous laugh invading the living room make me smile. Ever since I was a child, this house has had a festive atmosphere on Sunday afternoons.
“Emily, again?” My mother’s resigned face appears on the threshold of the living room. Her hazel eyes rest on the massive pile of dirty clothes.
“The laundry room in the building is out of order. It flooded up to the storage in the next room. The lady on the third floor shouted so much on the phone with the landlord that I thought the veins in her neck would burst. Apparently, she kept her stamp collection in boxes in there,” I explain as she helps put everything on the sofa so buried under throw pillows that it’s impossible to sit. Am I wrong, or was the pink crochet one not there two weeks ago when I came to visit?
“You should really think about changing condos. That landlord is a joke,” she scolds as she approaches the basket and begins to separate the whites from the colored.
“I think it’s all an excuse to come here on Sundays and eat the churros.” Gabriela’s thundering voice makes me turn toward her.
She stands, with open arms and an imposing figure, waiting for me to wrap her in an embrace. I cling to her waist as I did as a child and enjoy the crush that squeezes the air out of my lungs. When my mother worked two jobs and couldn’t look after me, Mrs. Gabriela, our longtime neighbor, practically raised me along with all the other kids in this Queens neighborhood where there isn’t a lot of money, but hearts are big.
“Are there some with cinnamon sugar?”
She looks at me like I just told her I set fire to her collection of rag dolls. “Of course, they’re your favorites! You know I always cook them.”
I smile and kiss her on the cheek before returning to my mother and helping her bring the clothes to the washing machine.
When we walk into the kitchen, Gabriela has already put four giant churros in a dish. I doubt I will be able to eat all of them. “So, tell us a little about life with the rock stars. These two poor ladies need to dream. We haven’t seen a cute guy in years.” Gabriela winks at me while my mother smiles and sits at the kitchen counter next to me.
They both work all day long, and while Gabriela has had Mr. Carlos to keep her company for almost fifty years, my mother rarely goes out, and I never see her with a man.
I never knew my father. From what she told me, I am the result of a relationship she had when she was a little older than a teenager. They had already broken up when she found out she was pregnant and didn’t tell him about my existence. However, I have never seen her with any other man, and I don’t know if it is because she hasn’t had time to find someone since she works two jobs to pay the mortgage or if she doesn’t want a relationship.
“It’s much less glamorous than you might expect. These days we are losing our heads to try to free the Red Velvet Curtains from the contract that is killing their careers,” I admit as I bite into the best fried, sugar-covered churro I’ve ever eaten. A little moan of appreciation escapes my lips.
