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He sat frozen for the entire performance, his bohut completely forgotten. It was obvious the band hadn’t been together long. There were hitches here and there, a few false starts, and a couple of equipment failures that set the band and crew scrambling.
However, the music was bombastic and the performers intent on delivering. Parlek’s assessment the singer had an astonishing range was proven over and over. Though a couple of patrons left before the first song finished, the majority stayed. Others came in. By the time the performers were halfway through their set, what had been a quiet club was well over half full, and they voiced their appreciation during and after each song.
They’re incredible. I have to sign them.In his excitement, he forgot for an instant he no longer managed bands.
The chills insistently playing up and down his spine had always been a surefire indication he’d found a special act. The problem was, Parlek himself was no longer special. He was as far from special as a former manager could be, no longer able to convince recording companies to take his coms. His name, once among the elite, was now synonymous with failure.
As the music swelled over him and the chills kept coming, he knew he had to try.
Chapter Thirteen
As soon as the last song ended and the band began to make their way backstage…the blind singer helped by her bandmates…Parlek hurried to meet them. He had to weave through the crowd, but he got to the stage a couple of seconds after the spenruk, the last through the curtain, disappeared.
The three Nobeks serving as crew eyed him suspiciously, pausing their breakdown of the set when he joined them on the stage. “That was amazing. I used to manage bands, and I’d like to talk to them,” he babbled, hoping they wouldn’t toss him out on his ass.
One nodded and waved for him to go on. He rushed to catch the band before they left.
They were standing around, grinning and babbling in Earther when he burst in. The spenruk, a Nobek, immediately stepped in front of the woman to glower at Parlek. Parlek put his hands up in a peace gesture.
“Dramok Parlek. I used to manage Bodies in Chains, Bloodletter, Venomous—”
“And Unrestrained Carnage.” The howler, obviously a Dramok, stepped forward. His demeanor offered no friendliness.
“Yes. Them too.” Parlek forced himself maintain a level gaze. “My greatest success and failure, as everyone knows.”
“I still can’t believe you didn’t go to prison camp.” The trasbu player rolled his eyes at the rest.
Parlek was tempted to turn and leave. Even bands hungry for notoriety and a deal weren’t hungry enough for him.
His mouth had different ideas. “I’ve never heard this rimnastin music you played.”
“Because we invented it. This is the first time it’s been played in public.” Despite his obvious disdain for Parlek, the howler’s pride brought a smile to his face. He couldn’t restrain himself. “Did you see their reaction? They really liked it!”
“They did.” Parlek was awed. “How could they not? It’s new, and it’s amazing. So much power and yet there’s melody and the singing…wow, the singing. It didn’t matter I couldn’t understand the words. She’s incredible.”
“She is.” The howler grinned at the woman, who peered over the Nobek’s shoulder despite her seeming lack of sight. He jabbered in her language, and she smiled.
“You don’t manage now,” the trasbu said. His hostility had lessened to cautious curiosity. “You were run out of the business, weren’t you?”
“More on the order of frozen out,” Parlek admitted. “I lost all my clients. No one would talk to me. So yeah, I’ve been done for a while.” He had a sudden inspiration. “Which means I have nothing to lose by representing you.”
The three men stared at him. The howler said, “Having you as a manager would be a death stroke to our careers.”
“No one has to know, not to start.” Parlek said.
“Saying you have nothing to lose isn’t exactly complimentary.”
He felt firm footing and stepped on it. “Do you think any Kalquorian manager will touch this music? Even as good as it is, can you imagine anyone going out on a limb for this? I would have back in the day, but I had better sense than most.” When they glanced at each other, their expressions unconvinced, he pressed, “Who signed Bloodletter when everyone else said they were too old to sell? Who kept getting Illusion of Life the big contracts, though their lineup changed up until none of the original members were left?”
“You were the biggest and the best,” the howler admitted.
“It’s been several years since I touched base with anyone in the business,” Parlek said. “I have a few favors due I never called in and knowledge of activities certain people would rather leave undiscovered.” Their sins weren’t close to the debacle starring Unrestrained Carnage, whose members had lived up to then died to their name, but they’d provided him juicy blackmail material just the same. “I won’t give them your band’s name. Just a demo for them to listen to. They won’t learn who you are until you’re signed to a deal, so your lemanthev reputation will remain intact.” He sweetened the deal by playing his final card. “I won’t ask you to take me as a manager unless I score you a life-changing deal.”
The men exchanged looks again. The woman was quiet, incredibly patient considering she was unable to follow the conversation and forced to wait, blind.
“We’ll discuss it,” the howler said.
The answer wasn’t a no. Parlek allowed himself to hope for the first time in years.
