by Wells, Nicky
Mike shook his head in apparent wonderment. ‘I so made the right choice hiring you. You sure you won’t let me pay you?’
‘Not yet. I—’
I didn’t get to finish my sentence as the house lights went out and the show started. Mike picked up his bottle and gently pushed his way further to the front so that he could observe the drummer better. Picking up my own drink, I abandoned the table and sidled my way in the general direction of Iron Dave. If Mike wanted to talk with the band, a little distraction for the powerful manager in the shape of one Emily Trenden might just buy him enough time.
Chapter Forty-Two
I leaned against a pillar slightly in front of my prey. I had a good view of the stage, and I was certain that Iron Dave would see me. For a couple of songs, I listened intently, sipping at my drink periodically and nodding my head every now and then. Out of the corner of my eye, I made sure that Iron Dave was still where he was supposed to be.
Once my drink was finished, I abandoned the bottle and took my notebook out of my little handbag instead. I opened it to a blank page and clipped a handy reading light to the top so I could see what I was doing. On previous occasions, I had tried a similar tactic using my mobile phone, but quickly realised that I simply looked like somebody texting, and that wasn’t what I had in mind.
I cocked my ear and chewed my pen. Quick out-of-the-corner-of-eye check… Dave was still there. And I had caught his interest.
Ignoring the strange shaky sensation that always overcame me when I knew I was being watched, I started taking notes. I titled the page with ‘The Rough Shods’ in big letters heavily underlined. At length, I added random bullets in smaller print. Knowing that I was on Dave’s radar, I focused intently on the stage. No move, no riff, no beat escaped my attention. The singer tripped over a line of his lyrics but recovered, and I marked that in my notebook, adding a smiley face as code for ‘well done.’
Vaguely, I sensed a bodily presence next to me, but I resisted the temptation to look. Instead, I angled my notebook towards me just so, letting my new neighbour know that I was aware of his presence and didn’t want him to read my notes, but allowing him—just—to do so anyway.
The bassist chose that fortuitous moment to blunder dramatically. I couldn’t work out if he had missed a cue or if he was clueless, but he was out of tempo and out of synch with the song and failed to catch up. The result was discordant and unpleasant. I noted the singer’s look of panic and slight hesitation, and I ‘tskd’ to myself. I made a final note and closed my pad with a flourish, unclipping the light and folding it neatly into the front.
When I poked out my elbow to stuff the pad back into my bag, I accidentally-on-purpose collided with the person next to me and flashed him an apologetic smile. Iron Dave smiled back. Yes!
I took great care not to react too keenly but simply returned my eyes to the stage and leaned once more against the pillar. Dave stepped a little closer.
‘You done taking notes?’ he asked by way of opening gambit.
Breathe, Emily, breathe. I gave him my best ‘what’s-it-to-you’ look and offered a monosyllabic, ‘Yup,’ my eyes still trained on the stage.
‘You don’t sound impressed.’
I shrugged ever so slightly. ‘They’re not what I expected.’
‘Really? Why not?’
At last, I turned and faced Dave, accepting the invitation to talk. ‘The songs are good. But the band isn’t working together yet. I guess they have a way to go.’
Dave weighed his head from side to side. ‘A harsh critic. They have potential, though, don’t you think?’
I considered this question seriously. How best to answer? I needed to put Dave off the band, yet maintain his interest and introduce my own agenda. My mouth spoke before my brain had wrapped itself around the task at hand.
‘Truth be told,’ I heard myself saying, almost shouting over the crescendo in the latest song, ‘I’m not too impressed. There are plenty of similar bands out there who “zing” more on stage. Something’s missing here.’
Dave raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so? How interesting you should say that.’ He extended his hand. ‘I’m Dave, by the way.’
Gulp. He had taken that step—he had introduced himself. Stay cool, Emily!
I shook his hand. ‘Emily.’
‘Nice to meet you, Emily. I say…’ He hesitated for a moment, casting a quick look at the stage where The Rough Shods were evidently wrapping up their set. I followed his gaze, scanning the crowd for Mike. Ah, there he was—ready and poised to snag the drummer when the band started their take-down.
‘I say,’ Dave repeated. ‘Fancy a drink at the bar, where it’s a bit quieter?’
I swallowed hard, and Dave misinterpreted my hesitation.
‘I swear this isn’t a dodgy pick-up phrase,’ he offered quickly. ‘But I’m interested in why this band didn’t do it for you. It’s…’ He lifted his shoulders, a tiny movement up and down. ‘It’s my business, you see. I’m really just curious.’
‘Ah. Sure, okay. Why not?’ I feigned nonchalance. My heart was beating wildly, and I was near dizzy with excitement. What was the way forward? Would it be better to let on that I knew who he was? Would that buy me more professional kudos? Or should I continue playing the ingénue?
I picked up my bag and shot a last glance at the stage before following Dave. By chance, I caught Mike’s eye, and I inclined my head in what I hoped was a meaningful manner towards the bar. Mike’s eyes flicked from me to Dave in front of me and back, and he grinned. He mouthed something, but I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. In a heartbeat, the moment was gone. I picked up my pace to catch up with Dave.
‘What’s your poison?’ Dave signalled to the bar man while he asked me his question.
‘Rum and coke, please. Thanks.’
‘One rum and coke, one Jack on the rocks,’ Dave issued his order. I spotted a table going empty while he spoke, and nudged him gently.
‘I’ll grab that table, shall I?’
I left to secure our seats before he had a chance to respond. It was a cunning move too, because I picked the chair facing the dance floor and stage, which meant I would be able to spot Mike if and when he emerged, and Dave would have to sit facing away from the action.
‘So, Emily.’ Dave appeared and set our drinks on the table. ‘Not enough “zing” for you tonight?’
I shook my head. ‘Nope. They didn’t seem to gel.’
Dave sat down and looked at me thoughtfully. ‘You have a lot of experience of looking at new bands?’
Aha. I had intrigued him. He was sussing out the competition.
‘Some.’ I touched the top of my glass but without picking it up. ‘Thanks for this.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Dave sipped at his Jack. ‘To be honest, I’m a little disappointed, too.’
‘Is that so? In what way?’
Dave shrugged. ‘As you say, they didn’t play together as well as they should. There’s potential, but I’m not sure it’s worth the hard work.’
I privately died a thousand deaths, and my heart went out to The Rough Shods. Please forgive me for what I am about to do, I begged of the unknown musicians. If music is your destiny, your time will come, but it’s not tonight.
Out loud, I agreed with Dave. ‘Probably not. There are plenty more bands out there who are further along the way.’
Dave’s eyes lit up with interest. ‘I’m intrigued to hear you say that. Listen… I don’t mean to be crass, but haven’t I seen you around lately? You look incredibly familiar.’
‘You might have seen me around, I suppose. I’m looking for a few people,’ I conceded after a little pause, as though reluctant to part with the information.
‘You are?’
I smiled and inclined my head but said no more. Dave fiddled with a cardboard coaster, turning it over and over in his hands like a magician doing a finger flip with a coin. He scrutinised me for a few seconds and took a breath. We were dancing
the industry dance, and he was launching into his next move.
‘You signing folks?’
I knew it! I gave myself a mental high five for rattling his cage. He was buying my untold story. He was taking me for real.
‘Am I signing folks?’ I repeated. ‘Now there’s a question.’
I let my statement hang for a moment before coming clean. ‘No, I’m not signing folks in the way you’re thinking. But I am helping to look for musicians, among others.’
‘How so?’
My turn to introduce a show-off move into our dance.
‘It’s for a new band I’ll be looking after. A client of mine is embarking on a new venture. I think you might have heard of him.’ I paused for a second as though debating whether to share the name but ploughed on without doing so. ‘The scratch demos are in the can. Now he wants to put together the band that will make them come to life. I’m helping with the search.’
Dave chewed on this information. ‘And you wanted to recruit The Rough Shods? Is that why you’re disappointed?’
‘Nope.’ This time I did take a sip of my drink to stall the conversation. I was very deliberate about it, lifting the glass, tilting it just so, swallowing my drink and setting the glass down again. ‘I’m excited, actually. I’ll feel less bad about taking away the drummer if my client finds he lives up to expectations.’
‘The drummer, eh?’ Dave didn’t miss a beat. ‘He was good. He kept it together, that was impressive work.’
‘Agreed.’
Silence. Dave was still fiddling with his coaster. He was also chewing at his bottom lip, not very ostentatiously, but I could see his agitation anyway. Out came the next question.
‘Are you this new band’s manager?’
Game, set and match. Nearly.
‘Nope. I’m looking for the right manager. That falls under the heading, “among others”.’ I smiled.
Dave sat up a little straighter. ‘Interesting,’ he offered quickly. ‘I might be able to help you with that.’
I looked him up and down pointedly. ‘You got my attention.’
Did I really say that? To Iron Dave? Normally, that would be his line. Did I really manage to turn the tables on this infamous manager? I hardly dared breathe.
Dave cleared his throat. ‘I would need to hear the demo first, of course, and meet the singer. Better still, meet the band he’s assembling. But yeah.’ He smiled modestly. ‘I can sort out your client with a manager.’
‘Well.’ I inhaled deliberately. ‘The demo is easy. But look, I’m not after any old manager. I want the best.’
‘I’m not suggesting any old manager.’ Dave looked offended, and I laughed silently. ‘What exactly do you mean, the demo is easy? Have you got it with you?’
Easy, now, easy. You got him hooked. Reel him in gently.
‘Of course I do,’ I retorted. ‘I’d not be doing my job properly if I didn’t. But…’ I bit my lip. ‘No offense, or anything, but I’m not prepared to play it to just anyone. I’m sure you’ll understand.’
Dave recoiled visibly. ‘Wow,’ he muttered. ‘Most bands batter down my door for a chance to let me hear their demos. You really are a cool customer.’
‘Not cool,’ I smiled serenely. ‘Only careful. My client got burned once, and we’re not going there again.’
Dave gave me a curious look. ‘Burned, eh? By the manager?’
‘Nope. By the band. But it’s a long story. Let’s simply say he likes to keep his material safe now. As well he should, because it’s dynamite.’
‘Rock, is it?’ Dave was fishing. I could see the cogs turning in his head.
‘Uh-huh.’
We sat in silence once more, to the extent that this was possible in a noisy pub. I was tingling all over and almost had to clamp my hands in front of my mouth to stop myself from blurting out something inappropriate. I couldn’t believe the game I was playing. Where was it all coming from?
And then I realised. It wasn’t that dissimilar from the smoke and mirrors, playing-cards-close negotiations surrounding mergers and acquisitions. I had been the master of strategy there. It turned out to be a transferrable skill! And even though I had confessed to Mike that I hated the whole business, this was different. This was strategy for a real purpose, not for someone’s fictitious millions.
Abruptly, Dave laid his cards on the table. Literally. He presented me with two business cards, one for Dave Kline, Director and Manager, and one for Kline & Co Music Media Management Company.
I picked up the cards and looked at them carefully. I hoped that Dave didn’t notice how much my hands were shaking. This was it. He was making a move. He would listen to the demo. Oh God, how I hoped he would like it. I cleared my throat.
‘You’re Iron Dave,’ I finally acknowledged. ‘How exciting to put a face to the name. I’m honoured.’ I gave a little bow.
Dave raised his chin ever so slightly and lightly tapped his fingers against one knee. I didn’t think he knew he was doing it, but it appeared that he was gratified that I had recognised his name.
‘And you are?’
‘Emily Trenden,’ I introduced myself formerly. I also produced a card, thankful that Mike had pushed me to create some the previous week. ‘You never know when you need them,’ he had said, and he had been right. Emily Trenden, Artist Publicity and Promotion, my card proclaimed. It was simple but powerful, giving my mobile phone number, Facebook and Twitter IDs, and the web address that I had bought. Dave took in the bold white-gold writing on a background of hazy stage lights and flashed me a smile.
‘So, Emily. You’re a publicist. New to the scene, but evidently hot. You’ve got a certain flair.’ He nodded to himself. ‘All right. You’ve got me intrigued. Who are this band and this artist you’re representing?’
I took a deep breath. I hoped that Mike would be okay with this. If only I had thought to ask him about this eventuality when I noticed Iron Dave was here tonight. But it had never occurred to me, not for one wildly misguided second, that I would get to speak to the man and take matters this far.
‘The band will be called Fallen For Rock. Mike is in the process of putting it together as we speak. He has found a bass player, and he was hoping to gain a drummer tonight. He has a lead guitarist in mind, and we’re seeing him next week.’
‘Mike.’ Dave’s voice was almost hoarse. ‘As in, Mike Loud? Of MonX?’
I nodded. This was it. The first hook. How would he feel about taking on Mike?
Dave chewed his lip some more. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this was one of his tells. He was interested but trying to play it cool.
‘I was wondering what Mike would get up to,’ he finally offered. ‘I’d been watching MonX for a while. Break-up was inevitable.’
I said nothing. Quite suddenly, Dave looked at me all over again, even more closely this time. ‘Are you the woman from the photo?’
I sighed. Would that photo ever go away? But there was no point in lying. Dave had been known to fire artists, not for any indiscretion or scandal they had got embroiled in, but for the fact that they tried to hide the truth from him.
‘It’s a long story, but yes. And no, there were no drugs involved.’
‘Ah. Good.’ Presented with a simple admission, Dave dropped the matter instantly as if it were of no real consequence to him now. ‘Well. I’ll look forward to hearing the story one of these days. Now will you let me off the hook and let me hear what you’ve got?’
Whoa. I struggled to keep up the pace. If Dave was willing to shrug off a potential scandal just like that, he really had to be interested. But playing the demo? Here? Now? Once more, my mouth spoke before my brain caught up.
‘You’ll have to listen on my iPod. With earphones. Otherwise the ambient noise…’ I made a rolling hand gesture and tilted my head.
‘Okay.’
Okay? Just like that? Oh man.
I shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal after all and dug out my iPod. Figuring that we would
be lucky to get ten seconds of Dave’s time, I selected ‘United We Stand’ and hit play while Dave plugged himself into the earphones. I was very nearly sick with excitement and worry. I had never felt this nervous before, and it wasn’t even like this was for me!
Dave closed his eyes and focused on the music. His face was completely blank. Inwardly, I counted the seconds. I reached ten and expected some kind of reaction from Dave, but his eyes remained closed and his face impassive. He might have been in a trance or something.
I swallowed and kept up a silent count. ‘United We Stand’ had to have finished by now, but still Dave didn’t surface. I sipped my drink and noticed Mike hovering at the bar. He was making frantic hand gestures and mouthing questions at me. I gave a surreptitious wave and pointed first at my ears, then at Dave. Mike pulled a face of comical horror and pointed at his watch. I held up my right hand, five fingers upright. Five more minutes, I tried to communicate. Mike acknowledged my request by repeating the gesture.
At last, Dave opened his eyes and unplugged himself from the earphones. His face remained inscrutable, and I resisted the urge to prompt for a reaction. I nearly had to bite off my tongue, but I didn’t say anything.
As more and more seconds ticked by without a word from Dave, tears of disappointment pricked at the back of my eyes, and I had to blink rapidly. The silence was excruciating. I didn’t know where to look.
It seemed like an eternity before Dave spoke, but when he did, he smiled.
‘I’d like to meet Mike. And I’d like a copy of that demo.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Result!
I summoned every ounce of professionalism in my body and remained in my seat, my hands resting calmly on the table. I allowed myself to smile, but I didn’t air-pump my fists or squeal at the top of my voice. I wanted to. By God, I wanted to. But I didn’t.
