I stood, along with the rest of the band as we slowly through the door and into the office beyond. I was the last one through and closed the door as I turned around to view the manger of
"Black House" Records. I wasn't let down by my expectations of the manager. A man medium height, skinny, with slicked back blond hair sat at a desk that took up most of the room, with four small brown chairs around in. On his reedy frame structured a slightly unbuttoned shirt, and too-tight pants. I didn't get a glance at his shoes, but I was guessing that he had on a pair of polished dress shoes.
"Hi, Welcome, you must be "Dark Dreams"?" We all nodded are agreement as we all sank into the chairs surrounding his desk. "Well, nice to meet you all." He had a slight accent that I placed from Bridgeport. Interesting..what was a big-city man doing here in Starlight Shores? That was a very easy question to answer. All of us hear knew it. Maybe experienced it. After he encouraged us to roll-call our names, he then told us the he was the site manager for "Black House" Records, not surprising considering his get-up. Not really our "boss" then, figures. The real boss just be too "busy" to talk to us at the moment. He also told us to call him "Mark". Wonderful. Now he wants to get chummy with us. That's going to go away really fast when you see our work ethic, I thought.
My gaze strayed around the room as he talked about what he was going to do with our band, and how great we where going to be. Yeah right, I snorted mentally at that part of the speech. That was a bunch wasted words to me. But the rest of the band sucked it up like they were thirsty on a hot day. The rest of the room matched the room we had just exited, yellow peeling paint, linoleum floor, creaking brown leather chairs, and a potted plant off to the side of the door on a stand that barely fit in the room. As I took in a calming breathe, I soon found that this room smelled exactly like the other too. Only the over powering smell of the cologne, "Call me Mark" A.K.A the manager was wearing gave the room a toxic scent.
Soon the meeting was over and everyone was shaking hands and heading out the door. Before we left, he notified us of a practice to "see what we sounded like in real-life". Like that really mattered. It was already to late to un-sign us, unless we messed up with the terms of agreement. (A one year contract, and we had to actually do well at shows.) As I hit the front door with the rest of my band mates, we grunted our good-byes as we headed out the door, onto the rainy street beyond. I quickly pulled my hood over my head under the small awning over the door way. Before I headed off into the empty street beyond, hoping to be lucky enough to flag a taxi to take me home.
End of Chapter Two