Dirty Diana by January James
Chapter Fourteen
Iarrived at Sheridan’s “emergency martini meeting” a little worse for wear. If I hadn’t known that already, I would have deciphered it from Carlos’ look of horror as I approached the table he’d reserved in a bar on the corner of all-hell-has-broken-loose and shitfaced-is-the-only-way-out.
“Don’t…” Sheridan warned him as I dragged my heartbroken, mind-fucked ass onto the stool. “Now is not the time.”
“I’m as gone as you are, sweetie,” he said instead, in an attempt to commiserate with me.
“I’m not gone,” I croaked. “I’m not going fucking anywhere.”
“I told you,” Sheridan whispered to Carlos. “She’s in denial.”
“Well,” Carlos said, straightening and putting an arm around me. “We all know de Nile is a river in Egypt. I’m with Di on this one. I’m not going anywhere either.”
I looked up at him, slightly surprised he was so tied to our little label. I’d thought everything in Carlos’ life was slightly superficial. Apparently I was wrong. He read the skepticism on my face.
“I love it, Di. I love our Phoenix family. I have the best team in the world, and we have some of the best indie acts in the world. I’m not going to let that asshole push them out when they deserve to be heard. The world needs to hear them!” He wiped an eye, dramatically, and I hugged him tightly.
“Thanks, C. I appreciate it. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
“Did you talk to Peyton-Harris?” Sheridan asked.
“Yes. I wouldn’t say it was the most successful or positive conversation I’ve ever had. Certainly not in terms of saving my future at the label anyway.”
“So, your… connection… to him counts for shit?”
I glanced at Carlos, who’d settled himself back on his stool and was pushing an olive delicately around his martini glass.
“I knew you’d tell him eventually,” Sheridan nodded towards Carlos, “so I’ve saved you the time and effort,” she concluded, ever the planner.
“Yes, exactly that. Shit,” I said, taking a grateful sip of the espresso martini they’d ordered for me.
“I have to say, darling,” Carlos purred. “I’m mightily impressed you joined a sex club. My impression of you has shot up the charts. I’m dying to know what it was like.”
I shook my head.
“I can’t… I can’t talk about that right now. I can only think about the shit that’s on my doorstep—the sorry state of my love life and the fact that my actual life is hanging in a balance that HE is in total control of.”
Sheridan reached her hands across the table to give mine a squeeze. “Ok,” she said. “We’re listening.”
I took another big mouthful of martini. “I liked him,” I said, quietly. “I really liked him. From the moment I first saw him, even when he was wearing that ridiculous mask, I knew there was something beneath it. And when he touched me, not in that way, but just casually, I felt some sort of electricity run right through me. I’ve never felt that before, with anyone.”
Sheridan and Carlos listened in silence as I told them of my first night with Jude, and my second, and the rules we’d broken, and the plans he’d made to quit the club for me. They listened as I waxed lyrical about how I’d grown to know someone so intimately in such a short space of time. And they stroked my hair as I broke down, recalling the last conversation we’d had where I realized I hadn’t really known Jude at all.
“I should have known it was all a complete fantasy,” I said, shaking my head again. “But I was sucked in, one hundred percent. Why has this happened to me? Why do I never learn? I date no one! And I’m twenty-seven for God’s sake. Shouldn’t I know better?”
I looked at them both, unconvinced of my own response to that question.
“Honey,” Sheridan replied. “You’re never too old to learn something stupid.”
But I was on a roll, a Di-beating roll of self-pity.
“Why did I have to choose the man who would end up being the most powerful, most hideous and most frustratingly attractive arsehole ever to walk into my life? Why didn’t I just settle for that geeky guy who groped me at the Empirical office party two years ago?”
It was Carlos’ turn to voice his wisdom. “Because if you have to choose between two evils, you should always pick the one you haven’t tried before.”
“You both make it sound as though this was an inevitable rite of passage,” I sulked.
“Well, it is, sort of,” Sheridan said, kindly. “The only difference here being that the man who has effectively dumped you, is now orchestrating the demise of your career. That’s not normal, and I don’t envy you in the slightest.”
“At least you look as hot as shit—present moment excepted,” Carlos volunteered. “He is going to be kicking himself that he can’t finish what he started. You keep up with this new look you’ve unveiled and he’s going to be waddling around the place like Clint Eastwood on Viagra.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, placing my head into its current most-happy place: my hands. I could sense them exchanging concerned looks, like two helicopter parents discussing a newly emo’d teenager.
As I hid my face, I had a sudden realization. I didn’t have much time. I didn’t know how fast this bastard worked, but I couldn’t risk being left behind again. I had to figure out some moves, and make them, fast.
I sat up so quickly Carlos almost fell off his stool.
“I need a campaign,” I announced. “We need to go public with this.”
Sheridan and Carlos stared back at me, wary of my sudden change in mood.
“The statement that went out earlier today was completely misleading at worst and utterly vague at best. We need to tell the public what’s really happening. Our fans need to know that everything we stand for—independent music that hasn’t been falsely manufactured to some data-driven, insta-pop formula—is at risk. They need to know that the music we champion—the home grown, creative, ground-breaking alternative to the manufactured mainstream—could very well go away if we don’t do something to save it.”
“Cherry won’t go away. She could go to another label,” Carlos said. “She’s established enough now.”
“I wouldn’t say Cherry was terribly alternative, though,” Sheridan argued. “But the rest of our acts are. And they need us. No one else will snap them up, I can guarantee you. They’re still relative unknowns; they’re not money-spinners, by any stretch of the imagination.”
“But they have fans,” I reminded them. “And there are millions of people out there who want to see more diversity in the music industry. Reality talent shows are everywhere, they’re like wallpaper. Surely people are getting sick and tired of them. They want something new, and independent music is currently the only thing bringing that. You only need look at all the unsigned YouTubers causing a stir to know that people are looking elsewhere for their music. No one is really championing that stuff. Maybe we could.”
“I like it,” Carlos said, which was a relief because, as Head of Talent, I would expect him to be heavily involved in this.
“So, let me get this straight,” Sheridan said. “We want to champion ALL alternative music so that people will want to save us?”
“In a way, yes,” I said, thinking it through out loud. “We need to reposition ourselves, and quickly. We need to start some sort of Daily Talent Spot, where we highlight a different unsigned act every day right across our platform. We need to open up our own social channels to unsigned artists, and even host online bite-sized concerts showcasing independent talent.”
“So, where does Phoenix fit into all this?” Sheridan asked.
“Because Phoenix signs the best,” I replied. “And we can only do that if we have our finger on the pulse, if we know what’s out there, what people are enjoying.”
“So, you don’t think, by showcasing unsigned talent, we’re drawing ears away from our own artists?” Carlos was also skeptical.
“No. The very opposite,” I replied. “We create a buzz—we design the landscape, we build the houses, then we let people in.”
Carlos frowned, nervously. “I still don’t get. We’re building houses now?”
I laughed, almost light-headed with delight at my spontaneous idea. “No, by handpicking and celebrating the unsigned talent we think people will enjoy, we take ownership of that space, then we introduce our own acts. People love being the first to discover. We give our fans that ability, on a plate, then we hit them with new releases for the small number of acts lucky enough to be signed by us.”
“I like it,” Sheridan said, tapping her cheek with a long manicured fingernail.
“And once all that is in place, we hit the social media channels with a hashtag campaign: #savephoenix. We deliver a service that music fans globally will instantly appreciate, then we tell them it could all be taken away, along with the best of the best that we’ve handpicked to sign. We champion ALL alternative music, not just our own acts. We represent the genre; the principle. If we go, it won’t be long before the other labels follow suit and suddenly the airwaves are awash with manufactured crap.”
I drank the rest of my martini and placed the glass back on the table with a loud ‘clank’.
The two of them looked back at me with something resembling awe; only, it couldn’t have been because it wasn’t too long ago I was bending over backwards to meet every whim of our most diva-licious artist and taking the whole damn label with me.
“We don’t have much time,” Carlos said.
“Are you on board, though?”
“Yes. Absolutely. It’s big, it’s ballsy and, well, it’s all we’ve got. Let’s do it.”
Carlos and I high-fived then we both stared at Sheridan for her verdict.
“I think it’s the bloody best idea you’ve had since you hired me,” she grinned. “I’m in.”