Page 6 of Giving Chase
"Hey, Dr. Hendricks? It's Chase. I think I'm going to need an extra session this week. Something big is coming up, and I need to be ready."
As I talk to my therapist, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. Whatever happens with Eliza, whatever comes next, I know one thing for sure: I'm not the same man I was five years ago. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to start making things right.
March 11, 2004
The Blackmore Records lobby reeks of ambition and expensive perfume. I shift in the stylish but uncomfortable leather chair, its cool surface a stark contrast to the sweat beading on my lower back. My borrowed dress shirt itches, a constant reminder that I don't belong in this world of polished marble and abstract art.
To my left, Will's leg bounces like he's auditioning for a new drummer position. Mark sits unnaturally still on my right, his usual energy coiled tight, ready to snap.
"If you don't stop that," I mutter to Will, "I'm going to throw up on your shoes."
Will's leg freezes mid-bounce. "Shit, sorry," he whispers back. "I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin."
Mark leans in, his breath smelling of the mints he's been chomping on since we arrived. "Remember the plan. United front. No matter what they offer, we discuss it privately first. Got it?"
We nod, a trio of terrified soldiers preparing for battle. The thing is, I'm not sure if we're fighting against Blackmore or our own self-doubt.
A sharp click-click-click of heels against marble slices through the tension. My head snaps up, and suddenly, there she is. Eliza Kerr, larger than life and twice as daunting.
Christ on a cracker.
If I thought she was stunning in the dim light of the Viper Room, she's absolutely devastating in broad daylight. Hercharcoal outfit is all clean lines and subtle curves, projecting an aura of power that makes my mouth go dry. Her platinum hair is pulled back, revealing a face that could launch a thousand ships – or sink them with a single raised eyebrow.
But it's her eyes that hold me captive. Steel grey, sharp as a blade, and focused entirely on us. I feel laid bare, like she can see every dream, every fear, every half-formed lyric scribbled on bar napkins at 2 AM.
"Gentlemen," she says, her voice a low, rich timbre that settles somewhere deep in my chest. "Thank you for coming. Follow me, please."
As we trail after her, I can't help but notice every head turn as she passes. She's like a shark cutting through water, sleek, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. I'm both terrified and exhilarated by the thought of working with her.
The conference room is bigger than our entire practice space, with views of the LA skyline that remind me just how high the stakes are. Eliza gestures for us to sit, taking her place at the head of the table like a queen holding court.
"So," she begins, folding her hands in front of her. "Incendiary Ink. Let's talk about your future."
What follows is the most intense hour of my life. Eliza doesn't just ask questions; she dissects our answers, challenging every assumption, pushing us to think bigger, dream harder. She's not interested in what we think she wants to hear. She wants the truth, raw and unfiltered.
I find myself leaning forward, drawn into a verbal sparring match that's equal parts thrilling and terrifying. There's a glint in her eye when I push back against one of her points, a quirk of her lips when I make a particularly passionate argument about our sound. It's intoxicating.
Finally, she leans back, a chess master who's seen all the moves. "Alright, here's what Blackmore can offer you."
The deal she outlines is beyond our wildest dreams. Creative control, marketing budgets that make my head spin, and tour support that could put us in venues we've only dreamed of playing. It's more than we ever dared hope for, and I can feel the excitement building in the room.
As Eliza finishes laying out the offer, I glance at Will and Mark. Their faces mirror what I'm feeling - pure, unadulterated shock. We're stunned into silence, the magnitude of what's being offered rendering us momentarily speechless.
But Eliza misreads our silence. I watch as a flicker of uncertainty crosses her face, quickly replaced by determination. She leans forward, her eyes intense.
"I can see you're not convinced," she says, her voice taking on an edge of... is that desperation? No, that's not quite it. It's more like fierce determination. "So let me sweeten the deal."
We exchange confused glances. Sweeten the deal? How could it possibly get better than this?
Eliza takes a deep breath, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. She's making a decision right here, right now.
"I'll personally manage your band."
The words hang in the air, adding another layer of shock to our already overwhelmed minds. Did she just say what I think she said?
"You... what?" Will manages to croak out, his voice barely above a whisper.
Eliza nods, seeming to gain confidence as she speaks. "You heard me. I'll be your manager. Direct access to me, 24/7. My full attention, my connections, my expertise - all at your disposal."