Page 33 of Your Play to Call
My most recent album and stadium tour exceeded all expectations, and everyone was insanely pleased with the outcome. I was successful before the tour, but I’ve blown other markets wide open—people who didn’t listen to me before are inhaling my previous albums. I’m guessing the label knows just how much based on the suits sitting around the conference room.
Cue even more sweating.
“There she is… our girl, Willow,” Erik, my product manager, announces as I walk in. He’s the type who needs control of the details or at least having a hand in them.
If announcing my arrival wasn’t terrible enough, he starts to clap, and the entire room follows his lead. My cheeks turn hot, and it takes everything I have not to stare at my shoes.
“Oh, stop it. It’s nice to see everyone.” I reach for handshakes because if I’m shaking their hands, they certainly can’t be clapping.
When the introduction fanfare is complete, thank god, I grab “my seat”, determined by the steaming mug of peppermint tea.
Claire takes a chair next to me, reaching for the foamy cappuccino waiting for her and sucking down her first drink. Claire is a lot of things: a tenacious manager and a caffeine addict are just a few of them.
Emilie sits on the other side, an iced coffee in front of her. I pat her shoulder as we get settled. This is her first label meeting—she was so nervous she didn’t want to come. I don’tneedher here, but part of hiring her was about growing her portfolio and giving her the gift of experience. To be honest, she’s the type of person who could learn anything and kick everyone’s ass in the process.
“First, let’s recognize a job well done by Willow and the whole team.” The sound of clapping fills the room again, making it hard to grab a breath. Claire squeezes my knee under the table, knowing how much I hate this.
“Yes, yes. We know she’s the queen. Hate to rush this part, but we’ve got another meeting to get to.” She gives me the smallest of Claire smirks, the kind only I can detect.
I try not to laugh because Claire’s meeting really entails sushi and spicy salmon wontons.
“Sure, our girl’s got things to do.” The way my skin crawls every time they do that.Our girl. Gives me the ick. “Obviously, the last tour and album were a homerun. Wouldn’t change a thing. Well, except for a few more international dates, right?” he says with a wink. “Kidding, kidding.”
I know he’s not. The label wanted to add more international dates, but I didn’t have it in me. I’d already been touring for almost a year, on and off. I ached for home and my own space. Plus, the tension with Dexter was too high, and I knew another international leg would kill us. Without a doubt.
Didn’t matter anyway.
Before I can respond to the subtle jab about more tour dates, Erik gets focused.
“You asked for a bit of a break from planning and solidifying what’s next. So, I’ll kick it to you. Why don’t you tell us what’s on your mind, what you’ve been working on, whatever you got.” He claps a bit too loudly and then leans forward, clasping his hands, which are borderline too big for his body, on the table. Erik is muscular in a way that makes you wonder if it’s a healthy choice.
I can feel Claire looking at me, trying to channel all her bad bitch energy. Generally, the label execs and bigwigs don’t bother me. She knows I’m about to flip the script and we have no idea what kind of response we’ll get it.
Why is it so damn difficult to ask for what I want? I’ve done my part, put in my time, paid my dues, but that doesn’t still the shaking handsand anxiety. I reach my hands around the mug of hot tea, a perfect distraction.
“Thank you for everyone’s time and the kind words about the tour. It was such a great experience. Core memories. But I’m ready to get into what’s next.” I take a breath to slow my heart rate.
“Don’t tell me you want to act,” Erik says, panic all over his face.
“What? No! It’s nothing like that.” I put the tea to my lips, dragging the silence a second too long. “The next album, I want it to be more acoustic vibes. More like someone’s sitting next to me when they listen to the record. I also want to play all the music for it. I don’t want to use a band.” My mouth is like sandpaper.
“What happened with the band? We can find someone else—” Erik’s voice cuts me off.
“Nothing happened. I love the band and we’ll most likely work together in the future. Here’s the thing, I need this album to be more… intimate.” I feel like I’m a teenager, trying to convince my parents to let me go do something.
The room is filled with mixed reactions, as expected. Some of the suits sit back with their arms crossed, and some lean in forward with what I’m hoping is intrigue.
“I’ve done the massive tours. The press. The appearances. The million-dollar stage designs and costumes. For this next album, I want to play intimate, acoustic shows. Like venues that hold a thousand or less.”
“That’sdefinitelya direction,” Erik scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“It’s a massive pivot. But the music I’m writing will be perfect for this. It will give me a chance to really connect with fans.” My voice wants to drift off at the end, but I fight it.
“Is this about the ticket prices?” Erik asks.
The damn ticket prices. I could notbelievewhat people were paying to come to my concert. By the time I caught wind of it, it was too late to change, or at least that’s what the label insisted. The guilt ate at me, and I made a promise to myself I’d never let that happen again.
“That’s part of it but I want to do something different. I want to showcase other areas of talent. I think an album like this will resonate with my fan base. And to be honest, I need this.” My voice cracks a little at the end, but I think I’m the only one who notices.