Tangerine

Chapter 95

Soundtrack: The Moody Blues - Tuesday Afternoon

Dedication: (Presunzione) so, i know we just met and this might be super quick, but here is a dedication for you :) i don't know how you read tangerine in two days, but i'm glad you did because your thoughts are deep and you love led zeppelin and i think that's so fantastic. this is the chapter i was talking about. thanks a million for your detailed feedback, because even though it was already written at the time, your voice was a really big part of fine-tuning this update :)

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I keep my pace a good distance behind my manager as we're led through the vast office atrium.

We wait for the lift in silence.

Mitch looks at me, noticing I haven't been talking much all day. "It's gonna be fine," he tells me as the doors open.

I nod, stepping into the lift behind him.

He looks at me to make a comment.

I don't feel like talking at all, really.

"Know what you're gonna do?" he carries on.

"What?"

"Play it up for them. Show them you're gonna get those ratings," Mitch informs me lightly, pressing the button for our floor. "Because remember those pictures?"

"Shin-dler's list," I mumble with a roll of my eyes, but my words completely go over his head.

"Still have 'em," Mitch says bluntly. "Don't wanna leak 'em."

"Is that-?" I scoff, having heard the same thing too many times before. "What does that even mean?"

"Haven't you ever heard of a raison d'etre?" Mitch chuckles pompously. "It's motivation!"

"Other than simply being fucking encouraging?!" I spit out, sighing and shutting my mouth as I catch myself. "Sorry, but... it sounds like blackmail to me."

"Blackmail! Scarlet, listen to what you're saying," Mitch's face falls distractedly, though he still manages to carry on. "I have to say, I'm a touch offended. I'm just trying to get you out there, like I always have. My apologies if I'm coming off as a little pushy-"

"It's not just that..."

"-but above all, I'd just love to see you succeed! That's what I'm here for and I'm putting all of my energy into this," Mitch stresses for me to hear. "I do so much for you, Scarlet. Things like this are gonna happen. This is just one teeny tap on the rear, it's not-"

"Okay," I say, raising my hands. "Okay, I believe you."

"I hope so," Mitch says, voice softening as we reach our floor. "You can trust me, of all people."

I nod, swallowing a lump down my throat.

I wish I could say I believe that.

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Our meeting went really well, despite whatever tension was left between me and Mitch. It's now set in stone that I'll be visiting the Hollywood TV studios in LA in just over a week. However, even once our meeting ended and we went our separate ways to rest before tomorrow's show in San Jose, so much still feels unsettled.

A manager is supposed to manage my talent.

Not my body. Not my mind. Not my personal choices.

I understand that marketing is mostly what it's about these days ‒ with the rise in social media, trending topics and click-worthy tabloid lines. Almost overnight, the music business has become a hard-shelled entertainment business. It's a soap opera. A dramatic tool to lure us in for the punch. And although I did sign myself over for the length of the tour, I didn't sign up for this.