02: Shoot Your Shot

Good music managers were hard to find. It was even harder to become one of the good managers. Especially when working for Damon Phillips. Especially especially if you were known for your bad luck. Even if you knew how to navigate the world of bad luck to end the day with only a few scrapes and scratches.

It was a thankless job a lot of the time, Jake had come to realize, but still a job he wanted to work to the best of his abilities. And he had to work hard to overcome any setback his bad luck could and would arise for him. "Come from behind wins" weren't out of the ordinary, but it also included a lot of nail biting, stomach churning anxiety in the midst of things.

Nevertheless, Jake loved working. Every day was different, but he still got out of bed every day excited to see what would happen. With McFly, there was no shortage on exciting days. And stressful days. And long days.

Pouring himself a cup of lemonade from the pitcher that sat in the middle of the long conference table, Jake glanced at the closed door. Settling back into his swivel chair, he lifted his cup to his lips and swallowed the lemonade in five quick gulps. The sweetness instantly awakened his senses, the tartness stinging the salivary glands in his mouth. His jaw tightened. He smacked his lips and did another spin in the swivel chair, peeking out the large glass windows for any sign of Mr. Phillips.

"Would you relax?" Jake closed his eyes. He used his feet to turn his swivel chair in the direction of Tiffany's voice. He opened his eyes to stare at her. He twisted his mouth to the side. Lifting a hand, she brushed her long dark hair over her shoulder. "Phillips will be here. You better be practicing your pitch; he won't give you a lot of time to give it. He'll give you even less time to screw it up."

Jake lifted a hand, pointing at her. "You know, there was a time where you used to like me," he said.

Tiffany gave him a close-lipped smiled. "That was before," she said simply.

"Before I didn't lose the penthouse and all the money from the advanced check?" he asked. He smiled in amusement when Tiffany rolled her eyes.

"Aren't you cute?" she said flatly. His smiled widened. "Everyone that goes up has to fall every once in a while, Spider-Man."

"You were just hoping I'd swing you up with me," he said. "What with the strength of my Spidey web and all."

"Whatever."

Jake snorted. Tiffany was a hard worker. And she was ambitious. She could spot ways up the corporate ladder faster than anyone else. If that meant making connections (or schmoozing as he saw it) with anyone that seemed to be the next on the up and up, she would place herself in an office with them as soon as possible. But wasn't that how the industry worked? Five minutes in front of the right people and you would be set for life.

That's all you wanted when you first started, Jake reminded himself. Just five minutes with Damon Phillips. If it didn't work out, it didn't work out and, he would have gone on to someone else.

Mr. Phillips had described him as an "idealist and a purist," once, and while others saw that in a bad way, he was proud of it. Life was too short to be serious all the time. For him, it was all about what change, what uniqueness the artists could bring to the industry. It was his job to make them the best they could be and to expand their talents. Finding the target demographic and plotting the track of record sales could be left to someone else.

It was funny what money could do to people. Those who always had it never knew what it was like to go without, and those who never did didn't know what to do with themselves when they got it. It was no wonder a lot of lottery winners ended up going bankrupt so quickly.

Jake wasn't all about the money. It was great to not have to live in that shoddy death trap he called an apartment. It was even better to get Katy out of there, too. But that didn't happen without a lot of time and work put into a lot of little jobs. He still had a standing position open at the Rock and Bowl. Cleaning toilets, scrubbing cheese covered carpets, and scraping gum off tables wasn't the most glamourous of jobs, but it was an honest job to make an honest living. And if you weren't caring for the ones you loved, were you really living?

"I still think you're taking a huge risk here," Tiffany said. "I've crunched the numbers; this will be a huge investment for Masquerade Records."

"It's a huge investment for me, too," Jake said. "It always has been, but I'm not giving up on these guys." He tapped the table with the bottom of his cup. "They deserve this chance."

"I have to give you props," Tiffany said, shaking her head from side to side. "You don't give up easily. Too many people walk out those doors with their heads down."

"Yeah," Jake laughed, "thanks." He smoothed his tie for the umpteenth time. Shifted in his seat. Cleared his throat. "It's been a lot of hard work but, I think this is the right time to go about things."

"Jake," Tiffany said, turning in her seat to face him. She crossed one leg over the other at the knee. "You know what's playing on the radio nowadays. Guitars aren't in mainstream hits."

"But they are still hits," Jake pointed out. "Look at 5 Seconds of Summer. They've got two chart topping albums and have gone on record to state they miss hearing guitars on the radio and wants to bring it back. They're from Australia, just like the DarkElements. They, along with Busted and McFly have always been about playing music they enjoy. As long as they're having fun, charting singles, and record-breaking albums don't matter to them."

"If it didn't matter to them," Tiffany said with a sardonic smile, "then trying to break America wouldn't be so important to them."

Jake waved his hand in the air. He did recognize that she had a point, though. "This could be it," he said, "their time is right now." He jabbed his finger into the hard tabletop. "More people know about their music now through streams and social media. As long as people are out there to see them play, and there are a lot of them, that's all that matters."

"And as long as people are willing to put an investment in them, you mean," Tiffany replied. "We all saw what happened with McFly last time. They had great radio play, a great turn out at the Hard Rock, and then nothing. This happens all the time with new artists."

"Ah, but they're not new artists. They've played the game. They have experience under their belts. They've put in all the work to know what's best for them and what's not. Masquerade Records will be putting their name on the map if they agree to this co-headlining tour. They're not new artists—"

"So it'll cost more – as established artists go, anyway."

Jake jumped to his feet. "This isn't about the money," he insisted. "Co-headline tours aren't new, I'll admit," he said, "but it hasn't ever been done this way. Two bands of the same genre touring together is a big draw, but you're running the risk of fandoms not overlapping." He started pacing back and forth behind his chair. "These bands, they have the built-in audiences. They all have the same musical inspirations and influences. They're all friends with each other. And I mean legitimately friends. They cheer each other on, and wish nothing but the best for each other, prompting new albums whenever they're released and—and-"

For a moment, Jake stumbled over his words, too caught up in the excitement that started building over him. Now was certainly the time. It was good to be back working with the British band, armed with more information and experiences than he had when he first tried his hand at managing their band. And not just their band, but musicians in general. One day he could be stuck in an office fielding numerous phone calls to make sure everything on Mr. Phillips end with the label ran smoothly, and the next, he would be breaking up band fights, quelling anxieties, or keeping up spirits when interviewers asked "What's your favorite ice cream flavor" for the ten millionth time.

Over the past few years, his role working with McFly had greatly dwindled as they had stuck primarily to working in the UK. After their quick rise and fall in America, it was understandable. It was disheartening to say goodbye to them, but also heartwarming to see them leaving in high spirits and still taking cracks with each other. After all, they had managed to do way more than they had set out to. At least, that's how they had explained to Jake at the time. And they had no hard feelings with him, as evidenced with Tom, Danny, Harry, and Dougie keeping in contact with him over the years.

And now it was panning out. Hopefully.

With Jake's numerous roles working at Masquerade Records, he was able to keep his finger on the pulse of the music business and how it differed not only from coast to coast, but from country to country to get an idea of what the hottest trends were. He had even gotten managerial experience working with important clients through Ashley, helping her run events around the city.

While it wasn't exactly the music industry, he would take experience working for many kinds of people any way he could get it. It wasn't always the easiest job, but he was dedicated to doing the best he could. The pay also didn't hurt. When it came time to send Katy to university, it was nice to know he had a means of financing it; scholarships and loans aside. Even Ashley, with her continued position as Vice President of her public relations company, had offered to pay for her college. However, he continued to keep working through the business wherever he could; even interning for Mr. Phillips off and on in between jobs.

And, with his bad luck, it was a testament to show that he could bounce back from any problem. Even the ones he caused himself. Even then, he often found himself going to numerous musical events both for new artists and those who had been in the game long enough not only to see what kind of reception the artists got, but to speak with other managers to get an idea of what the job overall entailed.

Seven years after his first attempt, he was even more excited to get back into the music business and really push things forward. He wanted that success again through hard work and his own merit. And maybe a few hits of luck every now and then.

"I'm not going to lie, it's going to be hard," Jake said, "but this group knows what this industry is all about. They know the kind of music they want to write and want to release. They have experience handling everything personally. Learning how to produce their own music, even."

"If they want to handle all this on their own, how is Masquerade Records going to be making any profit off of this?" Tiffany asked. "Because the only thing I'm hearing right now is that the resources we could provide for them isn't going to be used."

"Why mess with something that's already working for them?" Jake asked. He cleared his throat and pushed his abandoned chair out of the way, shuffling through the stacks of paper on his desk. He found a stack of graphs and charts and pushed it towards her. "That's not to say we can't use the marketing team, or the radio promotions team, and we'll also need to use the facilities here to record. I have great faith that no matter what size the advancement cut will be, they will pay it back in spades. Nostalgia is a big drawing factor nowadays, and these bands have the sound that people used to listen to – because everyone was a teenager once."

"I don't believe in just finding the next biggest hit that will maybe have a single or two played on the radio," Jake said. "I believe in taking what makes an artist stand out and expand on that. And that's their passion. The fun they have making music. It's not about the catchy hooks, or how many albums sell for them, it's just about having fun."

"Having fun doesn't pay my bills."

Jake gulped at the deep, booming voice. He repeatedly smoothed down his tie and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Mr. Phillips, sir," he said as Tiffany flew to her feet. "We were just, uh. Of course we didn't start this meeting without you."

"Of course you didn't," Mr. Phillips replied, stepping further into the room. "Because that would be a waste of money." He lifted an eyebrow in Jake's direction. "Now, making money that is the fun part. From what I could hear, there wasn't a lot about making money."

"Mr. Phillips," Tiffany plastered a bright smile to her face. She used her hip to push her chair to the side. With quick steps, her heels muffled by the carpet, she moved to the head of the table and pulled out the biggest chair. "Please, make yourself comfortable. We've been looking forward to your arrival all day. I can patch in those at Peggy Braden's company if you would like. Whatever decisions we come to today, you'll have the best PR team working with you. As you know."

Mr. Phillips looked thoughtful for a moment as he lowered himself into a chair at the head of the table. "Well, it would save me time from having to drive all the way across the city," he said. "And you know how much I don't like to waste time."

"Of course," Tiffany agreed. She reached towards the center of the table for the keypad. Her fingers quickly flew over the buttons, and soon a dial tone filled the space. "That is why I took the liberty of having a few selections for you for lunch. I can have them delivered at any time. Which would you like? Chinese? Mexican? Sushi?"

"Thinking ahead, saving time." Mr. Phillips nodded his head. He folded his hands into his lap. "However, it's unneeded. I've got quite the spread prepared for me back at home." He turned his attention to Jake, who gulped. "Which I would like to make it to on time. The chef gets paid whether or not I'm there. And I intend to be there."

"Yes—uh—yes, sir." Jake squatted awkwardly over his chair, debating on whether it was better to sit down or stand as he continued to address the businessman. As the seconds of silence wore on, the higher Mr. Phillips's eyebrows lifted, urging him to decide.

"Peggy Braden's office, Samantha speaking."

"Conference call for Miss Peggy Braden," Tiffany said, leaning towards the speaker box in the center of the table, "from Masquerade Records scheduled for 10:45."

"Please hold." There was a soft click sound before silence once again filled the room. Then there was a short beep and a voice said, "Peggy Braden, here."

"Uh, yes, ok. I'll just get right to it, then." Jake rolled his shoulders back. If Peggy was on the line, he was sure that Ashley was seated right next to her. She was Vice President of the company after all. Jake rolled back his shoulders, a new wave of confidence washing over him. He lowered himself into his seat and pulled himself closer to the table. "Every year, the Masquerade Bash is a huge success. People talk about it, and the announcements that come from the night, for weeks. Moving forward—"

"Where are the other two?" Mr. Phillips asked. "The tall one and the British one."

"We've divided and conquered all the business meetings we had today," Jake explained, clearing his throat. "As well, with McFly being the only band having been previously signed to Masquerade Records, they found it to be better that I speak with you today."

"What?" Mr. Phillips laughed. Tiffany's eyes widened in panic. "You think because you saved me all those years ago, I owe you another favor, Spider-Man? If I recall, nothing came to pass after the Hard Rock show."

"Mr. Phillips even you can admit that not every artist signed to your album has always been a hit." Jake felt a smile come to his face when he heard Ashley's husky voice.

"Yes, yes, that is true." Jake nodded feverishly. Tiffany gave him a knowing smile. Jake reached for the pitcher for a second time. "However, your company has certainly built a name for itself over the years. You have great artists that have been releasing great music. And your philanthropic work over the years have aided the community in many ways."

"That is true, Mr. Phillips." Now Peggy was speaking. "You've been one of the most prolific clients we've had. We are honored to work with you every year and are proud that you have decided to continue working with us."

"Um, anyway…" Jake finished his cup. "Moving forward, I asked you in today to discuss the matter of McFly."

"Yes, yes, you want me to sign them again," Mr. Phillips said, waving his hand in the air. "But you haven't told me why, yet."

"Picture a triple co-headlining tour," Jake said. "Not just with McFly, but with the band, Busted, and the band the DarkElements. A joint venture to put on a huge tour. We all know that if you're not in the 1% of this industry – if you don't have a name like Beyoncé, or Madonna — you're not going to be filling up stadiums. Especially if you're not in pop music. It's been harder now than ever for people to fill up venues. So, we're going to go smaller, and we're going to ensure that every seat is filled. If the demand is there, then we can open up."

"Every year, the proceeds from your Masquerade Charity Ball has numerous artists from the label perform. It has also proven fruitful to be a place to introduce your new artists, what with all the media invited to attend the event. People have started to expect big news to come from this ball, so why not have this year's Ball be the event where they announce their co-headlining tour?"

Mr. Phillips slowly nodded his head. His eyebrows had lifted. The corners of his lips were pulled down. Jake had his attention.

"Peggy and Ashley can speak with their plan more one on one but brainstorming for this tour has already begun. Which is why Ronan and Fletch are not with me today; with their own respective companies, they are starting to put together press conferences both here and in Los Angeles—"

"How much is this going to cost us?"

Jake quickly reached for the stack of notecards sitting by his hand. He scrolled through everything he had written out on notecards that morning – notecards that had been blown away by cars that rushed past him as he walked the streets of New York. They had jumped a lot of topics, but he could still follow the conversation.

"Of course, this will be a bigger tour, so we need a tour manager of course. One for each band as we're making this a triple headlining show. They'll house all the itineraries of course, make sure the bands are on time and where they need to be, make sure the merch table is set up, keep lines of communication open with promoters and…" Jake trailed off at Damon's board expression. "And of course keeping up with finances for you. A detailed report to make sure you know where every piece of money is going."

"And I do like to know where my money is going. Exactly."

"I figured you did, Mr. Phillips," Jake replied with a smile. Score one for them. "As for how much this will cost, it'll bound to be a third of what it is you're imagining. However, the tour is guaranteed to recoup any costs faster than imagined. It has not been confirmed yet, but McFly are discussing the idea of performing an album from their discography in it's entirety every night. People will want to purchase multiple tickets to hear every song – even ones no one thought they would ever perform live."

"Indeed." Damon nodded his head. He loudly clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "More shows, more money."

"You will be spending less than the other companies as they will have two new albums to promote. New fans, and American fans who have no other way of getting their albums, will want access to the music after the concert. If we work with their company in England, we could have things available for purchase here. Sales are bound to soar. And streaming hits will go up. The higher their names are on the charts, the better chance they have to get recognition here on their own merit for the future."

"For someone who didn't want to pitch me McFly based on demographics or record sales back then, you're keen to do so now," Damon commented. He folded his arms on the table, staring Jake down. "Are you no longer idealistic?"

"Of course I am," Jake replied in an instant. "Mr. Phillips, I've been working for you, for this company for a while now. You know all I've wanted to do was to be in this industry. I know this group can do great things based on their talent and personalities alone. If that's not here in America, then so be it. They will forever be successful doing what they do best: having fun."

Mr. Phillips stared at him, stroking his chin. "You have been a hard worker." He waved his hand, motioning for Jake to continue.

"I know expenses are always on your mind, Mr. Phillips, and I would give you a full amount…" Jake shrugged, "but, I think it's a little tacky to discuss openly."

"I never had a problem with that," Mr. Phillips said flatly. Tiffany hid a laugh with a cough.

"Lemonade?" Jake asked her.

Tiffany's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, yes, please." Smiling, Jake used his hand to motion towards the pitcher in a Vanna White kind of way. Her eyes narrowed into a small glare as she got to her feet to pour herself a cup. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

"I think I've heard enough," Damon said. "Keep in touch with Tiffany, and she will cut you a check for however much you need. Just be sure to send me a copy of all the expenses, every last thing."

"Mr. Phillips, Ashley and I are open to sit down with you over dinner to discuss this further."

"How could I turn down a nice meal?" Mr. Phillips asked. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach with his hands. "And a discussion on how to make even more money?"

"Yes, sir," Jake replied with a smile of relief. "Will do. Thank you for coming to meet with me, today." He jumped to his feet, and speed-walked to Mr. Phillips's side, offering his hand. "I can't stress enough how much I appreciate you helping all of this come together."

Mr. Phillips slowly turned in his chair to face Jake. He blinked once. Twice. Three times. Then, with a hearty laugh, he lifted his large frame from his seat and slapped Jake on the back. Jake felt the wind pushed out of his lungs a second before he was squeezed in between Damon's arms and lifted in the air. "My man!" Damon declared. "If there's anyone out there that really knows how to run a business, knows how to work finances, it's you, Spider-Man. You with the sticky fingers."

"Uh, well, I wouldn't go that far," Jake managed to get out in a tight, painful voice.

Upon release, Jake dropped to the floor. Nearly losing his balance, he grabbed onto the swivel chair closest to him. He gave Damon a weak smile earning another hard slap to his back. Jake started choking on his saliva, tears instantly coming to his eyes.

"Don't die on me now, man," Damon said, shaking his shoulders. "We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

"That we do." Jake sighed, catching his breath. "That we do."

Mr. Phillips shuffled out of the room with Tiffany taking quick steps after him, giving Jake a hint of a smile and a thumbs up as she passed. Jake waited until he could no longer see them outside of the room and thrust his fists into the air. He even jumped and clicked his heels together. After a moment, he turned back towards the call box in the center of the table. Leaning closer, he noticed the timer of the call was still ticking upwards.

"Ash?" he asked quietly.

"It's just me." Ashley chuckled. "And you've been worrying about this meeting all morning."

"I doubt it would have gone so well without Katy giving me her luck this morning,"

"Jake, we agreed—"

"I know, I know, she deserves it," Jake said. He planted his hands on the table, leaning his weight onto his wrists. "Everyone has some natural luck every now and then, is it really a bad thing if we make our luck every once in a while?" Jake heard Ashley sigh. "It's not cheating. Some people are luckier than others."

"You always told me that luck was derived from positive thinking."

"Yeah, and I was positive that this had a very good chance of bombing." Jake smiled at Ashley's chuckle. "I'll call you later, ok?"

"No, you'll come see me later. After dinner with Mr. Phillips we're both going to celebrate."

"See you then." He ended the call and curled his hand into a fist, gently hitting the side of it to the table. "Perfect."