Page 55 of So This Is Love

The way Morgan says it, I know I’m not going to like whatever she says next. I lean back in my chair and nod my head, telling her to go on.

“A record label owner has been reaching out to me to get a meeting with you. His name is Langston St. James with Silver Spoon Records.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“You probably wouldn't, it's newer and only has about a dozen artists signed. He’s called me everyday for the past two weeks trying to get a meeting with you.”

“So he’s desperate,” I say.

“Or persistent.”

Over the years I’ve had a lot of offers to meet with record labels, especially those first few months after leaving my last one. I didn’t want to play the game of the industry, the song and dance of begging for a company to care more about you as a person than the hypothetical money they would be losing for having a conscience.

Morgan knows my stance and she agrees so for her to even be bringing this topic up to me is a surprise.

“Why this one?”

“Because we can’t do the same thing and expect a different outcome. You love music more than most people love anything. I’ve witnessed it first hand, and so I know how much of a block it must have been to not create for years while you healed and found yourself again. But for the first time in three years you’re recording again, and I’ll be damned if I don’t put a potentially great opportunity in front of you. Not only because that’s what you pay me to do, but also because I care aboutyou, Sonny.”

This time it’s Morgan who sits back in her seat.

I soak in her words, really taking them in and digesting them before I respond.

“Fine. Set it up and I’ll be there, but I’m not making any promises.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Morgan says. “He could be full of shit and I would fully expect you to tell him to kick rocks, respectfully.”

***

Three days later I’m walking into Silver Spoon Records to have a meeting with Langston St. James himself. Normally, Morgan would have been a part of a meeting like this but she had a family emergency come up and I opted to take the meeting myself to get it out of the way instead of rescheduling.

When his assistant sees Xavier and I approaching, she immediately stands and gives me an eager smile, welcoming me to the office. Xavier takes a seat on a nearby couch to wait. She walks me to the office door, tapping her knuckles two times on the door before opening it.

“Sonny is here to see you, sir,” the assistant says.

Langston stands from his seat behind his desk, shaking my hand with a firm grip. He stands a few inches shorter than me and is younger than I expected, in his late thirties. He’s dressed in a black suit, something expensive by the looks of it and sharply contrasting the casual clothes I decided on for this meeting.

“Is there anything I can get for the two of you, Mr. St. James?” his assistant asks. “Sparkling water, tea, coffee?”

Langston looks at me, silently asking if I’m interested in anything. I shake my head.

“No, Michaela, we're fine here,” he replies.

Michaela leaves the office, closing the door behind her.

Langston gestures for me to sit in one of the brown leather chairs opposite his desk while he retakes his own seat.

“I must say I’m surprised that your manager finally put us in touch,” Langston says. “It seemed like she was really trying to give me the run around.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“She refused for weeks to tell you about my interest in speaking with you.”

“Morgan always has my best interests at heart. It’s her job to be in between me and everyone who wants to get to me. She knows when to filter unimportant things out and when to bring the others to me. So I guess you should feel lucky you finally made the cut.”

The harsh tone of my words is purposeful. Not because I want him to believe I’m an asshole but because I need him to know that I am not the naive teenager I once was. The one who was so excited and starry eyed to have an opportunity that I took the first one that was presented to me. The opportunity that was toxic and exploitative and gave me all that I dreamed of, but at a price so high I nearly lost myself. That naive 19 year old boy waschewed up and spit out and what is left is a 29 year old man who won’t make the same mistakes of the past.

Langston’s jaw clenches at my words but he quickly covers his annoyance with a smirk.

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