There would, obviously, be no rehearsal the next day, so I took the time and went back to Somerset Hall, ready to wear Mami’s ears off. I had so, so much to tell her and I still had the red-hot blood of victory pumping through my veins

But, when I got there, I was pulled back down to Earth and had a bucket of icy water poured down on me, when Collins told me that Mami had been feeling unwell and had gone to bed, just after breakfast. To be so suddenly reminded of her illness was enough to curdle to a halt the victorious crimson flow that I had going.

So I sat down and did what I do best, in moments of gloom and solitude, and bloom in the form of art. I built the rudiments to another song, to add to my grim repertoire.

----------------------------------------

A week passed and we were gracing the stage of the Underground, once more. It seemed like Hallburn had an arrangement with Wallace, to try out new bands in his space. And we clearly were grateful for filling in for 30 minutes, if that allowed us to prove our worth.

The second show went better than the first one, mainly because I wasn’t so much caught by surprise as I had been, a week prior. I managed to spot Johnny Bishop among the crowd, undoubtedly checking in on his possible future investment, not willing to just take Hallburn’s word for granted.

Our final show would be in a place called The Guild and that did not go as smoothly as the other two, as I had some technical issues with my microphone. But, all in all, two out of three (seeing as it was not a fault of my own) was not a bad ratio, for an absolute rookie.

I found myself in Bishop’s office once again, dutifully accompanied by Mr. Mason. This time, I had brought hope along, even if not Mami as well.

- Read everything as thoroughly as possible, love – Bishop handed me a stack of papers filled with clauses and jargon, which I read and handed to Mr Mason as I finished them – What I’m proposing, is a one-year deal.

- Why only a year? - I asked, still reading through what seemed like an infinite repetition of the same terms.

- Because – he lit a cigarette – I’m not looking to get burned. And I don’t want you to get burned either, Elz.

I lifted my eyes from the Legalese and arched my eyebrows at him.

- Your music’s good. It’s great. - he clarified – But I think you’re too young to be diving head first into this world. It’s rotten, ya know? - he took a glance at Mr. Mason that did not even flinch. - And it can rot you as well.

- Do you doubt I can do it? - I asked. I understood his intentions, but I felt like he could be underestimating me. The brashness of youth, as they call it

He took a deep breath – Oh, I have no doubts about your abilities, I’ve seen you on stage, as green as you may be. And I know there are a lot of artists that have started their careers as young as you. - he took a long puff, making the orange ember at the tip of the cigarette shine bright – But I’ve also seen older people sinking like they’ve hit an iceberg. And, to be honest, love, I think it’d be a waste if you were to sink. - he clicked his tongue three times, as he contemplated the view out of his window, nothing worthy of note, but enough to cleanse the mood – So, I’m offering 2000 quid, in advance, which you will pay back with sales. Hallburn will produce your album and promotion and distribution will also be on us but.. I would advise you to get a manager. You’ll need someone who’ll fight to get your name out there, as soon as the album breaks into the market.

Mr. Mason’s quiet, but steady voice broke Bishop’s monologue – I do understand the recoupable advance, but I cannot agree with the royalty partition of 90/10.

- What do you mean, Mason? It’s the usual rate.

Mr. Mason cleared his throat – The usual rate, Mr. Bishop, falls between 10 to 30%. And I would like to fight for a little something more.

Stolen novel; please report.

Bishop laughed coarsely – Do you know the kind of artists that get 30%? Absolute top-tier ones.

Mason’s face did not even flinch. His bluff game was also top tier – I may quote you on the number of times you’ve praised my client’s work, including expressions like some of the best I’ve ever heard, and so on and so forth. If she is that good, it won’t be another 5% that will harm the label. But those 5% will, instead, highly benefit my client. Motivation is key, after all.

Bishop grinned, stealing a glance at me – Oh, he’s good, isn’t he, Elz? - I nodded – 12,5%.

- 15%, Mr. Bishop. A drop in the ocean.

He chewed his cheek for a while, probably mulling the numbers in his head – So be it, 15 won’t make that much of a difference.

I took back the contract and skimmed it again. There was something amiss – What about the musicians?

- What about them? Don’t you like the ones Hallburn got you?

- Oh, they’re great – I said – We worked very well together. But this deal only mentions me. What about them?

He just shrugged, not all that bothered with any of it – They’re your musicians.

I was taken aback by that. My musicians? How was I supposed to keep them? - So, just to get all our ducks in a row… I get 2000 pounds, which are recoupable…

- Right.

- But I have to pay the musicians with the money I do not own? I don’t even have any equipment…

Bishop took off his tinted glasses and rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he had thought this would be an easier talk – I told you the business was filthy rotten.

Mason started talking, but Bishop cut him off.

- Listen, let’s strike a deal, then. This is what, May? - he checked the calendar on his desk – Firefly will give you an advance, so you can pay for the lads and the equipment you might need.

- Recoupable…

- I’m running a business here, doll. So you – he pointed a finger at me – will have to prove your worth and work hard if you want to make it big. And I would be flattered, if I were you. I’m only doing this because I really think you can get somewhere.

I stole a glance at Mason who only shook his head, as if to say, it would be my decision.

- How long? - I asked, turning to Bishop once more.

He leaned back, running his fingers through his scruffy beard, scrunching his nose at the calendar – You’re just a first-timer, so let’s set wider goals… Four months to work on the album, two months until it takes flight. So six months until we start cashing back what was given in advance.

Six months. That meant I had until the end of November to get it all figured out. All I could see, so far, was a large pea souper of a future and it made me very uneasy.

- Miss… - Mr Mason called. I did not understand if he wanted me to make a decision or to stall the negotiations, somehow, so we could regroup.

- I want it all rewritten – I said, as I laid the stack of paper back on Bishop’s desk. I had made up my mind, as awful as it could be. He nodded – And I want some extra clauses added.

- Oh! - Johnny laughed so hard he started coughing – So demanding. Pray tell, Eleanora.

- I want it outlined that I want creative control over my music and the album art. I want to have the final word.

Johnny arched an eyebrow. Who did I think I was to ask for so much? – What if Hallburn thinks some things might work better differently? He’s the producer, he knows how the market works.

- I will consider it.

- Right… - the scepticism was palpable – And…?

- I get the masters after 10 years.

His laughter filled the room once more. Not a I find this funny laughter, more of a this girl is delusional laughter - No.

- I’m not done – I said – I get 100% of the royalties as well, after 10 years.

Bishop just scoffed – Mark my words, love. In ten years time, no one will be listening to rock music. It’s a dying breed.

I just shrugged, following in the advice of grandmother Luísa and never be too eager – If there’s nothing to lose, then, you won’t mind adding that clause as well.

He opened his mouth to retort, but turned to Mason instead – Has she been having lessons with you?

- I think it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for. - he said, cool as a cucumber – 10 years is a long time, Mr Bishop. If the album is successful, it will be 10 years of 85% royalties pouring into the label. If it’s not, what difference will it make?

He hesitated for a hot minute – 20 – was he conceding defeat?

- 15, then. It is only fair, is it not? - I was not expecting to win this one. I was just trying to get a sort of upper hand.

- 20 or we can drop the whole act right here, right now, Elz. I’m serious.

I just shrugged again. Twenty years was better than an eternity – I want it in writing, then.

- You people kill me – he took the contracts back – be back here tomorrow to sign this shit and cash your check. But listen carefully, I really dislike squandering money about. - he looked me in the eyes – I want nothing but hard work from you, miss princess.

We shook hands and Mason and I headed back downstairs. Six months that I had to prove I was worth it. Six months and a debt over my head. How could I be trying to earn some money and still manage to get even more in the red? I felt a tightness in my throat.

- What should I do, Mr. Mason? With the money, that is?

He did not falter – Wise investments, miss. See what you need most. Perhaps a van?

We took a taxi that left me at Paddington station – How much do I owe you, Mr Mason? I don’t want my grandmother paying for this.

- Nonsense, miss Eleanora. I hardly said a word.

I took the train back home, with the weight of those six months looming over me.

That night, I laid the foundations for the album’s sixth song, The World’s End.