Bloom

Bloom Part 3

"Can you please tell Clive my idea is better?"

The only thing that gave away how important this request was to him was the pleading look in his eyes. It touched my heart, though I should have been used to it by now. I was Harry's go-to whenever he and Clive disagreed.

"Please, Victoria," he said in his deep British accent that charmed girls around the world.

Resisting a smile, I studied him and leaned forward in my chair. "You know I will. That's why you came, right?"

He sighed in relief. "Thank you, Victoria."

"You're welcome." I allowed a smile to show this time and clasped my hands. "Anything else you need from me?"

Sometimes I feel a like a therapist or maybe counselor is the better word. If you had told me I would be counseling people as a record label professional I would have given you the side-eye. But after a few years in this industry I realize that artists are people who have basic human needs like anybody else.

Even though I've been told not to get attached in this business, Harry has a sentimental place in my heart because after years of shadowing, he was the first artist on the roster that I helped develop. Through that molding and ample time together we've bonded and now he's like my cousin. Yeah, my white cousin.

"No, that's it," he said. "How are you?"

My smile grew. "Great! One of my friends is visiting, so most of my weekend will be with her."

We talked for about another ten minutes and then I walked Harry to the door. After a hug he was on his way and so was I.

Clive was on the phone when I walked in his office, but he motioned for me to sit. I didn't feel like sitting. Instead I took in the beauty of his view of the NYC skyline.

"Victoria?" he called a moment later.

This time I sat down, resting my hands on my dark jeans. "Harry really wants to do this jazz Christmas album."

Clive rolled his eyes. "And I want him to come to his senses. He is not a jazz artist."

"Maybe he wants to experiment. He can play the saxophone."

"And I can cook. Does that mean I should be a chef?"

I shrugged my shoulders up high. "If you want to."

He gave me a flat look. "No, Victoria. Wrong answer. I know you're partial to Harry, but you don't help him by being non-sensical. We're supposed to make money not lose it."

I lifted my hands. "All I'm saying is every artist should be free to experiment. If anything, don't you think people knowing he can play the sax will make him an even bigger deal? It will expand his audience, Clive, thus more money." I rubbed the fingers on my right hand together.

My boss paused and I knew he knew I was making sense.

"We don't want to confuse the fans," he said, which was a pretty lame way to wrap up his point.

I stood up, feeling inspired and determined. "Why don't we tease a jazzy Harry--get it, Jazzy Harry-- in a performance or something and see what people say? Have him go on Merv Griffin or better yet, Oprah."

"I'll think about it."

"Good, you should." I winked softly. He knows that I wouldn't be encouraging any of this if I thought it was a no-go.

"Thank you, Victoria. You're free to leave for the day, however, I do hope you are not too busy this weekend."

Oh, no.