It feels so good to hear. Someone finally believes in us—someone with legitimate connections and knowledge of the industry. I want to hug the woman I hope will help my brother to see that this is where I belong instead of back in Houston.
Gavin surprises me by clearing his throat loudly. “Yeah, well, as you know, getting gigs isn’t the easiest thing in the world and we’re not the typical country trio. We play multiple genres and have been told by several managers that country radio isn’t ready for our sound.”
Part of me wants to kick him under the table.
But Mandy nods as if this is exactly what she expected him to say. “Yes, the fiddle and the R&B remixes are certainly unconventional.” She waits for one of us to interrupt but no one does. “That being said, I think it’s time for the three of you to make some hard and fast decisions. The reality is, you can play covers and revamped rap or bluegrass or both for all I care in festivals like this one. But when I get you into a showcase, you’ll have to streamline your sound. Play the songs that best represent what you’re capable of, the ones that sound a bit more like the hits topping the charts today.”
I don’t miss that she says when and not if I get you a showcase. Hope grows wild inside of me, unfurling in my chest and spreading like wildfire. I can practically see myself sprouting wings and flying right out of stringent music theory classes. A showcase would be huge. It would put us in front of managers and record labels. I know this because for years now Dallas has been saying how important they are for getting record deals.
“I think I speak for everyone when I say that we understand about sacrifice and compromise when it comes to this business,” Dallas says. “And we know that as we start out, we’ll have to do whatever it takes.”
“That being said,” Gavin interrupts bravely as I watch this conversation unfold. “We’re not going to pretend to be something we’re not. It won’t do us any good to get a deal based on something we aren’t capable of or happy doing.”
“The last thing I want is for you to be unhappy,” Mandy says. “Or unsatisfied. Music is very . . . personal. And I plan to make it my personal goal that you are very satisfied with everything we do together.”
There’s excessive warmth in her tone and it’s a little unsettling, but her smile is genuine. I have a nagging sensation of female intuition trying to alert me to something, but I have no idea what.
Mandy’s eyes might linger on Dallas a little longer than they do on Gavin or me, but I assume that’s from their established familiarity. And in a way, if she’s interested in either of the guys, I’d prefer it be Dallas anyway. Gavin’s groupies are one thing, but working with a manager who was attracted to him would be my worst nightmare.
Before I can analyze the situation any further, a waiter appears and takes our order. I haven’t even looked at the menu so I just ask for whatever pasta they have and a water. Gavin gets a burger and so does Dallas. Mandy orders a salad.
Once we’re alone again Mandy asks about the details of our story, how we came to be a band and how the guys managed when I was at school in Houston.
“They called me crying a lot and begging me to come home,” I say with mock seriousness.
“We mostly just played shows where we could meet halfway between Houston and Amarillo when Dixie wasn’t too swamped with school,” Dallas tells her with an eye roll in my direction. “Gavin and I played a few local shows on our own.”
“And you’re prepared to give up a prestigious scholarship for this? For life on the road with these two?” Mandy looks almost confused by this.