“See, unlike your current situation, where you are regrettably being mishandled, I will look out for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Whether or not Aaron was paying attention, I had to stop this guy from running his mouth.
“Are you the manager of Aaron Mackie, or Aaron Mackie and the First Jamaica Ministries choir?” he challenged.
“What the f—” I stopped myself from cursing as a waitress approached the table. Jackson shot her a look. She got the hint and backed away without asking for our orders.
“Can you really look out for both Aaron and the church choir? And honestly, tell us, how many pieces are being cut from his pie? And once that pie is cut, how many pieces go directly into your pocket?”
“You gotta be kidding me with this bullshit. I’m a good manager,” I said, feeling more defensive by the minute. All the while, Aaron’s eyes wandered around the restaurant like he was totally bored by the whole conversation.
“So you say?” Jackson pushed on. “Let’s be honest. Who do you work for? Bishop TK Wilson signs your check, doesn’t he?”
“This isn’t about the church.”
“Exactly my point. You work for the church, so who is working for Aaron?” He turned to Aaron and said, “I’m not just an agent. I will make sure your every need is met. I look out for clients, because when they’re happy, I’m happy. That’s how this works.”
I pounded my fist on the table. “You saying I don’t look out for Aaron? Man, you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” I was so close to going upside the dude’s head, but he didn’t know it, because he didn’t even look in my direction.
“Be honest with me, Aaron. You love singing gospel, but haven’t you ever thought about being a pop star? You have the voice for it.” Aaron didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough to let Jackson know he had his attention. “I work with people like Clive Davis, Quincy Jones, Jay-Z. I put someone with your talent with the right people and you become an overnight sensation. Has anyone even offered you the opportunity to work with people like that?”
Aaron looked at me, and for a second I thought he was going to ask me why he’d ever let me manage him. Instead, he said, “Mr. Young, I’m late for a meeting with Bishop Wilson. I trust Ross to handle my business, so you two can stay and continue this conversation without me.” With that, he stood up, shook Jackson’s hand, and said, “Pippie, let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”
Not even loudmouth Jackson had time to protest before Aaron was out of there.
Jackson and I sat eyeing each other for a minute like two warriors about to do battle. I imagined myself reaching across the table and wrapping my hands around his neck.
“What the fuck was that about?” I hissed, leaning toward him. “You’re trying to steal my client, who also happens to be my best friend? What kind of snake are you?”
Jackson smirked. “If he’s your best friend, then you better make sure you sign with me, or you’re gonna lose him.”
If I hadn’t realized it that day in the bishop’s office, I sure as hell did now: This guy was beyond arrogant. The fact that he would come for another person’s client in front of their face told me he was either stupid or dangerous.
“Aaron’s not leaving me. Like I said, we’re tight, and our business relationship works.”
“This ain’t called show friendship . It’s called show business .” He pulled out a legal pad, ripped off the first page, and handed it to me. “That’s a list of things I’m going to need you to get Aaron to agree to if you still want to be his manager. You’ve got forty-eight hours to get him to sign off on it.”
“And if I don’t?”
He laughed. “If you don’t, then I’ll walk into First Jamaica Ministries with Clive Davis, and when we walk out, I can promise Aaron will be with us, and you’ll be out of a job.”
“I don’t know
“What the hell are you talking about?” Whether or not Aaron was paying attention, I had to stop this guy from running his mouth.
“Are you the manager of Aaron Mackie, or Aaron Mackie and the First Jamaica Ministries choir?” he challenged.
“What the f—” I stopped myself from cursing as a waitress approached the table. Jackson shot her a look. She got the hint and backed away without asking for our orders.
“Can you really look out for both Aaron and the church choir? And honestly, tell us, how many pieces are being cut from his pie? And once that pie is cut, how many pieces go directly into your pocket?”
“You gotta be kidding me with this bullshit. I’m a good manager,” I said, feeling more defensive by the minute. All the while, Aaron’s eyes wandered around the restaurant like he was totally bored by the whole conversation.
“So you say?” Jackson pushed on. “Let’s be honest. Who do you work for? Bishop TK Wilson signs your check, doesn’t he?”
“This isn’t about the church.”
“Exactly my point. You work for the church, so who is working for Aaron?” He turned to Aaron and said, “I’m not just an agent. I will make sure your every need is met. I look out for clients, because when they’re happy, I’m happy. That’s how this works.”
I pounded my fist on the table. “You saying I don’t look out for Aaron? Man, you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” I was so close to going upside the dude’s head, but he didn’t know it, because he didn’t even look in my direction.
“Be honest with me, Aaron. You love singing gospel, but haven’t you ever thought about being a pop star? You have the voice for it.” Aaron didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes said enough to let Jackson know he had his attention. “I work with people like Clive Davis, Quincy Jones, Jay-Z. I put someone with your talent with the right people and you become an overnight sensation. Has anyone even offered you the opportunity to work with people like that?”
Aaron looked at me, and for a second I thought he was going to ask me why he’d ever let me manage him. Instead, he said, “Mr. Young, I’m late for a meeting with Bishop Wilson. I trust Ross to handle my business, so you two can stay and continue this conversation without me.” With that, he stood up, shook Jackson’s hand, and said, “Pippie, let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”
Not even loudmouth Jackson had time to protest before Aaron was out of there.
Jackson and I sat eyeing each other for a minute like two warriors about to do battle. I imagined myself reaching across the table and wrapping my hands around his neck.
“What the fuck was that about?” I hissed, leaning toward him. “You’re trying to steal my client, who also happens to be my best friend? What kind of snake are you?”
Jackson smirked. “If he’s your best friend, then you better make sure you sign with me, or you’re gonna lose him.”
If I hadn’t realized it that day in the bishop’s office, I sure as hell did now: This guy was beyond arrogant. The fact that he would come for another person’s client in front of their face told me he was either stupid or dangerous.
“Aaron’s not leaving me. Like I said, we’re tight, and our business relationship works.”
“This ain’t called show friendship . It’s called show business .” He pulled out a legal pad, ripped off the first page, and handed it to me. “That’s a list of things I’m going to need you to get Aaron to agree to if you still want to be his manager. You’ve got forty-eight hours to get him to sign off on it.”
“And if I don’t?”
He laughed. “If you don’t, then I’ll walk into First Jamaica Ministries with Clive Davis, and when we walk out, I can promise Aaron will be with us, and you’ll be out of a job.”
“I don’t know
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