Sam stopped eating and stared down at the table. Had I really offended him? After a quick glance out the window, he responded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do now. It was pretty good."
"Cool," I said. "The restaurants are good in my neighborhood, even if they don't compare to the fancy ones." I had nothing else to contribute. In fact, I was feeling pretty bad about asking and then joking around about it. He had sounded so shocked.
There was the divorce and the talk of losing his job if he didn't get this deal. Something wasn't adding up. That night he had seemed weird too, not quite like himself.
Did he have a drug problem or something? Was he meeting a dealer when I ran into him? With all of the stress he was under, I guess I could understand his need to seek "treatment" and self-medicate. I felt horrible for him and wished I had never said anything at all.
"Are you okay, Sam?" I asked.
"I'm fine," he said, rebuffing my concern. "Just fine." I faintly smelled whiskey on his breath, just like I had the other night. Hmm...
We were the last two people in the break room, so I decided to prod one step further. It turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back. "If something's up in your life, it's okay to talk about it. I'll listen."
After he started talking, it all came out at once, his message unequivocal.
He was going through divorce proceedings and his soon-to-be ex-wife was going after everything he had. On top of that, the label was going through a corporate restructuring and trying to become more efficient. Everyone had been given a sales/signing quota, and if they didn't meet it, they'd be cut.
"I've been so depressed," he admitted. "I haven't been able to control myself."
"Aw, Sam. You've got to hang in there." I felt like my words carried no significance at all, especially due to the serious nature of his problems.
"I just really need that deal with Jack Teller. My cut of that deal will be just enough to cover my fuckin' legal fees. No more fancy cars for me, just... the ability to survive." At least avarice wasn't his motivating factor.
Dammit. I was hoping that wouldn't come up. I knew how Jack felt about it, how he was opposed to signing with a label that wasn't perfect for Lexy. If I went to him and begged, it felt like it would only make things worse for all of us. Every sympathetic part of my body tensed at once.
"Don't those guys shop around?" I asked. "Try to find the best deal? Are we offering the best deal?"
"His terms are so fuckin' crazy. He wants full creative control. He won't let us suggest anyone that he doesn't approve himself." He paused as he coped with the tumult of his thoughts. There was a look of pure defiance on his face when he continued. "I've got people hurting here, and all he cares about is his bullshit art. The whole industry is in a slump, so what does he expect? If the label goes under, we're all out of a job."
"Is that really gonna happen, Sam? Aren't you being a tad bit overdramatic?"
His response was ready as soon as I finished. "The numbers that you're crunching used to be ten times what they are now. That's the truth. The industry is changing, Effie. MCI might wind up a thing of the past, a dinosaur in the industry. Happens all the time. I've already heard news of a possible buy-out."
I didn't like where this was going, but then again, I was the one that had encouraged him to vent. At the very least, I was getting his perspective outside of his usual blowing up and then hassling me, all because Jack had said he liked me at the first goddamn meeting. Why had Sam been so fixated on that stupid interaction? I couldn't figure it out.
I was finding myself caught in the middle of something pretty damn serious. I wanted to support my label—it was my job, after all—and I wanted to support Jack. Based on what Sam said, the two things apparently were mutually exclusive, and MCI would lose money if they signed with Jack's unwavering terms, further obscuring the best possible solution. One way or another, Sam would get what he needed out of the deal, even if it all went to his legal fees and I wasn't sure how to feel about that. What about the rest of us?
In a way, it felt like I was in quicksand.
I realized that this was exactly what I was hiding from. This was the reason for the break, the reason for my indecision and fear of getting carried away. This was my job, and it sounded like it might not be around much longer if Jack didn't compromise his values and sign with MCI.
I wouldn't beg him either. If I was so concerned about making it on my own, I didn't want to rely on him for that support, especially when I pushed him away so I could think this through.
Why couldn't the answer be more clear?
This was a new curve ball—and it was terrifying. What if I lost this job and lost Jack? I'd have literally nothing here. I wanted both things, but what happened if I couldn't have either?
After a few minutes of silence—what the hell could I have said back to Sam, anyway?—I excused myself and said I wanted to get back to work after wishing him the best. Just a stupid platitude.
"Thanks again for the food," I added. Sam gave me a solemn nod as I wrapped up the remains of my giant sandwich and left the break room. This whole impromptu discussion
