For dinner, we had steak, lobster, and champagne. As decadent as it was for a Tuesday night, it wasn’t terribly unusual during this time. I had a song in a major feature film, and was getting local radio play. I took a lot of meetings, which always led to more meetings, in fancy, big windowed offices where secretaries and assistants brought me cappuccinos, which often led to dinners, just me and the head of some company, or agency.
On this night, I was being courted by a manager. A tiny, English man, probably around five foot two, with a few big name clients. I’d known him for a little while, seeing him at parties, or music events. I’d even met his wife, marveling at her statuesque frame, accentuated by red bottom heels that matched her pretty blonde personality.
At dinner he spoke of potential plans. Plans he had for me, for my career. Who we should talk to, who we might meet with, what we would “do with me”. That was always the question. “What will we do with you? What box do you fi…
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