Lance was in the bathroom, shaving the stubble off of his chin, when his cell phone rang. He walked out of the bathroom, the left side of his face still covered with white shaving foam, and picked up the phone.

"Bass speaking," he said.

"Mr. Bass." The voice was not one that Lance immediately recognized. "This is Detective Simon."

"Yes," Lance said quickly. "What can I do for you?"

"The accountant, Ms. Smith, has finished looking over your books." There was an audible pause, some disjointed breathing. "She’d like you to come in and talk some things over."

"Of course," Lance said. "When would you like me to come?"

"How about tomorrow," Simon said. "Let’s say tomorrow at three? Ms. Smith’s office?"

Lance nodded and then spoke. "Three it is. I’ll see you then." He flipped the phone closed without saying goodbye.
--

(1998)

Lance sat on JC’s bed. He looked over to where the taller, dark-haired man was scribbling in a notebook.

"Nothing, Jace," Lance said. "I’ve sent this tape out to all of the big labels and there hasn’t been anything. No bites. No plausible interest."

"You know that’s how the game works," JC said as stopped writing and looked up. "You can never tell what people are going to want to sign and what they aren’t."

"But—" Lance stopped talking and scraped his nails through his hair.

They sat in silence a few moments.

"Everything has a time and a place," JC said. "You know that. Music goes in cycles. So, maybe no one wants her now, but next year. Maybe next year she’ll be *the* hot commodity."

"I have this year, though," Lance said. "That’s all. She’s not my client after this year, and who knows if her parents will let her sign with me again. I mean, why should they? Like I’ve done any good so far."

"You’re trying—" JC said.

"Trying doesn’t count." Lance ground his teeth together. "It’s actions, results. Nothing in between counts. If you fall in between you’re a failure."

"You’re new at this." JC uncurled his body completely from the chair he was sitting in. "You can’t expect to just have things fall into your lap."

"I’m not going to be a failure," Lance said. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard of JC’s bed. "No one in the Bass family has ever been a failure, and I don’t intend to be the first."
--

"I’m just wasting your money, aren’t I?" Meredith asked a week and a half later, when they talked over the phone. "You’re spending all of this money on me—most of it to be repaid when I start making money, and that’s never going to happen."

"It’s not a waste of money," Lance said. He crossed his fingers before he spoke the next words. "I have plenty of money. Money is not a problem."

"But still," Meredith said. Her voice was sad. "You’re wasting it on some little girl’s dream of becoming a singer."

"Everyone should have the right to pursue their dreams." Lance sighed softly. "Where would I be right now if Johnny and Lou hadn’t given us a chance? I’d still be sitting in Mississippi, going to college somewhere, twiddling my thumbs and complaining about midterms."

"Well." Meredith’s voice was quiet. "Thank you for giving me the chance to pursue mine."
--

(1999)

Johnny leaned back in his leather chair. "I just don’t know what else you can do, Lance."

Lance placed one foot in front of the other, pacing in front of Johnny’s desk.

"Just tell me," Lance said. "If you did do country, would you sign her?"

Johnny shrugged. "She’s only 16, Lance. Her voice could change into something that’s not so appropriate for singing. Remember how we all worried about Justin’s voice? And whether it would still be suitable for your guys’ harmonies?"

"But it’s different for girls! Their voices fill out, get more mature. If anything, all those record companies and managers out there should understand that her voice will only get better with time."

"Apparently, it’s not a risk they’re willing to take at the moment," Johnny said.

"So what should I do?" Lance asked. He stopped and turned to face his manager.

Johnny studied Lance for a few moments. "She likes to get up in front of people and sing," he said. "Let her perform."

Lance slowly nodded.
--

(2003)

Joey tapped his foot spasmodically on the ground, but the soft shag of the carpet muffled the repetitive sound of the action.

"So you’re supposed to go talk to the accountant today?" he asked.

Lance walked out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a white terrycloth towel.

"Yes," Lance said. He nodded as he tossed the towel back onto the bathroom counter.

"You want me to go with you?" Joey asked. "For moral support or something?"

Lance shook his head and scrunched up his nose. "No. I’ll be fine. They’ll just be confirming what I already know."

Joey nodded. "This really sucks, man. That you should have to go through this."

Turning his back towards Joey, Lance began sifting through items in his suitcase. "Sometimes you have to go through things." He shrugged before he turned back around. "It’ll all work out for the best in the end, though. I have to believe that."
--

(1999)

Lance took a deep breath, drawing the clear Mississippi air into his lungs. He turned around and stared at the teenage girl sitting on the porch swing.

Meredith pulled at one of her curly pigtails. "What’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone, Lance?"

Lance turned and sat down on the swing next to her. The added weight gave the gentle rocking motion more strength for a few moments before it evened out again. His eyes twinkled subtly.

"Did you get a call?" Meredith asked. "Did someone respond to the demo?"

Lance shook his head slowly. At the same time he rested his hand over Meredith’s and squeezed softly.

"I wanted to ask you this in person," he said.

Meredith tipped her head to the side, curious.

"I’ve been making some calls," Lance said. "Not about getting you signed, but about getting you some shows."

Meredith’s eyes opened wide. "Sh—" She stopped talking and swallowed heavily. "Shows?"

Lance nodded. "You’re in this to sing and it’s my job as your manager to get you singing."

"But." She shook her head once, as if to clear it. "Why would anyone want me to sing if I can’t even get a record contract?"

"They want you to sing because you have a beautiful voice," Lance said. "I’ve made some calls and I have some interest."

"Really?" The pitch of her voice rose.

Lance nodded once, paternally.

"They won’t pay very much," he said, trailing off.

"Oh."

"Do you care about that?" Lance asked.

"I—" She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she spoke again. "I want you to start getting some of your investment back."

"I don’t care about that, Mer," Lance said. "I care that I’m doing a good job as your manager. I care that I’m giving you what you need out of our business relationship."

Meredith blinked again.

"The way I see it, any singing is good singing." Lance shrugged. "Do you agree?"

Meredith nodded. Then she smiled widely and threw her arms around Lance’s neck.
--

It was a country bar, right smack dab in the middle of Jackson, Mississippi.

It was a nice one, though. Lance had made sure of that, because, as he’d told her, he wasn’t going to let Meredith’s first performance occur in a substandard place.

She, Meredith, gripped at his coat sleeve as they walked into the building. The rough fabric was pinched between her fingers and Lance could feel the tug every time he took a step forward.

"I don’t feel so well, Lance," Meredith said.

Lance stopped and turned to face her. "No nerves. You didn’t come here so that you could feel sick, so don’t even try it."

Meredith nodded. She bit at her lip.

"They’re going to love you, sweetie," he said. He turned again, using his arm to indicate the empty tables. "The people at these table are going to see what I see. A beautiful, talented young lady."

The girl, now behind him, sighed deeply. "I wish I could be so sure."

"I’m sure," Lance said. He turned to face her again and used his two large hands to grip at the span of arm just beneath both of her shoulders.

Later, as Lance sat at one of the small circular tables in the back of the bar, and watched as Meredith paced the stage—singing—in front of the small crowd, he smiled.
--

(2003)

He was in the middle of ordering the papers in his briefcase for his meeting with the accountant that afternoon when Lance heard his cell phone start ringing.

"Will you get that, Joe?" he asked.

Joey looked away from the TV program he was watching, then he stretched his arm and grabbed at the small ringing phone.

"Y’ello," he said. He paused for a second, his lips sinking into a frown. "Hold on, Tom." The name was said with disdain.

Lance stood up from the table and walked across the room. He grabbed the phone Joey held out to him.

"What do you want?" Lance asked.

"I wanted to tell you that you were wrong," Tommy said.

Lance’s eyes narrowed and he took slow, even steps until he was staring into one of the mirrors along the hotel room wall.

"What do you mean I was wrong?" Lance asked.

"I didn’t take the money." Tommy’s voice held suppressed laughter. "You did."

Lance turned around so that he was facing Joey. His face was hard as he stared at his friend. "Joe, if you wouldn’t mind…?"

Joey nodded quickly and stood up. In less than ten strides, he’d left the room and shut the door behind him.

"What do you mean I took the money? I did so much thing." Lance turned back to face the mirror. He watched as his green eyes flashed and his expression turned cold.

"The money," Tommy said. "All signs point straight to you."

"Point*ed* straight to me," Lance said. "Do you think I’m stupid enough to not check over the books before I took them into the audit."

Tommy was silent. His breathing was labored.

"All signs, my dear friend, point back to you." Lance flipped his cell phone closed, ending the connection.
--

(1999)

Lance stared at Meredith as she, in turn, studied at her manicured nails.

"I’m sorry, Mer," he said. He sighed, heavily, and looked down at the desk in front of him.

"Do you still believe in me?" Meredith asked. Her voice quivered with almost-shed tears.

"I do," Lance said as he looked up. "But I haven’t been much help, have I?" He sighed again. "I’m sorry I got you into this. It’s been nothing but a big mess from the beginning."

"Don’t apologize," Meredith said. She stood up from her chair, walked forward, and rested her palms—fingers splayed—on the table between them. "No one else ever had as much confidence in me as you do."

"But I’ve just let you down," Lance said. He ran his right palm over his now spiked hair. "If it hadn’t been for me, you would have been happily singing lead with the Show Stoppers."

Meredith shook her head. "But I wouldn’t have been," she said. "I would have woken up one day and realized that this—singing—is what I want to do with my life. And I wouldn’t have had anyone to ease me into the world. Or even give me a chance."

Lance opened his mouth, but Meredith continued speaking.

"And I would have gone through all this disappointment on my own." She smirked. "I think you’ve been more disappointed than I have."

"It’s not fair," Lance said. "You have so much talent, yet no one seems to be willing to take the risk."

"They say my voice needs to develop," Meredith said. "They say give it another year."

Lance nodded.

"So lets give it another year," Meredith said. "Then I’ll be 17 and my voice will be developed."

Lance nodded again.

"I still want you to manage me, Lance." Meredith leaned back down so that her hands were resting on the tabletop again. "As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one who deserves to manage me."

"But this was only for a year," Lance said. "It was to get you a demo and get you signed."

"Which isn’t going to happen." Meredith stood up again. "Do you think you can still get me gigs, though? Sort of like you’ve been doing for the last few months?"

Lance nodded. "It still won’t be a record."

"I want to *sing,* Lance."

Lance looked at Meredith—his pale green eyes staring—for close to a minute. Each tick of the clock was loud in the room.

"And you still want to work with me?" he asked finally.

Meredith nodded. "Because you believe in me. I couldn’t handle a manager who didn’t believe in me."

"I believe," Lance said.

Meredith reached across the desk and rested her left hand on top of Lance’s right one. "So do I."
--

Diane sighed. "You swore, James, that this would only be for a year."

"I did." Lance nodded. "Now I’m asking that you’ll support me for longer than that."

"Your own management company? Not just helping someone out, but a real, *permanent* company? That’s a completely different story, son."

"I know." Lance paced the kitchen, then turned on his heel to look at his mother. "Have I done anything so far this year to make you think that I wouldn’t be able to handle running my own business?"

Diane shook her head.

"I’m 20, mother. If I wasn’t out *there,*"—he gestured with his right hand, swinging it loosely from his wrist—"doing *this,* don’t you think I’d already be engaged, or something. Don’t you think that’s just as big a responsibility as running this business?"

"But you *are* out there," Diane said. "And you guys are getting bigger. You’re selling out shows, dear. If you take Meredith on as part of a *business* and then take on other people." She stopped talking. "I don’t want you to wear yourself out again."

"I won’t," Lance said. "I promise."

"I’ll just need to be on the contract for another year?" Diane asked.

Lance nodded. "Then it’s all me. For better or worse, it’s all me."

Diane’s lips formed a tight line as she nodded. Her expression barely cracked into a smile when Lance threw his arms around her.
--

"Now, Lance," Lou said. "First it was going to be 10,000 dollars, then another ten-grand. What more could you possibly want out of me?"

Lance swallowed heavily. "You were the one," he said, "who believed in us. You didn’t back out when we weren’t big, or anything. You said we have to stick with what we believe in."

Lou nodded. His pale, bloated face worked its way into a smile. He bared his tiny teeth.

"I believe in Meredith," Lance said. "I believe she has what it takes."

"Sometimes it’s better to just cut your losses, boy," Lou said. "Part of sticking to what you believe in is knowing when to give up."

Lance’s mouth was set in a serious frown. "I know talent when I hear it. This is my first management job. How will it look for the rest of my life if I fail with her?"

"You’ll find other more talented people," Lou said.

"I’m not going to give up," Lance said. He shook his head solidly. "No."

"And she wants you to re-sign her," Lou said. "Have you be the one that manages her. No handing her over to someone else?"

Lance nodded. "She wants it to be me all the way."

"So you need more money," Lou said.

Lance nodded. "It’s not just a demo, now. It’s a whole business."

"How much money can I really hold you accountable for, Lance?" Lou asked. "Twenty thousand on the amount you’re earning a year? That’s a lot more than most people would be willing to risk."

"I’m good for it," Lance said. "I will be. I promise you, Lou."

Lou leaned back in his chair, his gray hands clasped together. Finally, he nodded.

"Come to me as you need it," he said, his voice raspy. When he met Lance’s eyes, Lance was the first to look away.

"I have work to do," Lou said. He waved one hand in Lance’s direction, signaling that their discussions for the evening were ended.
--

(2003)

The outer office was still and silent. There were the same potted jade plants, the same thick blue ribbons tied around the white slats of the venetian blinds.

Lance was the only one sitting in the waiting room. He could hear people behind the closed doors, though, and the sounds set him on edge.

His right pointer finger tapped nervously on the top of the leather briefcase. Occasionally his nail clicked against the gold-painted metal of the lock.

The door into the waiting room opened and a woman stepped out. "Mr. Bass," she said.

Lance stood up, straightened his suit using his one free hand, and walked across the room.

"Ms. Smith," he said.

"Please come into my office, Mr. Bass."

The woman turned and headed down the hall artificially lighted hallway. Lance followed behind.