The Audition Part 1
"What do you mean Bernie?"
The, nearing sixty, Harvard educated, theatrical agent and artist manager looked at me with a stern look.
"You haven't been in artist PR that long have you Tina?"
"Er no," I replied hesitantly feeling a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.
Bernie Aldrich was the owner of the artist management company I had joined a few months ago; well it was a change from advertising and boring PR. I had been around those industries since leaving university. Initially I worked in my home country, Holland, then had spells in the US, Hong Kong and Germany, before settling in London when I married in my early thirties. That lasted only a few years and after the divorce I wanted a new start. Hence, now in my late thirties, I responded to a head-hunter and joined AMI, Artist Management International, where I have worked now for three years. I had done well and was in the process of being assessed for a big job.
Bernie had started the agency some twenty-five years ago and had built it into a powerhouse of an agency. He had represented many of the world's top rock and film stars and was now held in high, but as far as I could tell, fading regard. Many of the younger talent looked for younger, trendier agents and Bernie's abortive efforts to get into sports management had cast doubts over his earlier 'midas touch.' He had lost a number of mega clients recently and was desperately trying to hold onto those he had not lost.
He earned well in excess of fifty million dollars a year and ran the global agency, he had offices in twenty countries, in an autocratic manner with the typical old-fashioned 'rod of iron' approach. He was married, but was reputed to have a mistress or two and he had a reputation for being a bit of a ladies man.
We were in his fortieth floor, huge office in mid-town Manhattan that looked out towards Staten Island. I was sitting on a low, black leather chair in the conference area across the room from his enormous desk against which he was leaning. He walked over and standing behind me rested his fingers on my shoulders.
"Tina, artist management is different to all other forms of PR."
"Yes I realise that."
"I am not sure you do or appreciate that it is much more personal, intimate almost," was the rather worrying reply as thoughts of being fired went through my mind
"What do you mean?" I asked looking at the beautifully manicured fingernails resting on my shoulders.
"Managing the media and public relations of superstar and exceedingly rich individuals is more than just column inches Tina," he went on maybe squeezing my shoulder a little more firmly.
"Yes I realise that."
"I wonder if you really do realise that Tina."
"I do Bernie really."
He came round the settee and sat beside me. I was wearing a black, Jean Muir suit with an on the knee pencil skirt. As I was in a period where I had put weight on it was probably a little too tight round my hips and bum and certainly was far too tight round my tits, which seemed to just keep getting bigger and bigger. Under the three-button jacket, I was wearing a button up the front, collarless shirt. The skirt had ridden up to probably seven or eight inches above my knee so I was showing plenty of black nylon, well it was early springtime and a little chilly in New York . As I was expecting to meet a date later this evening I had decided to wear holdup stockings and was hoping against hope that I wasn't flashing my stocking tops.
With his knee almost touching mine, he said.
"What we do Tina with our artists is all about relationships, not really publicity. The fucking jerks get that themselves, our job is to manage the publicity, but all the agents can do that. Talk to the right papers and TV people and it's easy as you and all the fucking PR industry knows. So it's how we get on with the artist that keeps us in business"
"Yes of course," I said feeling nervous, something that was unusual for me.
"So it is how our people get on with the customer and develop relationships that wins and keeps business my dear. You understand?"
"Of course, but other measures also count," I retorted, perhaps not being that wise to be disagreeing with him.
He leaned forward and looking me in the eye he said softly as, totally ignoring political correctness, he rested his fingers on my knee.
"Yes but that's not your job."
I did not reply and waited for him to continue.
"You Tina, do not worry your pretty little head about fucking column inches, air time or how many times they appear in Hello or TV Enquirer, " he said looking at my long, black hair I was wearing in a pony-tail, adding with a smile. "And it is a pretty head my dear and those horn rim, glasses make you look even more er, if I may say so, sexy."
"Thank you Bernie," I mumbled now becoming confused. I was wondering whether he was making a pass at me and more confusingly and worryingly wondering even more what my reaction would be if he was!
"Believe me Tina," he went on now softly, almost as if it was an unconscious gesture, rubbing my leg just above my knee. "It's all about developing personal relationships. Nothing more and nothing less, just how you get on with the client, that's all it is. All the rest is down to others. I have geeks and analysts who get the publicity broadcast and schmoozers who get it to the right places"
"Yes I see what you mean."
"Take this Dempsy character in Bandana," he said mentioning one of the agency's top stars. "He's as big as anyone and couldn't really give a fuck what the papers say. He's too big to worry, he earns too much, he's as rich as god and his head is so fucked up with pills and the two grand a day he shoves up his nose that he has no idea what's going on. It's how he gets on with his agent that really matters."
"Yes," I mumbled feeling little shivers run through me as his fingers went a slightly further up the side of my knee.
"And that means my dear how he gets on with you. You get me."
I had no real idea what he was on about.
"Er sort of yes."
"Sort of love?" He asked squeezing my knee. "What do you mean?"
"Why does getting on with me have anything to do with it?"
"Well you are going to look after him and the band on the American leg of their tour. Has no one told you?"
"No."
"Fuck, I give up on people. That's why you are here."
"Is it? No one briefed me."
"I tell you our London office is the fucking pits."
Bernie explained that we represented Bandana in Europe, South America and Africa, but not the rest of the world and particularly not in the United States. It had been announced recently by their management company that the group was looking for one agency to represent them globally.
