Chapter Seven: Potential
Interview 2005
Now, you have to remember. That’s how my career got started.
1994
“You would? You’d like to work…with us?” William asked, surprised. Last night, he was beginning to let go of the dream, believing it to never be possible. He was beginning to believe he was one of those who could not achieve the impossible. And now, this man, this stranger in front of him was telling him he wanted to finance them?
Was he dreaming? Still?
Wesley smiled, “Yes, I would. I believe you boys have serious talent. Something unique. The labels might not see it. But I do.”
“You do?” William dumbly repeated. He refused to let himself believe. After months and months of hoping that maybe, just maybe, this letter or the next letter would be good news, he found himself questioning. Cautious. William looked at the normally stoic Angel, who was smiling and nodding.
“That’s right,” Wesley said. He stepped forward, removing his glasses, “Now, should we talk business?”
*************
William drove home in a daze. He and Angel spent the entire afternoon with Wyndham-Pryce. He seemed legitimate. Wasn’t pulling their legs. Wasn’t stringing them along. Wasn’t going to go behind their backs tonight and have a good laugh at their gullibility.
They spent the time negotiating. Going over things.
Business.
Turned out Wyndham-Pryce was friends with one of those important guys over at EMI Records, the ones who decided whether or not you were good enough. Apparently, this guy thought they had that thing called potential. It was a pesky thing. Potential. While it hinted at promises, it was never written in stone. So much depended on this potential to grow from mere possibility to reality.
If the stars were misaligned. If your package was lost in the post. If you did or didn’t send the best songs you could have. If you miss that one big note that could make or break the song. If that guy, the one holding your future in his hands, has a bad day or not. If he even gets to your demo tape.
And, of course, the most important thing… if your music has the potential to sell.
And sell well. That was most important. You could have all the talent in the world, but if your music didn’t have the potential to sell, well, as they say, don’t quit your day job.
But, he, this guy who said they had potential, was only one guy…the others said ‘no.’ The ones who had more power. Acid Reign wasn’t what they were looking for at the present time. They wouldn’t bring them the money. The public was not interested in their style. So, this faceless guy, the one who wanted them, played the tape for Wesley. He knew Wesley was looking for another band to finance. He knew Wesley would give them a chance. Even though he could not. No matter how much he wanted to.
And Wesley, it turned out, used to be a music producer for ones of those major labels a while back. He was huge. He knew talent when he heard it. He molded several musicians sent his way into international superstars. But now, he used his considerable profits to help turn small bands into not-so-small bands.
And he wanted Acid Reign.
And so, this was it. William wasn’t merely dreaming. He was living his dream. Everything was beginning to pay off.
He couldn’t wait to tell Buffy.
Interview 2005
We had an independent financial backer.
We didn’t have a label.
1994
“Buffy, love? You home?” William asked as he entered their flat, dropping his keys on the table near the door.
“In the kitchen.”
He smiled and followed her voice. He found her at the stove, wooden spoon in hand as she raised it to her mouth to take a quick taste test of the stew. Her face scrunched up in distaste.
“Needs more salt,” she mumbled to herself.
William moved towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back to his chest and pressing kisses along the side of her neck. His hands wandered to her the back of her neck and into her hair. He pulled her hair free from the band holding it and let it cascade down her shoulders. His kisses across her neck grew in intensity and she moaned, dropping the spoon somewhere in the vicinity of the stove.
“William,” Buffy moaned.
“Hey, pet,” he whispered before reaching around to place a kiss on her lips.
“What’d Angel want?”
The grin appeared on his face before he could stop. “We had a meeting today.”
“Really? With who?” Buffy asked, turning around to face him.
“A bloke named Wyndam-Pryce. Apparently, he saw potential.”
A smile slowly graced her face. “You mean-”
He nodded, “Yeah. He wants to give us money. Help us out.”
Buffy reached up and gave him a kiss before giggling, happy.
“It’s not a major label deal, but we have to start somewhere, right?”
She nodded excitedly, “We need to celebrate. Let’s go out.”
“Luv, what about -” he gestured to the saucepan still on the stove.
She shrugged, reaching behind her to turn it off. “Doomed from the beginning. So, where do you want to go?”
A hand trailed down her arm before grasping her waist, holding her tightly to his body, “I…think I just want to stay in.” He leaned in and kissed her briefly before once again, tracing a line of kisses and nips across her jaw and down her neck.
She tilted her head, allowing him better access, moaning when he reached a particularly erogenous area. “I, uh, I think I can live with that,” she whispered huskily.
He grinned against her neck, before running his hands down her body, hoisting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist.
“Good, pet.”
Her laughter could be throughout their home as he carried her to their bed.
Interview 1997
And there you have it.
END CHAPTER SEVEN