The entire drive home, my thoughts were all about the mystery man. Why though? He's not the first record exec to try to game me. Natas—"whatever his name is"—didn't say anything to me that hasn't been said before. Why would he be different? Or am I different?

The truth is that the indie music scene, at its best, is a place where artists can nurture and develop their talent while expanding the mind and view of their audience. It's freedom. No constraints of labels looking for that chart-topping hit, no bloated budgets, no pressure to make music that fills stadiums. Then there's the flip side.

Right now, music is making me late on bills, struggling to get rent, forcing my wife to get up at 4 a.m. every morning to go to work—I'm sure she would disagree with that one. What if my kids get sick, or something major happens to the car? What if I just want to take my wife on a vacation for more than two days because that's all we can afford? The plight of the artist suffering for their art shouldn't extend to the family. Should it? I should've walked away.

I walk in the house and Lori is sleep on the couch. The living room wraps around me like an old friend—heavy with that familiar lived-in chaos, the grey sectional sagging from too many late nights, faint glow from the TV standby light cutting through the dark. Coffee grounds and laundry detergent linger in the air, the cluttered coffee table still holding yesterday's mail and her laptop. Bamboo plants on the shelf whisper that sweet scent, family photos watching silent from the walls. It brought back memories of our early life. When I played more shows in town, if she couldn't come, I'd walk in the house and find her fast asleep on the couch.

The first time it happened, I put a blanket over her, laid next to her, and went to sleep. Good boyfriend, right? Apparently not. She woke up the next morning pissed. I was supposed to wake her up to tell her how the night turned out. I thought it was dumb, which ended up being another mistake. So after arguing about it, apologizing for something that I didn't think was really wrong in the first place, and agreeing to something that was totally unnecessary—most men can relate—I promised to wake her up after every show to tell her how it went.

After every performance, I did just that. I can't say if it was because she was taking a genuine interest in my work, or she was just an ear to listen, but it felt great to do it. I was even excited to tell her about the concerts that didn't turn out the way I anticipated. Lori wanted to know who I performed with, what songs we did, how many people were there, who promoted it. How many CDs I sold. How many women hit on me. She'd ask why do I think the show was or wasn't successful. She shared my burdens and enjoyed my excitements. What have I given her in return? Nothing.

I'm sure she'll disagree. I know she will. In her heart of hearts she really believes that her reward is my success as an artist, which has nothing to do with the money. But fuck that. I want to do more for her. I want to give her more. I have to.

Alright, let me wake her up and tell her about the night. She's a pretty light sleeper so all I have to do is nudge her.

"Hey babe. How was the show?"

"I killed that shit!" I exclaimed as I sat on the couch next to her, "and made bill money plus extra. Thank you very much." I proudly pull this wad of bread out of my pocket secured with a rubber band. I figured that with the extra money, I could do something special for my baby. Maybe treat her to a spa day; even though, I doubt she'll go. Lori has always been funny about people she doesn't know rubbing on her.

"Good because I forgot that the car insurance is about to come out this week too."

There goes the spa day. "Well I guess I made bill money, and nothing extra."

I also tell her about the Natas cat that asked to manage me. I handed her his crazy ass card. "You hate industry people."

"I know."

"Every other card you've ever gotten usually ends up in your business card trash." This is true. I have a wastebasket that's full of only business cards from all of the "music biz"—in very big quotes—people that approach me for one reason or the other. It's filled up with alleged A&Rs, booking agents that want to charge a high flat fee per show to represent me, managers that will treat me like I'm working for them, producers that cost most of my budget and all of my publishing, and every other entertainment charlatan that believes that I'm too busy to count money. I like to keep it next to my work desk to remind me how shady the industry is, and that what I'm doing is important. I should've had that damn trash can with me tonight.

"I'm thinking about calling him." Makes me cringe to even say it.

"Why this guy?"

"I can't tell you in specifics, but he just seem different. When he told me that he could put money in my pockets, I believed him."

"Believed him? Don't they all say that?" That's usually my line. I'm the cynic of the two of us, while Lori is the unicorn. I'm not too comfortable with this line of questioning.

"Right, but this dude was though... he promised that I would make more money than I ever have from my music."

"What's the price though? You always tell me that there's a price to everything in music that usually is bigger than what you get in return." She listens to me way too much.

"Maybe the price is steep, but the payoff is bigger." I sound desperate. "I'm just fucking tired of sitting my ass outside of clubs trying to get bill money." I am definitely desperate.

"I don't want you to make a bad decision because of bills, but whatever you want to do I have you back like always." Of course she does. She's my Rock of Gibraltar. "Well I'm going to bed so I can get up in a few hours to serve these crazy people their coffee."

"Yet another reason why I should call this Natas cat. I hate you getting up this early to go to work, and deal with these crazy ass people every day. You deserve better." ...than me.

"We all deserve better than my customers, and we will have better one day. Don't do something that you'll regret so I can sleep longer."

We kiss goodnight, and she walks to our bedroom. She definitely has a point about not doing something that I regret. It sounded like I put those words in her, and told her to break in case of emergency. I'm glad she did break it, too. I think I was ready to call Natas tonight. Back to me now.

I've built my career on late nights, independent thinking, and acting on plans instead of panic. There are a few bumps here and there, but, overall, how many cats can say that they've done what I've done? It'll all be worth it soon. I just need to stick to the plan. Now let me hit this laptop up, and get to building this thing.

It couldn't hurt to, at the very least, meet with him to see what he has to say.