Before the girl could answer the manager's inquiries, her (as in Charley) cellphone rang once more. The irritating cellphone tone was higher than ever and she knew she couldn't ignore this one. If she did, it was possible that the Sound of Sinners will be losing their once chance in rock star fame. Charley could not afford that now, especially since this was her final chance to show the label that she was a competent manager. She may threaten to quit the band many times, she knew she could never do that without risking the loss of her job.<br/><br/>All the bands she had managed had dissolved or she left them before they get serious attention, so this was her last chance to impress the bloody label. To show she had a Midas Touch like before. Which meant she had to answer the damn phone, in short. She sighed and looked at the girl, feeling bad that she couldn't help the girl out but duty calls. Her job calls. Her livelihood calls.<br/><br/>"I'll try to talk to you later," Charley said as she quickly went to a quiet spot somewhere to answer the phone.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The manager left the quiet spot in an effort to not commit suicide right there and then. Her face was flushed, her breathing was hard and drawn out and she was seeing bloody red at the moment. If someone came to her with bad news right now, she'll gut them out and strangle them with their own intestines. She promised that!<br/><br/>The reason why she was so tense and bitchy (more than usual) was that she had gotten off a heated discussion with the promoter over Lou's outrageous demands. She argued and fought over the things the rhythm guitarist had picked, saying that they were vital for the woman in order to get through the day. And if that meant offensive language slapped on tops, enough booze to kill a bloody elephant and its' ancestors and spare rhythm guitars, a total of seven, so be it.<br/><br/>"There's a reason she wants a shirt specifically saying 'Pope is a Paedo', but we just don't understand," she told the flabbergasted person. "She's an<em>artist</em>. What do you expect?"<br/><br/>It took her nearly thirty minutes to convince the person, but she did but it left her standing on her last nerves.<br/><br/>"Girls," she said, going back on stage, "we really need to get practic - "<br/><br/>... they were all gone.<br/><br/>"Just what I need," she fumed, running both hands in her hair and trying not to scream out her frustration. She paced back and forth, knowing they were doing something they shouldn't be doing and there was jackshit she could do. Until she found them, which required time and that was something she didn't have, they were doing as they pleased. "All of them gone, the promoters breathing down my fucking neck, my inability to get laid."<br/><br/>She stopped herself, wondering where the hell did that come from. Her thoughts went back to what Lou said to her when she was leaving.<br/><br/><em>Thanks Mommy, now kindly fuck off and maybe blow that roadie over there or just finger yourself cos you can't get some around here due you being a damn fossil of bygone eras!</em><br/><br/>"I can get anyone I damn please," Charley said, crossing her arms like a petulant child, fuming more than ever. "I'm the fucking manager, for the love of God. If anyone here can catch tail, it'll be me damn it. Wait... why the hell did I say that outloud? Jesus, I need to drink..."<br/><br/>Charley turned around and went to her small office room that she was using at the moment, hoping to have a stiffie to dull the pain.