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him.   I see they’re neutral on the subject for now, but they could go either way, deciding it’s not worth the effort or that it’s definitely worth trying.   It will depend on who does the better job of convincing them.   Now I know who I’m up against.   I narrow my focus on the guitarist, reading his body language and facial expressions, trying to gauge the best plan of attack.
    I stand and walk over to be with Mel.
    “This is Scarlett.   Maybe some of you know her.   They call her The Normalizer.”
    Eyebrows go up around the room, but no one gives any indication that they’ve heard of me.   They’re probably wondering what the hell he’s talking about.
    “I’m going to let her talk to you now, but understand that she has the label’s support and mine. She has complete authority over Tarin’s business.   Let there be no mistake about that.”
    The whispering starts again, and several people don’t look happy.
    “Hello, everyone.”   I stand straight with my shoulders back, being sure to make eye contact with several people as I scan the room.   “My name is Scarlett Barnes.   I’ve been hired to get Tarin back under control, back on track, and back to doing what he does best: making music.   Lately, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, making music has kind of taken a back seat to partying, drug use, womanizing, and general hell raising.”   Several smiles bloom.   “Not that there’s anything wrong with those things in moderation, but at this point, Tarin has long passed doing any one of those things in moderation.   If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll be dead within the year.”
    I’ve shocked several people, but there are a handful who don’t look as if they disagree.   I count the bassist, the chauffeur, and the two bodyguards in that group.   Good .   Four down, three to go : Drummer, guitarist, manager.
    “Wow, man, harsh,” says the drummer.   His stringy hair and stained t-shirt makes him look almost homeless.
    “You’re fresh out of the hospital for a heroin overdose, right?” I ask him.
    The guy’s jaw drops but he doesn’t say anything.   Several people snicker, but stop when he shoots them the evil eye.
    “Who was with you when you were shooting up?”
    He sets his jaw mutinously, but still doesn’t respond.
    “Yeah, that’s what I thought.   I know Tarin’s your friend.   I know you don’t mean to cause him any harm.   But right now, he’s on a one-way path to self-destruction.   It’s not just having fun for him.   He’s lost control.   He’s off the rails.   I need your help getting him back on.”
    “Yeah, but who are you?” asks the bassist.   He’s smiling, obviously not as bitter as the drummer.   “Not to be rude or anything, but…”   He shrugs.
    The guitarist gives me a mean smirk as he’s nodding in agreement.
    “Thanks for asking, Randy.   Actually, I’m a consultant.   I have thirty days to get his ass in gear.   It’s not a lot of time so I need your help.”
    “You a doctor or something?” Randy asks.
    “No.   But I do this for a living, and I’m good at what I do.”
    “We just have to take your word for it?” says Stick, the rhythm guitarist. He’s obviously not as convinced.   “Sorry, but we’re not that naive.   People come after us for our money all the time.”
    “I’ve vetted her credentials, and they’re impeccable,” said Mel, sounding offended.   “And in case I wasn’t clear enough before, let me be more clear now … she has the label’s and my full support.   Period.   This is a done deal.”
    I hold my hand out to calm him and the others down.   “I’m not here to make anyone upset.   I’m here to ask for your help.   I assume you want Tarin healthy and happy …”   I look around for confirmation, knowing full-well that anyone who disagrees with me right now is going to look like a complete ass.   All the heads in the room either nod or just remain still.
    “Good.