Chapter Nine: Big Deal

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Relying on Dirk Bakker's wise counsel was rapidly proving to be one of the most providential decisions of Django's young, dislocated life. While Django was still navigating the dizzying aftermath of their second Ronnie Scott's triumph, Dirk took a quiet moment with Dave, Lars, Leo, and Stefan. "Lads," he began, his tone serious but kind, "you need to understand what's happening here. The record labels, especially EMI, they're not just interested in the band. Their primary focus," he paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, "is Django." He saw the flicker of understanding, perhaps a touch of apprehension, in their eyes. They weren't fools; they'd seen the way the industry wolves circled their prodigious frontman. "But here's the thing," Dirk continued, "When I told Django this, when I suggested that perhaps EMI might want him as a solo artist, he wouldn't hear of it. He stood firm. He said, 'No way, we're in this together.'" A sigh of relief went through the group. "At the same time," Dirk added gently, "you know, as well as I do, that you're working with a once-in-a-generation talent. A musical sensation.

I told him he needed a real manager, someone with more clout than an old record shop owner. But he trusts me. He trusts us." He looked at each of them. "So, lads, we're all about to embark on a very wild ride. Let's enjoy it while it lasts, eh? Because we're part of something truly special here."

Later, back in their hotel room, Dirk and Django talked for hours, the remnants of room service pushed aside to make way for dreams and strategies. "They want you, Django," Dirk said, pacing the small room. "They want you badly. And after these past two nights, they know you have other options. EMI is a powerhouse, no doubt about it, but right now, we have leverage. My instinct, for what it's worth, is to go with them if the terms are right. They have the reach, the resources. And right now, with this momentum, you can probably negotiate a contract that gives you significant artistic freedom, financial security, and a multi-year, multiple-album horizon. That's the foundation. What else do you want?"

Django, who had been staring out at the street below, turned, his eyes alight with ideas. "My first album... I want them to do whatever it takes to get Toots Thielemans as a special guest. His harmonica... it would be magic. Imagine if we'd recorded last night's session with Herbie Mann properly? Well, I want to do that with Toots, in a proper studio. It would be nice to work with a fellow Belgian, get his advice," he added, a small smile playing on his lips, "in French, even." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Maybe even... one side of the album live, and the other side in the studio. And after it's done, I want to tour. Europe, of course, but also America. And then... then I'd like to spend some time in Brazil. Absorb the music there, expand my palette. Perhaps even record something there." He hesitated for a moment. "There's one more thing. I want a female vocalist, who plays flute with jazz chops. But everything would have to be perfect: the voice, the musicianship, and... the simpatico with us. It would give us so much more room, musically. We'd have to figure out how that works with the name 'Brotherhood,' of course, but it's an idea." He looked directly at Dirk. "The contract will be with me, primarily. But I will ensure the Brotherhood is taken care of. That's non-negotiable."

Dirk listened, a faint smile playing on his lips. Pretty mature, pretty ambitious, for a teenager who was, officially at least, barely out of his teens. "That all makes perfect sense, Django," Dirk said. "Very clear. Ronnie knows a good music solicitor. We'll get him to look over any contract, make sure the royalties, the technicalities, all the fine print, is in your favor. And if EMI balks at your vision, well, they're not the only game in town anymore, are they?"

On Friday morning, Dirk and Django were welcomed at the impressive EMI headquarters on Manchester Square. They were given a grand tour of the hallowed Abbey Road Studios, walking the same corridors as The Beatles, their footsteps echoing with history. They were treated with a deference that bordered on reverence. Executives described EMI's worldwide presence, the roster of legendary artists Django would join, the doors that would open, the unparalleled promotional support. Throughout it all, Dirk and Django maintained their carefully cultivated poker faces, listening intently, nodding occasionally, asking few questions. Finally, in a plush boardroom, Geoff Litchman, flanked by a couple of senior executives, laid out their proposed offer. It was, Dirk had to admit, more generous than he had dared to anticipate. It included a significant advance, a favorable royalty rate, a commitment to multiple albums, and a substantial budget for recording and touring. Beyond the financials, there were promises of robust publicity, strategic promotion, and access to EMI's vast network of connections. It was, for a young artist just starting out, beyond their wildest imaginings.

Dirk and Django exchanged a subtle, almost imperceptible glance. Then Dirk, leaning forward slightly, began to lay out Django's wishes, his voice calm and reasonable but firm. He spoke of the desire for Toots Thielemans, the live/studio album concept, the tours, the Brazilian sojourn, the firm intention to find a female vocalist/flautist with serious skills. Crucially, he articulated Django's absolute demand for artistic freedom: control over song selection, production, arrangements, and album artwork. When he finished, there was a moment of silence. Litchman looked at his colleagues. Dirk broke the quiet. "Have this drawn up as a formal contract," he said. "We'll have our solicitor take a look at it, and we'll get back to you early next week." An hour later, in a nearby pub, the poker faces vanished. Dirk and Django clinked their pint glasses, then erupted into relieved laughter, punctuated by an exuberant hug.

It was truly happening. "I told you," Dirk said, wiping foam from his lip, a huge grin on his face, "you needed a real manager! I guess we could play hardball, try to eke out a few more percentage points here and there, but honestly, Django, this seems more than fair to me. It gives you everything you asked for, and then some." Django, his heart still pounding with a mixture of disbelief and elation, nodded in agreement. "It's... it's more than I ever dreamed, Dirk." They quickly made a call and arranged an appointment for the following Monday with the solicitor Ronnie Scott had recommended. The future, once a terrifying unknown, now stretched before Django, bright and full of astonishing music yet to be made.

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Story by Alan Bryson, edited and assisted by AI.

Disclaimer: This is a fictional account exploring what might have happened if a temporal quantum event had occurred. While real musicians and historical figures appear within these pages, they exist here in an alternate timeline—a reality that quantum theory suggests was possible, but that never came to pass. All interactions, conversations, and events involving these individuals are entirely fictional, products of a world that exists only in the space between what was and what might have been.

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