Page 18 of A Boy Called Lovesong

“Noah? Please tell me you’re in a cab.”

“I’m in a cab. There’s traffic on the bridge, but I’m coming, I promise.”

Margot sighed audibly with relief. “Thank fuck for that. Because you know you’ve canceled three times on me already. I’ve had this publisher in a holding pattern for ten months now while you…”

“While I what?”

“You know. While you… reset. This is our last chance to lock in a book deal with them. After this they’re walking.”

“They’re talking about walking?”

“Not yet. Not unless you really pull it out of the bag today. I know you can do it. Just please tell me you’re not wearing a tie. Please tell me you dressed for this?”

I pulled Joel’s tie from around my neck and jammed it into my pocket. “Of course, not wearing a tie,” I said. Before asking, “Why wouldn’t I be wearing a tie?”

“Because these guys want a bona fide music guru. They wanna see someone they can market the fuck out of. They want the enigma of Kurt Cobain, the wisdom of Bob Dylan and the fuck-the-world attitude of Leonard Cohen. If you’ve got some Jim Morrison puke on your shirt, even better.”

“I don’t have puke. But I haven’t shaved in a week.”

“That’s good. Now mess up your hair. Unbutton your shirt.”

“Unbutton my shirt? What is this, an Only Fans audition?”

“It’s a shitload more lucrative than that. Just do what I say. And jewelry… Do you have jewelry?”

“No.” I glanced at the wooden-beaded rosary hanging from the cab driver’s rear-view mirror. “Let me see what I can do.”

Hanging up the phone, I felt in my pocket, past Joel’s tie, for some cash. “Excuse me… driver?”

“Ah, here he is… at last.”

The restaurant was a fancy one, overlooking the East River with Manhattan views that I was certain would be reflected in the price of the food.

I hurried to the table where Margot and two men, both in suits, rose to meet me. “Sorry I’m late.” I shook hands with the men, and the wooden rosary dangling long and loose against my chest clattered.

“Brad, Mike, I’d like you to meet Noah.”

“Pleased to meet you both.”

“Pleased to meetyou,” said Mike, I think. “Now that we’ve finally pinned you down, we’re looking forward to chatting. Margot has been talking this book up, but we can’t wait to hear your thoughts, your vision, your raw energy. Let’s see just how far we can take this thing, huh?”

“Say, you wanna drink to start?” Brad pointed to me and signaled a waiter before I could even respond.

“Sure. Whiskey would be great. Neat.”

Brad grinned as the waiter approached. “I could have picked you for a whiskey man. Why don’t we get a bottle and really let your creativity flow.”

“Oh. Um, sure.” I saw the look on Margot’s face. I could practically hear her scream at me,where’s your fuck-the-world attitude?I edited my response. “Fuck yeah, let’s get a bottle.”

Brad and Mike might as well have high-fived, grinning enthusiastically at my response. “A bottle of your finest whiskey and four glasses,” Brad told the waiter who hurried away.

Mike clapped his hands excitedly then rubbed his palms together, like he’d already counted the money he expected thisbook to bring in. “So… the one hundred greatest rock, pop, and blues musicians of all time, as told by the man who has been chasing music legends across the globe for his entire career. The inside scoops, the untold stories, the secrets to their chart-topping success… Music lovers everywhere will want to lap this the fuck up. Am I right?” He gave his colleague a back-handed slap on the chest.

“I hope you’re right,” Brad said as the waiter returned with a bottle and four glasses. “Otherwise, we’re about to blow a very expensive bottle of whiskey.”

“You’re not about to blow anything,” Margot said as Brad handed out the whiskeys and we chinked our glasses. “Noah’s unique insight into this industry is second-to-none. Ever sit in a Swedish sauna and listen to Jagger talk about Marianne Faithfull till he cried? Noah has. Ever go rock-climbing with Chris Martin and twist your ankle so badly that Chris had to bandage you up and get his private helicopter to chopper you both out of Monument Valley? Noah has. Ever sift through drawers in Alanis Morrisette’s attic, going through old lyrics with her until she found the original list of things that truly were ironic? Noah has. Noah’s done it all. He holds the rights to more than four thousand sit-down interviews with the world’s biggest stars. He can shine a light on their talent like nobody else has ever done, and because of his reputation within the industry, he’ll do it with the blessing of each and every one of those music icons, or in the case of those legends who have passed, he’ll have the blessing of their family and estate. Gentlemen, what Noah brings to the table is going to be your next bestselling blockbuster, I guarantee it.”

I took a gulp of whiskey.

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