Page 84 of Your Rhythm
“So he’s just going to sit here and eat with us?” Ace mutters. “This is weird.”
“Who cares? There’s food.Je vais prendre comme six plats des gaufres.”
He’s not joking. He really will order six plates of waffles.
I offer my hand to the guy at the table as we take our seats. “Dylan Thompson, I’m guessing?”
“That’s me. You must be Matt.”
Introductions are made all around, and we start browsing the menus. There’s a lot of throat clearing and sidelong glances as we all wonder if the entire meal is going to be as awkward as it is right now. It’s only after the waiter takes our orders that Dylan starts to speak.
“So, as you’ve probably guessed, there is an actual reason why I’m here having lunch with you guys.”
Here we go. This must be some kind of business proposition.
“I have a...story to tell you, about some things that happened awhile ago—some things I was involved in, and some things that I did.”
I glance at Cole across the table from me. He looks as weirded out as I feel.
“I used to work as an intern for Atlas Records. It was my first real shot in this industry, my first chance to get some actual experience, and it sucked. Big time. I don’t know what your time with them has been like so far, but for me that place was a toxic environment. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I was doing and saying things for them I didn’t know I was capable of.”
I have no idea why he’s telling us this, or if what he’s saying is true, but something in his words catches my attention like a glimpse of my own reflection in a shard of glass.
“That’s the thing though, isn’t it? In this industry, it’s all about moving up. It’s all just one big hot hits list, and the only thing you start focusing on is whose spot you’re going to take next.”
He props his chin in his hand for a moment and inhales sharply before continuing.
“I was dating this girl at the time. She worked forLast Bastion. I don’t know if she ever saw it herself, but she was one of the best journalists they ever had. She was smart. So smart. I don’t know what she was doing with an asshole like me. She started covering a story on Atlas Records, and I volunteered to be a source. At first she wanted to keep me out of it, but I had information she needed.”
My heart jumps into my throat. I look around to see if the guys have started to make the same guess as me, but they’re still staring at Dylan like he’s speaking Mandarin.
“The story was about a bunch of musicians who’d been claiming Atlas bands were ripping off their songs. It was true, what they were saying. It wasn’t even much of a secret around the Atlas offices, but a company that size has enough power to get away with things. They treated all their interns like shit, so I figured why not give my girlfriend what she needed for her story? She’d keep me anonymous anyway. Then word about her investigation got leaked. They shut the whole thing down and forcedLast Bastionto let her go. Eventually they connected her with me.”
“So they fired you too?” I ask.
“No.” He stares at his water glass in front of him. “I did end up losing my job there, but it wasn’t until later. When they threatened to let me go because of K—because of the story, I lost it. I didn’t want to go back to having nothing, to having less than nothing once my reputation was ruined. My priorities were totally fucked back then. So I just...started lying. I made people think she got all the information somewhere else, that she only dated me to try to force me into talking.” He swallows. “I basically implied she slept around with half the industry behind my back to get what she wanted.”
“You did that to Kay?” I spit out.
I don’t bother looking at the guys’ reactions, although I do hear a few gasps. I keep my attention fixed on Dylan as he raises his eyes to me.
“It’s the biggest regret of my life.”
“It better fucking be.”
He nods. “She’s the reason I’m here. I don’t really for work for Metropolis. She knew you wouldn’t see me if it had anything to do with her.”
“This is bullshit,” Ace scoffs. “This doesn’t change what she wrote about us.”
“She was never going to publish that,” Dylan asserts. “La Garewanted to print that kind of article about you, and Kay wrote it to prove why theyshouldn’t. It was just a mock-up, an example of whatnotto do.” He delivers his next sentence directly to me. “Maybe if you’d actually asked her about it, you wouldn’t be in whatever mess you’re in right now.”
“That seems way too convenient,” Ace states. JP nods beside him.
“Does it?” Dylan leans over his bag for a moment and digs out a copy ofLa Gare. “Read this. It’s been flying off the shelves all morning. I even heard them talking about it on the radio.”
We huddle over the newspaper. There’s a photo of Ace onstage at our Ottawa show taking up almost half the front page. One of his hands is stretching towards the crowd, fingers just inches from connecting with those of a girl in the audience. His hair is plastered to his face with sweat, features strained from the emotion of the lyrics as he clutches the mic in his other hand.
If this really is flying off the shelves, I have a suspicion the photo’s got more than a little to do with it. Even so, the anticipation of reading Kay’s story has enough blood rushing to my head that I can barely get the letters on the page to stay still. I shift closer to the table and begin to read.
