Page 8 of Broken Lines

“If you find him, don’t mention being a fan. And don’t pretend for a second that the two of you are friends. He’s not your friend. He’s your target. Just like you’re his fucking prey.”

I shiver as I nod quickly, my pulse quickening as I try to swallow the task that I’m about to set out and do.

“And like I said,” Chuck shrugs. “If you’re not up to this…there’s the door. But if youdowant—”

“I want it,” I blurt, nodding stiffly.

He eyes me coolly.

“You find me Jackson Havoc, kid, and you can havemyfucking job.”

2

Melody

“Wait, are youserious?!”

June, my friend and roommate, who also happens to be anamazingif not totally under-appreciated singer-songwriter, squeals into the phone.

“Yougot it?!”

I give a grin and a quick wave to Martin, the building’s doorman, as he opens the door for me with his usual flourish. Then my attention swivels back to June.

“Oh, I got it.”

“Fuck yeah, Mel!” She screams. “I meanfuckyeah!”

“Hey, thank your pal Becca for me.”

June snorts.

“I don’t think she was expecting that you’dactuallyget the job. I’m pretty sure she was doing my friend—you—a favor to get in my good graces. She’s been hounding me for some lame puff piece about women and indie music for like a month now.”

“Wouldn’t that story be good for you?”

“I mean, if Becca wasn’t a hack writer, sure.”

I choke on a laugh.

“So, which of those pitches you prepared did the trick?”

“None of them, actually.” I groan. “I did it, June.”

She sighs, knowing exactly what I mean by “it”.

“Well, hey, it worked. I mean, we both knew mentioning Judy was a layup into that gig, right?”

“Yeah, well…I kinda wanted to do it on my own merits,” I groan as I step into the elevator.

“Look, take it from someone who’s been fighting that ‘on your own merit’ fight for years. When opportunity comes knocking? Just freaking take it. You can prove your merit once you’ve got your foot in the door.”

I smile wryly. “Fair. Thanks.”

“Don’t let it sour the day. You’re going to be great at this. Of course, offer still stands to be my personal lyric writer. You can be Bernie, I’ll be Elton.”

I grin, rolling my eyes.

“Has the pay gone up?”

---