Part 28 (2/2)
She listened, a crease appearing in her forehead, and then she said, ”Okay. Okay. Yeah, all right. I'll call you back in a few minutes.”
She hung up the phone, then said, ”I need you to drive,” and swerved across all three lanes and into the breakdown lane.
”What the h.e.l.l?” I asked.
”Just ... switch with me, all right? I have to do this right now.”
Without another word, she shut off the car and jumped out. By the time I got my seatbelt off and started to s.h.i.+ft out of my seat, she was already around the car. I was mystified. I didn't say a word, just walked back around and got in, then started driving.
She was already dialing the phone. At least this was better than arguing with her.
”Hi ... I need to buy two tickets. Boston to Los Angeles, round trip ... tomorrow, your earliest flight.”
What the h.e.l.l? We'd planned on spending the day together tomorrow. It was the first Friday in weeks where I didn't have work or rehearsal.
She grabbed a small notebook out of her purse and started writing. ”Coach if you've got it ... otherwise, whatever.”
She frowned. ”First cla.s.s is all you have? What's that going to run?”
Jesus. First cla.s.s on a flight tomorrow? That was going to cost a fortune. She winced. They must have told her the price.
”All right, that's fine.” She gave them her name, then said, ”Crank ... does your driver's license really say Crank?”
”Yeah,” I said, still confused.
”Okay ... the other pa.s.senger is Crank Wilson. C-R-A-N-K. Yes, really. ”
Okay. Now I was ... completely gobsmacked. She was buying tickets for both of us. To fly to LA. For reasons I didn't know. What the h.e.l.l was she up to?
”Okay, let me verify. 6:45 out of Boston. Return flight leaves LAX at 9:35 PM, arriving at Boston 9:30 Sat.u.r.day morning?”
She paused, then said, ”Visa,” and read off a credit card number.
A moment later, she said, ”Thanks! Happy Thanksgiving!” and hung up the phone.
I drove in silence. A second later, she said, ”Oh, my G.o.d. Almost four thousand dollars. My father's going to kill me when he sees the bill. The band is going to have to reimburse me after we get the advance.”
I coughed and said, ”What was that all about?”
”Oh, c.r.a.p,” she said. ”Hold on.” And then she started dialing again. Oh, for G.o.d's sake. Was I at the absolute bottom of her list of people to talk with today?
”Mitch? Hey, it's Julia. Okay ... we're on American Airlines. Flight gets in at 10:05 A.M. Should we cab to the office? Oh! Great. Well, I guess we'll see you tomorrow then! And Mitch? Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You have no idea how much I owe you.”
She listened for a second then laughed. ”All right. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”
She hung up the phone, then sat back and smiled.
I was gritting my teeth by this time. I lit another cigarette. I don't normally smoke this much, but she was p.i.s.sing me off.
”Spill,” I said.
She smiled. ”Allen Roark is taking us to meet the president of White Dog Records tomorrow.”
I caught my breath, trying to process what she'd just said. ”Allen Roark ... the Allen Roark?”
She nodded.
”Mitch played the song for him this morning. And so Roark called the President of White Dog, told him we had to meet right away ... and ... so you and I are flying to LA in the morning.”
I drove. And took a drag off my cigarette. And drove some more. She looked at me, waiting for me to respond. I took another drag off my cigarette and then spoke.
”Is this the part where I say I'm sorry? I should never have doubted you?”
She looked thoughtful then said, ”Why don't we save that for when you really p.i.s.s me off.”
I burst into a laugh and shook my head. ”I can't believe we're meeting Allen Roark tomorrow.”
”And the president of White Dog Records,” she said. Rubbing it in.
”He really liked the song?”
”Would he set up a meeting on this short notice if he didn't? On Thanksgiving day, of all days?”
”I guess not. Can I tell Serena?”
She looked over at me, raising her eyebrows. ”Serena doesn't doubt me.”
”Oh s.h.i.+t,” I said. ”I'm sorry. I really am.”
”I'll forgive you eventually.”
”Do we have to go eat with your parents? Let's shack up in a hotel and have wild mad makeup s.e.x instead.”
She grinned at me. ”We have to be up early tomorrow.”
”You're killing me.”
And so, she navigated from her MapQuest directions, and I drove us into the wilds of the suburbs of Boston, where I'd spent exactly no time at all during my life. I was a pit rat, and spent too many years hanging with the punks and homeless kids around Cambridge and Somerville to ever be comfortable out in the pristine, upper middle cla.s.s suburbs. I kept expecting to get run over by a horde of soccer moms driving SUVs. But here we were, driving up to a five-star restaurant with an award winning chef and her parents. I hoped we could keep it short. She could use the excuse of the early flight. Of course, her father would then wonder how she paid for first cla.s.s tickets to LA. Better not mention the flight, I thought, if he was the one getting the bill.
Even that was hard to get my mind around. Who gives their kids credit cards? Especially one with a limit high enough you could just buy four thousand-dollar airplane tickets at the drop of a hat? That was crazy. And how had she arranged the meeting with Allen Roark, or even gotten him to listen to our song? He must have a thousand bands a week sending him demos. Julia had been the band's manager for exactly two days. And she'd already arranged that. In some ways, it didn't even seem fair. Was it really all about who you knew?
No. Maybe getting us to Roark this quickly was about who she knew. But him to like the song? That was all about the music. And I could own that.
We finally got there. And I spied a family going in. The men were in suits and ties. The ladies were in dresses.
I looked down at myself. ”I'm really not dressed right for this, am I?”
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