Hallelujah Ch. 04

"Good. I'm good."

Still more silence, and now I'm getting annoyed. What the fuck is she doing, calling me up out of nowhere and then acting like I'm supposed to be carrying the conversation? Like she's waiting for me to ask her something? I remember how she did that on our first date, too...called me up and then waited for me to figure out what she wanted to hear. Save that shit for your husband.

"So why did you call?" I ask. "Were you going to order a pizza and just figured I could use the work?"

"That's funny." I can tell she means it, but she doesn't laugh. "I guess I don't know why I wanted to call you. I just...did. Listen, maybe we could...I don't know, have lunch together sometime. I'd really like it if we could...be friends. I know I could use one."

Be friends. With Jasmine Knox. Huh. "I'm real sorry, Jasmine. I don't think I can. Being friends with you would be tough enough, but it would be way outside my comfort zone to see you and A.J. playing the loving couple together."

"What about just us?"

"I doubt he'd be too thrilled about you spending time with me alone."

"He wouldn't care." She said it too quickly. "Jake, it's been years. My husband and I have been together long enough that we trust one another." She leans her weight on the word 'husband,' like I couldn't have guessed. "He's not the kind of insecure man who has to hover over his wife and control everything. He knows I love him, and he understands that I can be friends with a man and not have it be romantic in any way."

I don't know what to say. I know I should point out that most men she might befriend haven't just been on television for fucking another man's wife, or that other male friends haven't brought her to their bed hundreds of times in a past life.

Or that other male friends don't love her like I still do.

I don't say any of these things. So she continues.

"Please, Jake? I'd really like to see you, just for lunch. I kind of lost our friends in the divorce, as it were, so I haven't had anyone to remember all those New York stories with. And I know I really wasn't, uh, fair to you with what I did, but I meant it when I said I could use a friend right now. I thought that maybe you could, too."

Remember that part where I'm an idiot? "Sure," I say. "Sure, why not. Is tomorrow good for you?"

"Tomorrow? Um...yeah." I wonder about the hesitation there. Maybe she's just thinking about her schedule. "Where at?"

"El Puente," I say without thinking.

"I'm not sure that's appropriate." She's probably right...history gives the place extra meaning...but damn it, who the fuck does she think she is? This was her idea.

"You're the one talking like this is no big deal," I point out. "I haven't eaten there since I got back into town, and I used to like the food. That's all."

"Well. Okay. What time?"

"You tell me."

"One-thirty."

"Fair enough." It seems strange that she picked such a late hour. Jasmine was always talking about lunch by eleven, and could even get cranky if she had to wait too long past noon. But, whatever. People change. "See you then."

"It's nice talking to you again, Jake. Really nice," she says, and hangs up.

I look at the phone, then hang it up. What a surreal conversation.

Did I seriously just agree to meet her for lunch? What possessed me to do that?

I blame the coffee. And the moon.

Can I back out now? Or just not show? Maybe that's the best plan. Yeah, I might have to suffer one or two pissed off calls from her, but that would drive the point home hard enough that she wouldn't come calling again, talking some bullshit about being friends and remembering New York together. Jesus.

The phone rings. I pick I up and say, "What?" with all my irritation thrown in. Before the reply even comes down, I realize that this is probably my big call and that, in all probability, that was an awesome way to start. Thanks, Jasmine. I guess I owe you.

"Can I speak with Mr. Currie, please?" The voice is thick, like it belongs to a very large man. Not deep, really, but just...like his tongue is too big for his mouth. I associate the sound with obesity. Maybe I'm wrong.

"That's me."

"My name is John Kennedy. I represent Teddy Fields."

I roll my eyes, which I'm sure does not communicate well over the phone. "You've got to be shitting me."

Hesitation. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Your name is John Kennedy. Seriously."

"Oh. Yessir. Middle name's Allen, though. I'm known to answer to John Allen, especially when my wife is angry, so if you'd rather use that I understand. I'm calling you regarding a chance to produce a record. Our mutual friend Paul Spears has told me that you are interested."

"Our friend Paul Spears is correct."

"I also understand that you are without representation. Teddy was...concerned...about whether or not you'd be getting a fair deal, so I thought that, if it's okay with you, I would serve as a sort of messenger between you and the record label."

"I am." And I highly doubt my interests are of much concern to you. But getting things moving along quickly and smoothly is.

"Then, if you would indulge me, I would like to go over with you the details of what you might expect from the record label's first offer on your contract. Just some fundamentals, the usual figures, that sort of thing. Then, we can discuss any counter-offers you might wish to make. I'll let you know what you might hope to get, within reason, and then I'll communicate your expectations with the label's legal representatives. In a few days, I can see to it that a copy of the label's offer is mailed to your address, and we can get everything signed and ready. Does that sound favorable to you?"

"Actually, no it doesn't."

"I see." His voice takes on that monotoned irritation that one usually expects from telemarketers when they are getting frustrated with the fact that you don't want to hear about their fucking offer. Which is maybe exactly what this is. "Was I misinformed as to your intentions?"

"No. It's just I already know what I want."

"I see. Can I ask to hear some of the terms you're, ahh, hoping to have met?"

"First, tell me why I ought to be trusting you. By all standards, I should not be one of the people you feel the need to look out for. I don't care what Fields asks you to do, until this contract is signed and a date is set I'm kind of the enemy. We both know that."

"That's absolutely true. Normally I wouldn't bother. I certainly don't give two shits about you, Mr. Currie."

"But."

"But Teddy Fields is in love, and hell is spending an afternoon with a songwriter in love."

"Right." And I'm sure the money about to come in from that song we cut doesn't hurt, either.

"So," he says, "are you going to share your dreams with me?"

"Sure, chief." Coffee, insomnia, fanatical thinking, and Jasmine have prepped me for this. I'm so ready. "I'm going to want three thousand dollars up front and a half point on every song on the album save two. On those two songs, which will be chosen by me upon completion of the album, I'll be wanting a full point."

A deep breath. "Interesting." He sounded amused. "You'll probably have to drop the three grand, but you can probably get them to sign off on the points as part of that compromise. Can I ask why you want to be able to select two songs for additional royalties?"

"Downloading may be hurting the majors, but it's been a boon to the indie artist. Spending six million dollars on a Jennifer Lopez record with two good songs and a bunch of filler ought to spell disaster to anybody with a brain, but they never seem to catch on to that. Meanwhile you have bands like Arcade Fire, the Decemberists, the Flaming Lips, and the National...all sitting just below the radar and selling numbers that indie artists in the 80's or early 90's never dreamed of. Most of the people who buy that music are hip, young, college educated, and they have a very heavy online footprint. They don't get their music off the radio, or from Rolling Stone's reviews column, and they don't buy it at Best Buy. If you can get them to pay for it at all, you're pretty lucky. I'm willing to bet that the album will sell like the single is...online. Online sales, online buzz, a little in the way of radio play...I'm further willing to bet that one or two standout tracks will get the most attention. It usually goes that way. People will buy one or two tracks on iTunes, decide they like it, and steal the rest. I intend to hedge my bets on guessing what those two tracks will be. If I'm right, it'll be a nice bonus. If I'm wrong, I suppose the label will get that money."

"Why not just ask for a full point on the album proper?"

"You and I both know I wouldn't get it. Besides, I want the contract to explicitly state payment by song."

"Hmm." I could hear him writing. "Anything else you want to include?"

"I want to make the record at Blackbird studios. I'm hoping that we'll be making the record fast and lean, so I'd like seven days booked in Studio A and seven days in Studio H. I also want the label to commit to billing as many as ten additional days in a studio of my choice if I deem it necessary."

A grunt. "That hardly sounds fast and lean, son. Twenty-four days of studio time is far too much for an artist of Teddy's size and following. You ought to know that."

"I do know that. I don't actually want to book any time in Studio H. It's too small, it won't sound right. But I know Fields likes smaller studios, and I want to be able to tell him that it's the label's fault we're recording in a big room. The truth is the room sound, the open space feel that he likes so much is better achieved in a big room, and I don't want to start this project by arguing with the artist. It also gives me something sizable I can drop when they refuse my first offer."

"I see. That commitment to book additional days is still going to be a problem, though. You'd be better of just including them on the total. Seventeen days is a bit large, and they'll probably come back with an offer of twelve, but these are businessmen and using the phrase 'commit to' when talking about spending money is going to tighten up their assholes a bit."

"Oh, I'll be dropping that, too. It's just a ploy. By the time those two budget-killers are off the table, I figure they'll be glad to give me my three grand. And I need it."

"So you're going to contract to cut a record in just seven days? That's dangerous territory. This is your first time up to bat, kid. If you promise a record in seven days, you'd better be prepared to deliver it. Otherwise, you will have single-handedly ended your career before it even got started."

"I know that."

He laughs through his nose. "I should have known you would be trouble when I found out that Teddy Fields took a liking to you. That sonofabitch never seems to get along with reasonable people. Son, if it's okay with you I will call the label right now and present your offer. They'll refuse and counter, but I guess you already know that."

"Yes I do. Give me a time when I can expect to hear back from you."

"Well, it's hard to say. You know record labels don't exactly move at my beck and call."

"Then say a week from tomorrow at noon, if that gives you enough room. But I prefer to know when you're calling rather than wait around for the phone to ring like some schoolgirl."

I hear more writing. "It won't be quite that long, son. I'll certainly know by noon tomorrow, so I can call you then."

"I'm busy. Make it five."

"Oh," he sounds surprised. "Okay."

Two goodbyes later, we're done and I'm back to pacing the room. That went incredibly well...I think. It felt right, anyway. Now my hearts pounding all over again, though. Maybe I'm foolish, but I almost believe Teddy won't let me get fucked over. Hell, this whole thing started with him insisting that I produce. I smile to myself.

And I think of Jasmine. The smile fades.

What is she up to? What game is she playing? She seems different, somehow. Less brazen, more bashful. More like the girl who used to need love and reassurance in order to relax and enjoy sex, and less like the confident woman who could so casually put people at ease.

And she's lying to me.

You see, one thing I'm pretty sure of is that AJ Knox would not be cool with the idea of his wife having dinner with her ex-almost-fiance, alone, at the restaurant that first began their little romance. Even if I didn't know as much about AJ as I do, I'd be pretty doubtful. But I do know a little about him, and I just don't buy it.

So what's the deal? Jasmine does want to see me. I'm pretty sure that's why she called, not to make sure I was okay. I flinch as I imagine her flipping through the channels and coming across my mug on the nine o'clock news. But I just don't understand why she wants to. She walked out on me, she got married, she moved on. One thing I definitely didn't hear in her voice was longing, so that's off the table. If not for romance, then why is she willing to put her presumably happy marriage in danger in order to see me?

One thing's for sure: friends though I may need, Jasmine Knox is not going to be one of them.