Thomas & January (Sleepless 2)

I threw on my hoodie and jacket, tucked my keys in my pocket and headed for the door. Downstairs, I hailed a taxi, worrying my lip the entire ride there. Jason was waiting on the street, smoking a cigarette when I pulled up next to him. I paid the fare and got out.

“What’s up, man?” I asked him.

“Nothing, what’s up with you?” he said, taking a last drag before putting it out with the toe of his shoe.

I nearly punched him. “Jason, you sounded like something was up. What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing,” he laughed. “I’m just about to head out for the night, but I wanted to hear them deliver this news to you first. I was in a hurry.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you. Coming from you, that’s a slight compliment.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Oh, you’re just about to get planted on your ass is all. Excited? I am,” he said, slapping his hands together and rubbing them together quickly.

“Jesus, what does that even mean, Jason?” I asked as we walked briskly to the elevator.

Inside, Jason leaned against the railing after pressing the button for the fifteenth floor. “Have fun at the party?” he asked breezily.

I joined him on the railing on the other side of the car. “Not really,” I answered. I eyed him in the reflection of the doors. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.”

Shit. He definitely knows something.

The doors silently fell open and I followed Jason past the receptionist’s desk, long abandoned for the evening, down the long corridor to the executives’ suites, passing the large plaques of albums gone gold and platinum on the walls. I had a hand in half the bands’ successes, which is probably the only reason they put up with me as well as paid me anything decent. A well paid scout was unheard of in this industry. And I knew it. I was nervous as hell that they were about to cut me loose, not that Jason would’ve been happy about that, which is why I was only partially nervous.

We entered the president of Seven, Peter Weathervane’s, office a moment later. His massive corner office had a cool mid-century modern feel, courtesy of wife number three. His last wife decorated in an African motif after they’d returned from Safari. Apparently his wives couldn’t leave any trace of the last, making me wonder what number four had in store for him.

“Tom,” the man said, startling me. He was hidden behind a high back office chair, facing the city below him. He turned around slowly, a subtle smile gracing his face. “I’m glad Jason got you here. Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the sleek leather chairs in front of his desk.

We both sat. “So, what’s up Mister Weathervane?”

“Please, how many times do I have to tell you, Tom? It’s Peter.”

“All right, Peter, how’ve you been?”

“I’m doing well,” he answered, standing up and walking to his bar. “Anything?” he offered. Jason and I both shook our heads. “I called you here because there’ve been some developments. Turns out, our R&D Rep (Relations and Development Representative) has decided to call it quits. I’m looking for a replacement.”

I sat up in my chair a little, swiping the palms of my hands on thighs.

“Anyway,” he continued, sitting back down with a straight whiskey, his usual. “We’re considering you for the position.”

I didn’t get too excited. He’d said “considering” and that word means a hell of a lot when Peter Weathervane says it.

“I see,” I answered. “Whom else is being considered?”

His eyes lit up a bit. “You were always quick, Tom. Jonah White.”

Of course it was Jonah White.

Jonah White had been a friendly/unfriendly rival of mine from day one. He’d been doing this gig longer and he’d been pretty damn good at it, but I learned how to do it better. He was beloved by every single person within the label though, and that’s why he was being considered as well. Plus, he knew the industry a little better than I did. He just didn’t possess the ear I did and it was only a matter of time until I passed him up, I knew it. He knew it.

“He’s good,” I said, offering nothing else.

“I know,” Peter said, goading me.