A Song for Julia

know that,” she replied. “And you’re so close to it, you’re so tied up in it emotionally, that you’re not being rational.”
    All kinds of thoughts ran through my head when she said that. I’m not being rational? Who the hell was she to say that? And why would I want to be rational about something this important, anyway?
    “For Christ’s sake, Julia. I asked you to negotiate a contract with the record company, not take over my life!”
    Her eyes narrowed, and she squeezed the steering wheel, her hands compressing into fists, and she said. “No. You asked me to manage the band. Now will you let me do that?”
    I furiously took a drag from my cigarette and looked out the window. Then I said, “Maybe it’s a bad idea to mix up our personal life and the band.”
    “Little late for that,” she said. “Though if you want to get the band together and fire me, feel free.”
    Her voice was shaking as she said it. I didn’t know if it was anger or sadness. I replied, “What I want is for you to listen to me. Some bands spend years—many years—without ever getting an opportunity like this. This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”
    She shouted, “I know that, Crank! I know that! And I’m doing everything I can to make it work! I need you to back off and have some confidence in me, all right? Unless you were planning on doing this yourself and having me as window dressing, in which case you can take this thing and shove it up your ass!”
    Her phone rang. Christ. I tossed my cigarette and lit another one. I was pissed. She fumbled with the phone for a second then flipped it open and snarled, “Hello?”
    A moment later, she said, “Sorry … I was having a moment there.”
    Pause. Then, in an excited voice, she said, “Oh, my God, you did? What did he think?”
    I glanced over at her. Her face was animated, excited. It was … it was how I always wanted to see her.
    A moment later, she said, “Yes, of course. When?”
    She frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get a flight on that short of notice. I’ll try.”
    A flight? Where was she going?
    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 hell?” 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 shift 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 hell? 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 class is all you have? What’s that going to run?”
    Jesus. First class 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 passenger 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 hell 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 Saturday 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 God. 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, crap,” she said. “Hold on.” And then she started dialing again. Oh, for God’s sake. Was I at the absolute bottom of her