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Phil, on his way to talk to the cop, stopped, sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair.
“The wife and I loved your last picture,” the cop said.
It had been a Western, a real piece of shit. As if anyone would believe a guy like him on a horse, saving decent folk from desperados. Joh
“Making records again, huh?” the cop asked.
“Trying to,” Joh
“My wife always used to love your records.”
That’s why none of the record companies in New York would give him a contract-no singer who’d ever been more popular with women than men (said some pezzonovante at Worldwide Artists) had ever managed to change that. But what Joh
“Irene.”
“You and Irene ever get over to Vegas?”
The cop shook his head. “We’ve talked about it.”
“You got to see it to believe it. Look, I’m at the Castle in the Sand all month. Classy joint. You want to come, I’ll get you in.”
The cop thanked him.
“Fucking guy,” he said to Phil in the elevator up to the studio. “Bet he pulls over all your talent, eh? Bet he’s got an autograph collection that’d fill a garage.”
“You’re a cynical man, Mr. Fontane.”
“Loosen up, Philly, you’re too serious.” Though Joh
“For over an hour now,” Phil said. “There’s just one thing. Hear me out, okay?”
Joh
“I know you wanted Eddie Neils for musical director, and if that’s what you really want, fine, we’ll try it.”
Joh
“You’re telling me Eddie’s not here?”
“That’s what I’m telling you,” Phil said, tapping his gut. “Bleeding ulcer. Had to go to the hospital last night. He’ll be fine. But-”
“He’s not here.”
“He’s not. Right. Here’s the thing, though. He was never our choice for you anyhow.”
That Phil was classy enough to say for you instead of for your comeback wasn’t lost on Joh
“Yes. Cy Milner. He’s not a kid. He’s forty, forty-five years old. We took the liberty of hiring him to write a couple new charts.”
Milner had been a ’bone man with Les Halley, but after Joh
“Since yesterday. He works fast. He’s a legend for the fast-working.”
The kid’s a legend, and I’m One-Take Joh
“We can use those, too. Either way.”
Phil ran his hands through the hair he mostly didn’t have. He was the sort of man who unconsciously took on other people’s ma
“What do you think I am, difficult?” Joh
“Thank you, Joh
“I always liked a Jew with ma
“Fuck you, Joh
“And guts.”
Joh
Milner mumbled directions to his engineer and then took the podium. The musicians reached for their instruments. Milner took off his coat, raised his brawny arms, and flicked his baton. Joh
“C’mon, gents,” he said. But that was all he said.
Joh
When they finished, the people in the booth clapped soundlessly.
Milner sat down at a stool. Joh
“What are you doing?”
Milner shook his head but said nothing else. Joh
“We’re getting rid of two thirds of the orchestra,” Milner said.
Not “we should” or “maybe we should”; just the flat statement. Joh
Milner stood his ground, expressionless, absorbing Joh
Finally Milner handed Phil a slip of paper. On it was the list of people to take off the clock and send home. Phil arched an eyebrow, then pointed at himself. Milner said he didn’t care who did it.
“Hell,” Joh
Milner was the one who sent the men packing. Joh
Moments later, Joh