Now, I was sitting in
a part of the world I'd only known through rock songs,
taking meetings with publishing executives and drinking
beer with an agent I'd never even laid eyes on until
the day before. It was all too surreal, like watching
my life reflected back as a movie montage.
About that time, my internal absurdity meter kicked in.
The initial shaking gave way to convulsions of
laughter. To my agent, I must have looked like a
another fragile author undergoing an untimely emotional
breakdown. To me, I was just starting to appreciate the
cynical beauty of my situation. Deal or no deal, I
already had the makings of a pretty good story. It was
only a matter of finding a place to tell it. When my
laughing convulsions finally subsided, I held up my
drink in a toast.
"Welcome to the front lines, my friend," I said,
clinking pints with my agent. "Might as well enjoy it."
If this story really were a play, here's where it would
take a momentary, romantic interlude. Disheartened by
the tense nature of our meeting, Tracy invited Henning
and I to go out for drinks with her and some of her
coworkers.
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