Wouldn’t miss it.... All right, you too.”
Bob held out the phone.
“Who is it?” Brian mouthed silently.
“Nick Simon.”
Brian smiled and took the phone. Nick was an old friend, a graphic designer who’d helped Bob and Brian establish their business right after they’d graduated from film school. In fact, they now inhabited the very office space once occupied by Nick’s company, Wunderkind Graphics, before he moved to larger, more prestigious digs.
“Hiya, Nick, long time no speak. What’s up?”
The voice on the other end coughed. “My balls—from the highest yardarm,” he wheezed. Nick suffered from chronic asthma and always sounded as if he were on the verge of a coughing jag. “But that’s beside the point. Cassie and I are renting out the Metropolis for a little shindig on Valentine’s Day, seven PM ; and we want you to come.”
“That’s in two days!”
“I know it’s a little last minute, but what can I tell you, I’m a spontaneous guy. What do you say? You up for a little partying? From what I’ve heard, you guys could use it.”
As always, Nick’s gossip was deadly accurate. Since the first of the year, Newbury Productions had been cranking full tilt. Now, nearly six weeks later, the juggernaut had picked up steam, promising a year that could be their most profitable yet.
“I’d love to Nick, but...I don’t know. I’m not much of a party guy, if you know what I mean. And I’ve got a real backlog of work, here.”
Bob rolled his eyes again, his lopsided grin returning.
“Bullshit,” Nick said. “I want to see you there, or I’m gonna send Rocco and Freddie to persuade youse.” His hoarse laugh turned into a wheeze. This was an in-joke between the three of them, the mythical Rocco and Freddie being two Mafioso characters from an aborted feature film Bob and Brian shot while still in college.
“Okay, okay,” Brian said, “I’ll come.”
“That’s the ticket,” Nick said. “Besides you never know, you might meet a real babe, for a change.”
“Just what I need.”
Nick ignored the sarcasm, turning serious. “Listen, Brian. You know I’ve always liked you. You’re like a little brother to me. Just give me the word and I’ll set you up with a real sweetie-pie. Least I can do.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Forget about it. I’ll see you mugs at the club day after tomorrow. And by the way, the drinks are on me. Hah!”
Brian hung up the phone and shook his head. “The man’s incorrigible.”
“He try to set you up again?” Bob asked, grinning.
“Yeah.”
“He’s got a point. You’ve turned yourself into a hermit.”
“And I suppose you and Debbie have someone in mind?”
“I don’t, but Debbie might. I can ask her—”
Brian held up his hand. “Please...don’t. Look, I know it’s been over a year since Julie turned me inside out, but I’d rather things just happen as they will. Is that okay?”
Bob shrugged. “Okay by me. As far as Thursday, how about Deb and I swing by and pick you up?”
“That’s fine.”
Bob left the suite and Brian spent the next hour cleaning the heads on the Sony decks and prepping the suite for the next day’s session: a music video by a hot local rock band. At least that would be fun. He’d seen the band a couple of times and liked their music.
Outside, the traffic on Newbury Street stood gridlocked, horns blaring, exhaust fumes sending thick white plumes skyward. The temperature had plummeted to twenty degrees and a freezing wind blew in off the Charles, cutting through Brian’s thin leather jacket like a razor. Shivering, he locked the front door and crossed the street to Bauer Wines, where he picked up a six-pack of Samuel Adams, gossiped a moment with Howie, one of the owners, then hurried the half mile to his apartment at the corner of Fairfield and Beacon Streets.
Housed in what was once the basement kitchen of a French-style mansion built in the late 1880s, it boasted floor space of just
Bob held out the phone.
“Who is it?” Brian mouthed silently.
“Nick Simon.”
Brian smiled and took the phone. Nick was an old friend, a graphic designer who’d helped Bob and Brian establish their business right after they’d graduated from film school. In fact, they now inhabited the very office space once occupied by Nick’s company, Wunderkind Graphics, before he moved to larger, more prestigious digs.
“Hiya, Nick, long time no speak. What’s up?”
The voice on the other end coughed. “My balls—from the highest yardarm,” he wheezed. Nick suffered from chronic asthma and always sounded as if he were on the verge of a coughing jag. “But that’s beside the point. Cassie and I are renting out the Metropolis for a little shindig on Valentine’s Day, seven PM ; and we want you to come.”
“That’s in two days!”
“I know it’s a little last minute, but what can I tell you, I’m a spontaneous guy. What do you say? You up for a little partying? From what I’ve heard, you guys could use it.”
As always, Nick’s gossip was deadly accurate. Since the first of the year, Newbury Productions had been cranking full tilt. Now, nearly six weeks later, the juggernaut had picked up steam, promising a year that could be their most profitable yet.
“I’d love to Nick, but...I don’t know. I’m not much of a party guy, if you know what I mean. And I’ve got a real backlog of work, here.”
Bob rolled his eyes again, his lopsided grin returning.
“Bullshit,” Nick said. “I want to see you there, or I’m gonna send Rocco and Freddie to persuade youse.” His hoarse laugh turned into a wheeze. This was an in-joke between the three of them, the mythical Rocco and Freddie being two Mafioso characters from an aborted feature film Bob and Brian shot while still in college.
“Okay, okay,” Brian said, “I’ll come.”
“That’s the ticket,” Nick said. “Besides you never know, you might meet a real babe, for a change.”
“Just what I need.”
Nick ignored the sarcasm, turning serious. “Listen, Brian. You know I’ve always liked you. You’re like a little brother to me. Just give me the word and I’ll set you up with a real sweetie-pie. Least I can do.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Forget about it. I’ll see you mugs at the club day after tomorrow. And by the way, the drinks are on me. Hah!”
Brian hung up the phone and shook his head. “The man’s incorrigible.”
“He try to set you up again?” Bob asked, grinning.
“Yeah.”
“He’s got a point. You’ve turned yourself into a hermit.”
“And I suppose you and Debbie have someone in mind?”
“I don’t, but Debbie might. I can ask her—”
Brian held up his hand. “Please...don’t. Look, I know it’s been over a year since Julie turned me inside out, but I’d rather things just happen as they will. Is that okay?”
Bob shrugged. “Okay by me. As far as Thursday, how about Deb and I swing by and pick you up?”
“That’s fine.”
Bob left the suite and Brian spent the next hour cleaning the heads on the Sony decks and prepping the suite for the next day’s session: a music video by a hot local rock band. At least that would be fun. He’d seen the band a couple of times and liked their music.
Outside, the traffic on Newbury Street stood gridlocked, horns blaring, exhaust fumes sending thick white plumes skyward. The temperature had plummeted to twenty degrees and a freezing wind blew in off the Charles, cutting through Brian’s thin leather jacket like a razor. Shivering, he locked the front door and crossed the street to Bauer Wines, where he picked up a six-pack of Samuel Adams, gossiped a moment with Howie, one of the owners, then hurried the half mile to his apartment at the corner of Fairfield and Beacon Streets.
Housed in what was once the basement kitchen of a French-style mansion built in the late 1880s, it boasted floor space of just
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