Reverb by J. Cafesin Page B

absurd.
    Martin finds it deeply disturbing. “Are you looking for permission to kill yourself?”
    James shoots him a black-eyed stare.
    “I’m not going to give it to you, James.” Martin stares back at him. “You impact everyone you touch whether you acknowledge it or not. You’ve affected my life way beyond just music. I mean, John and I might not be together today if it weren’t for you, and that time up in the Hampton’s.”
    He stares at Martin blankly. Obviously, he doesn't recall one of the most important weekends of Martin’s life. “Look, I’ve known you to be incredibly perceptive and brutally accurate when you’re paying attention. The trick has always been getting your attention.”
    Rain begins again, and within moments sheets the windows encasing the room. James stares out. “I pay attention, Martin. I just never cared to engage.”
    Again his sharp edge cuts. Martin is nothing more than a colleague, one of many to the man. He sighs, exasperated. “You know, I hope sooner rather than later you’ll discover how magnificent your life can be when you let yourself be touched by the people in it.”
    James narrows his eyes on Martin. “Is this an inquisition?”
    “Think of it more like an intervention.” Martin smiles to lighten the tension. It doesn't.
    “It’s harsh, man. And not true.” He runs his fingers through his hair and stares out. “I’ve just been better with music than people.”
    “Because you want to be, James.”
    He shoots Martin a sideways glance. “You sound like Julia.”
    Martin laughs. “I’ve often been accused of sounding like a woman.”
    James smiles, but it doesn’t last. “Have you heard from her?”
    “Only once. She was calling around, looking for you.”
    “When?”
    “It was winter, around this time last year, I think.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “Just what I’d heard—either you were busted for speed in England, or you were doing a studio gig at Apple with Phil Sinclair.”
    James looks down, pulls the blanket around him tighter and huddles in it, like it's a cave. “Damn lies, stats and rumors.” Again he seems to speak to himself.
    “Wait a minute, James. We had no idea where you really were.”
    “I used to wonder if anyone was looking.”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t. There was no reason to. Julia confirmed what I’d already heard—that the Zone guys went with Mike Pearson to finish their release after a call on your behalf from some renowned lawyer in Britain. We assumed it’s where the rumor started. I told her I thought you offered the gig to Pearson to work with techno-punk Phil on the Pandora release.” Martin smiles at his characterization. James does not. “Look, even at worst, and you were busted, you’d have been held up for a month or two, got out and absorbed in working again. Honestly, I thought it was bullshit, and that you were in London, working with Sinclair.”
    He smiles. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Martin.”
    “You know, just as a heads up—Julia said she didn’t believe the rumor either. She thought you were working, too. The articles in the rags, the Mirror and E!, were all reporting you were at some rehab for the rich and famous for a month. When she didn’t hear from you, she was sure you started working in London, your way of cuing you guys were through. She told me about the fight, right before the funeral.” Martin waits for James to respond, but he doesn't. “I think she was afraid of chasing after you, of looking pathetic since you never let it be more than a casual thing.”
    James shakes his head. “I wasn’t the only one in that relationship, you know.”
    “What does that mean, exactly? Can you honestly tell me you made a concentrated effort to keep that relationship vital?”
    “No. Probably not.”
    “ Probably? Julia body slammed you at the Palisades studio, grabbed you by the hair and smashed your head into the wall to get your attention.”
    James laughs. “She was