both lunch and dinner. Our need to chew was the only thing that interrupted our casual chatter. He seemed to be in a delightful mood.
It had been three days since the incident where I ran into Sam. He hadn't mentioned it, and I had forgotten too, quite possibly due to the poignant events that followed.
"How was that restaurant the other night, Sam?" I asked. I presented the question as innocently as possible. "Did you ever find it?"
He looked shocked that I had asked, his benign expression fading fast. "Huh?"
His tone made me take a step backward and assess what I had said. No, it wasn't anything too serious. "When I ran into you the other night. Don't you remember? You weren't just stalking me, were you?" I laughed, hoping to lighten the mood.
Sam stopped eating and stared down at the table. Had I really offended him? After a quick glance out the window, he responded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do now. It was pretty good."
"Cool," I said. "The restaurants are good in my neighborhood, even if they don't compare to the fancy ones." I had nothing else to contribute. In fact, I was feeling pretty bad about asking and then joking around about it. He had sounded so shocked.
There was the divorce and the talk of losing his job if he didn't get this deal. Something wasn't adding up. That night he had seemed weird too, not quite like himself.
Did he have a drug problem or something? Was he meeting a dealer when I ran into him? With all of the stress he was under, I guess I could understand his need to seek "treatment" and self-medicate. I felt horrible for him and wished I had never said anything at all.
"Are you okay, Sam?" I asked.
"I'm fine," he said, rebuffing my concern. "Just fine." I faintly smelled whiskey on his breath, just like I had the other night. Hmm...
We were the last two people in the break room, so I decided to prod one step further. It turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back. "If something's up in your life, it's okay to talk about it. I'll listen."
After he started talking, it all came out at once, his message unequivocal.
He was going through divorce proceedings and his soon-to-be ex-wife was going after everything he had. On top of that, the label was going through a corporate restructuring and trying to become more efficient. Everyone had been given a sales/signing quota, and if they didn't meet it, they'd be cut.
"I've been so depressed," he admitted. "I haven't been able to control myself."
"Aw, Sam. You've got to hang in there." I felt like my words carried no significance at all, especially due to the serious nature of his problems.
"I just really need that deal with Jack Teller. My cut of that deal will be just enough to cover my fuckin' legal fees. No more fancy cars for me, just... the ability to survive." At least avarice wasn't his motivating factor.
Dammit. I was hoping that wouldn't come up. I knew how Jack felt about it, how he was opposed to signing with a label that wasn't perfect for Lexy. If I went to him and begged, it felt like it would only make things worse for all of us. Every sympathetic part of my body tensed at once.
"Don't those guys shop around?" I asked. "Try to find the best deal? Are we offering the best deal?"
"His terms are so fuckin' crazy. He wants full creative control. He won't let us suggest anyone that he doesn't approve himself." He paused as he coped with the tumult of his thoughts. There was a look of pure defiance on his face when he continued. "I've got people hurting here, and all he cares about is his bullshit art. The whole industry is in a slump, so what does he expect? If the label goes under, we're all out of a job."
"Is that really gonna happen, Sam? Aren't you being a tad bit overdramatic?"
His response was ready as soon as I finished. "The numbers that you're crunching used to be ten times what they are now. That's the truth. The industry is changing, Effie. MCI might wind up a thing of the past, a dinosaur in the industry. Happens all the time. I've already heard news of a possible buy-out."
I didn't like where this was going, but then again, I was the one that had encouraged him to vent. At the very least, I