to leave the city. Tate had responded by pointing out that he was the talent, and maybe his wishes should take priority over the matter of her own convenience. Becky had given him a curious look after he said it, equal parts pity and something close to hatred.
‘Maybe you could talk to Darina about it,’ she said. ‘You remember Darina, don’t you?’
Tate remembered. It was why he took pills to help him sleep.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I remember her.’
He knew then that he would remain exactly where Becky, and Darina, and the Backers wanted him to be, and they wanted him here in the city, where they could keep an eye on him. He’d made a deal with them, but he hadn’t been bright enough to examine the small print on the terms. Then again, what would have been the point? Had he turned them down, his career would have been over. They’d have seen to that, he was sure of it. He would never have progressed, and he would still be poor and unknown. Now he had money, and a degree of influence. The drop in ratings was a temporary glitch. It would be arrested. They’d make sure of it. They’d invested so much in him that they couldn’t just cut him loose.
Could they?
‘You okay?’ asked Becky, as they walked to the door. ‘You look ill.’
Like the bitch even cared.
‘I don’t like this shithole,’ said Tate.
‘It’s just a bar. You’re losing touch with your roots. That’s part of the problem we’re having.’
‘No,’ said Tate, as sure as he’d ever been about anything. ‘I’m talking about this city. These aren’t my people. They despise me.’
Somebody at the bar called an order from the stool nearest the entrance – ‘Hey, Hector, I’m dying of thirst over here!’ – and the bartender ambled toward him, keeping pace with Becky and Tate. Tate felt Hector staring at him. He tried to face him down, and Hector blew him a kiss.
‘One for all your listeners,’ said Hector. ‘You come back, I got something special for you too.’
Tate didn’t wait around to hear what it might be, although the way Hector grabbed his crotch and shook it left him with a limited number of possibilities. As they reached the door, his eye happened upon the newspaper rack. All of the papers were already tattered and stained from use, but the stranger’s copy of the Post stood out as it was cleaner than the rest, and appeared unread. Something had been written across the top of the front page with a black felt-tip. It read:
Hello, Davis
Tate grabbed the paper and showed it to the bartender.
‘Did you write this?’ he asked. He was shouting, but he didn’t care.
‘What?’ Hector appeared genuinely puzzled.
‘I asked you if you wrote these words on the newspaper.’
Hector looked at the paper. He considered it for a time.
‘No,’ he said. ‘If that had been my message, it would have read “Hello, Davis, you homophobic asshole.” And I’d have added a smiley face.’
Tate tossed the paper on the bar. He felt very, very tired.
‘I don’t hate gays,’ he said softly.
‘You don’t?’ said Hector.
‘No,’ said Tate.
He turned to leave.
‘I hate everyone.’
He and Becky parted at the corner. He tried to discuss the writing on the newspaper, but she didn’t want to listen. She was done with him for the day. Tate watched her go, her tight black skirt clinging to her buttocks and thighs, her breasts high and round under her navy shirt. She was good-looking, Tate would give her that, but he no longer felt any attraction towards her because she scared him so much.
That was the other thing: she might nominally have been his producer, but he had always suspected that she was so much more. She had seemed to defer to Barbara Kelly on the occasion of their first meeting, but in the years that followed he had seen others defer to her, even Kelly herself. Becky had three cell phones, and even when she was in the producer’s chair, ostensibly keeping the wheels of the show oiled, one of those phones would be pressed to her ear. Out of curiosity he had followed her once from the hired studio after they had finished recording a show, keeping his distance, trying to blend in with the crowd. Two blocks from the studio he had watched as a black limousine pulled up at the curb beside her, and Becky got in. He had seen nobody else in back, and the driver had not emerged