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“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” I said, probably a little more smug than I should have been. “So – what happened to Glen?”
“He was a new hire. He was only with us for about nine months. We fired him for improper… ‘activities’ with company funds. He’s suing us, so we’re trying to build a counter-case.”
“Well, I think you could use the $12,000 bribe as evidence.”
“Uh… yeah.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t believe that either.”
“Well, it’s kind of… a big accusation…”
“Is that number you gave me an iPhone?”
“Yeah…?”
“I’m going to hang up on you, but I’ll call you back on your cell.”
I stomped out of the study, knocked on Ryan’s door, and poked my head in. “I need to convince a guy at Rolling Stone that I know you. Glen – my asshole editor, remember him? – is suing them, and they need to build a case. Do you mind?”
Ryan looked amused. “Uh… okay… I guess.”
I called the New York number and hit ‘Facetime’ on the phone.
A nice, earnest-looking guy with long sideburns answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Jim. Ryan, say hi to Jim.” I hit the icon so the Facetime camera switched directions, then nodded to Ryan. “You’re on.”
Ryan waved. “Hi, Jim.”
A little pause.
Then,
“HOLY SHIT.”
“Hey Ryan,” I said, “how much was that check you cut Glen, my editor?”
“You mean the bribe?” Ryan chuckled. “Twelve thousand dollars.”
“Cool. Thanks, Ryan.”
“No problem.”
I walked out of the studio. “So…?”
Jim was a whole lot more respectful after that. Having evidence of bribery was apparently the smoking gun he needed to bury Glen.
The rest of the chat went very well. The last thing he said was,
“Are you ever planning on finishing that article on Bigger?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if you do, Rolling Stone would definitely, DEFINITELY love to take a look at it. I’ll personally make sure it’s up for consideration for the cover.”
“Thanks, Jim… I’ll let you know.”
“Have a good day, Ms. Reynolds.”
All in all, a
thousand
times more pleasant interaction with Rolling Stone than had ever happened with Glen.
I was just anxious now, because the door wasn’t completely closed.
I could have what I originally wanted – a career – if I could only write the article.
Which I wasn’t sure I could.
58
I talked to Ryan about it afterwards.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Other than feeling like I’m not good enough, that I’ll screw it up and never get another chance?”
He smiled. “I felt like that at Derek’s and my first frat gig – the one where we had to pay in beer?”
I nodded. “I remember that story.”
“I felt like if I screwed up, nobody would ever hire us again, and we’d be banned from playing any party in Athens, forever. Then I felt the same way at my first
paying
gig. And then at our first club date. And then on our first tour. And then at our first stadium show.”
I stared at him. “Seriously?”
“The feeling never goes away – not if you keep reaching for bigger and better things. But that’s okay; you
want
that feeling to be there. Because if it’s not there, it means you aren’t reaching very far. Do you worry about getting more small writing gigs?”
“No.”
“But I’ll bet the first one you ever got, you were really nervous.”
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“But you probably did a great job.”
