(I wish I could keep as many boundaries with friends as I can with strangers.)
Ben had what we like to call a 'blow-through' yesterday. That's when his people come to him, instead of meeting in far away cities where things get done, where they disparage where he lives because it's not 'close to anything'.
Okay, he'll say, naming at least ten huge bands that record here. Every tour starts or ends here. Everyone rehearses here. But whatever.
People from LA are outward, vacuous assholes in this industry. If not, it means they want something from you. New York is a little better. A lot friendlier but a lot less patient. Put the two together and it's mildly hilarious. But I was still on my best, these people are way up there and I've seen their names in my liner notes.
So they show up, we host a huge barbecue, the rain holds off a little, thank God, the meetings wrap up and a final cocktail hour winds things down before they're all off to the airport to leave this godforsaken remote wilderness.
I'm on the beach with Ben and a few of the executives. They love Ben. He is fiercely talented, dedicated, has his shit together at last with a newfound industry respect for it and also he's fucking crazy. They've heard the stories.
One of them tries to make small talk with me. I'm sure he's drunk and afraid. So young and green.
Are you Ben's...wife?
Ex. We're still close friends.
Ah. What do you think of...all this? He waves his drink, spilling a little, indicating the house, cliffside and view.
I love it. That's why I'm here.
It's great that he invites you here. Ben's a generous man.
I'm sorry?
If you hadn't divorced this probably could have been yours. He's so smug.
I start laughing.
Did I say something funny? He looks pleased but doubtful.
It's my house, dude.
I'm so confused.
Then don't assume and you won't be.
He said it's his.
It is. I asked him to live here.
Do you work in the industry?
No, I'm a retired circus performer.
Cirque?
Atlantic City, New York, eastern seaboard mostly, in the nineties. Nothing notable.
I need to quit drinking.
Probably.
I didn't think the circus paid so well.
Oh, it doesn't. You have to grift for your dinner in that industry. Just like this one, only you sing instead of dance, I guess.
I don't see why you and Ben are divorced. Or how this factors in. Trust fund?
No, and it's a long story.
Dammit, I have a flight to catch.
It's okay, I wasn't going to tell it again anyway.
Ben had what we like to call a 'blow-through' yesterday. That's when his people come to him, instead of meeting in far away cities where things get done, where they disparage where he lives because it's not 'close to anything'.
Okay, he'll say, naming at least ten huge bands that record here. Every tour starts or ends here. Everyone rehearses here. But whatever.
People from LA are outward, vacuous assholes in this industry. If not, it means they want something from you. New York is a little better. A lot friendlier but a lot less patient. Put the two together and it's mildly hilarious. But I was still on my best, these people are way up there and I've seen their names in my liner notes.
So they show up, we host a huge barbecue, the rain holds off a little, thank God, the meetings wrap up and a final cocktail hour winds things down before they're all off to the airport to leave this godforsaken remote wilderness.
I'm on the beach with Ben and a few of the executives. They love Ben. He is fiercely talented, dedicated, has his shit together at last with a newfound industry respect for it and also he's fucking crazy. They've heard the stories.
One of them tries to make small talk with me. I'm sure he's drunk and afraid. So young and green.
Are you Ben's...wife?
Ex. We're still close friends.
Ah. What do you think of...all this? He waves his drink, spilling a little, indicating the house, cliffside and view.
I love it. That's why I'm here.
It's great that he invites you here. Ben's a generous man.
I'm sorry?
If you hadn't divorced this probably could have been yours. He's so smug.
I start laughing.
Did I say something funny? He looks pleased but doubtful.
It's my house, dude.
I'm so confused.
Then don't assume and you won't be.
He said it's his.
It is. I asked him to live here.
Do you work in the industry?
No, I'm a retired circus performer.
Cirque?
Atlantic City, New York, eastern seaboard mostly, in the nineties. Nothing notable.
I need to quit drinking.
Probably.
I didn't think the circus paid so well.
Oh, it doesn't. You have to grift for your dinner in that industry. Just like this one, only you sing instead of dance, I guess.
I don't see why you and Ben are divorced. Or how this factors in. Trust fund?
No, and it's a long story.
Dammit, I have a flight to catch.
It's okay, I wasn't going to tell it again anyway.