18. circular reasoning

“And why is that?”

She stared at him. He coughed softly in response, his eyes taking on the veiled expression that invited her to figure out the profound truth he was hinting at all on her own. She mourned that punching would not expedite the process, for that look had been encountered enough times to warrant prediction of an excruciatingly helpful end result. This was just his typical way of showing he cared without giving up his preference for playing with toys.

Well, this toy was pissed.

“I think,” she said deliberately, “That you want to get into it.”

This was a fact, since he always wanted to get into it, but she willed him to say something else before the gauntlet was dropped. Everyone else simply allowed Dennis Ryker to abscond with their words, disregarding that perhaps the Super-Manager should be made to explain himself on occasion or none of them would have any articulation left by Miami.

It was truly unfortunate that he seemed to be thinking harder than usual today.

“Hmm.”

Dennis regarded her closely, while rotating the teacup between his fingers.

She was really too blunt, pretty much the opposite of everyone else on tour, but it was for that reason she was writing the songs and not them. Her feelings always got across. Clearly. Forcefully.

The other half, in retrospect, was also that kind of guy, except that he blunted everything twice — an extra time so that whatever came out was a mere skeleton of how much an idiot he really thought you were — before saying it. Which made their collaborations shark-infested root canals: ones that tasted unbearably sweet to the audience, despite leaving the perpetrators a little worse for the wear at the end of recording.

But he guessed it was this that made them so fascinating to watch, the epitome of “so close and yet so far”. He guessed it was what was keeping her from quitting. And he moved to make a go of it.

“Maybe I do. So I’ll ask you this: why are you still here, Julia?”

She bristled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t like to wait. We’ve made your White Album. We’ve played every barn in North America, even your dinky little hometown. Your parents still won’t speak to you. You’ve been writing that book when you think no one’s looking for the last two years. You think the industry’s contrived and overproduced. Ben Folds said piano rock is dead. What’s keeping you here?”

He leaned in closer across the table. “Him? Don’t make me laugh.”

Julia fixed Dennis with an impenetrable glare. “Are you laughing?”

“No, just wondering.”

But she watched his eyes dance on the surface of the coffee. They seemed to say, “I know something that you don’t…” and she had to resist the urge to fling it in his face. Instead, she set it down with a loud clink.

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I have higher ambitions than running away.”

Ah-ha! Dennis stared down thoughtfully at the pen in his hand, sliding his fingers back and forth over cool metal. His reflection flashed a feral grin. “Is it love?”

He was rewarded with a growl.

“Don’t be silly, Dennis. Open the window and go ask the fangirls.”

“They don’t have a chance.”

Julia sighed, exasperated. “Of course not. But how can you ask that. It’s like–” She jerked her head in the direction of the giant poster behind his desk.

“It’s like asking if you like Bob Dylan. Few people can sit through a minute of anything other than Blowin’ In The Wind, but the hipsters all say they love him. Expressing otherwise is like declaring you’re opposed to social justice or schmexy, revolutionary geniuses!”

They fell into a heavy silence. For a minute, he simply considered the stack of memos by his arm, as her eyes traveled the length of the floor for the thousandth time that morning. The whirring of the construction crew in the corridor covered up the awkward ticking of both their watches.

Finally, Dennis swiveled and tapped the poster with the end of his pen. His voice was quiet.

“So are you saying that he’s sexy or that you don’t love him?”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I… I don’t remember.”

“Ah.”

“I’m saying that it’s more complicated than that.”