Page 15 of Ambiguous
Who’s also my job assignment.
* * *
On Monday, after a run-in with Terrill where he demands to know whether Julian has made progress on the album, even though it’s been only five days, I sit at my desk with my computer monitor glaring at me, daring me to send an email or do some actual billable work. Or make progress on the charity project the firm hired me to spearhead—monitoring the status of anti-LGBT+ legislation nationwide and developing plans to counter it.
Instead, I chew on my Bic Clic Stic—custom imprinted with the firm name—and panic.
Office noises lurk in the background: the soft bleeps of phones ringing, voices, clicks from computer mouses and keyboards.
All of it ordinary.
And yet I’m tasked with the extraordinary: “encouraging” megastar Julian Hill to create a new album by, like, last week. How short a leash should I keep him on? Is he doing well on his own?
How do I get him to go faster?
My stomach goes sour, like the coffee I drank was battery acid.
I’m a lawyer, not a lyricist. I’m not even a music critic. I don’t write anything but legal contracts. A decade of piano lessons and a fondness for a wide variety of music won’t help me here. Even if he sang me all his new songs, I wouldn’t know if they were any good. Or, more important to my client, if they will sell.
His number burns in my phone contacts. Given my new respect… oh, hell,fascination, being able to text him is a temptation. Emily wasn’t wrong when she said millions of fans would envy me. But I’m not sure how to play this. I have access to him for a purpose, which puts me in a different position.
My gut—roiling as it is right now—tells me sending daily texts asking, “Are you done yet?… How about now?” won’t be effective. Judging by the way external pressure gets to Kurt in his creative field, I think it would make Jules go into a shell and never want to come out.
How do I do my job? How do I encourage him to get the work done and be accountable without feeling like he’s being manipulated—or compromising his standards.
I start a text.
Sam: I wanted to make sure you’re doing okay with the album.
Um. Boring.
Why is this business of interacting with other human beings so hard?
Especially with a human being who is so… so… in demand and yet still so kind.
Without thinking about it further, I hit send. I don’t know a better way to write it, and I feel a bit stiff, but I guess I’m the formal one. Kinda funny since he’s the one from England, land of protocol.
I can see that he reads it immediately—holy shit—and that he’s typing.
Holy shit, again. My heart thumps.
Jules: Thanks for checking in, Sam
Jules: All good
His soothing text does nothing to calm my heart rate, as much as I want to pretend it feels natural to chat with Jules Hill.
Sam: I feel like my work and my gut feelings are in conflict. I’m supposed to be checking in on you moving the album along, but if I put pressure on you, that’s just going to cause you undue stress. So, how do I support you but still keep us on track?
I hit send.
Is using the word “us” wrong?Shit for the umpteenth time. I meanusin the generic sense, like us, the music label and him. But it sounded like I want a relationship.
I cringe. I should not be allowed to text. I only err.
Jules: Kind of you to ask
Jules: Nothing yet, but I hope for a break thru soon
