Page 16 of That Weekend in Paris
“Yeah, man,” a couple of voices ring out.
“Let’s do it,” Klein says.
All said and done, they play for forty-five minutes or so. It feels a bit like I’m watching a reality series. Klein has a couple of real comedians in his band. There’s as much laughter going on as there is singing and playing. But I know the final run-through when I hear it. The three songs they end with are as smooth and perfectly rendered as any master recording I’ve ever heard.
I watch Klein deliver the words to each of the songs he’s written, and I’m as mesmerized, hanging on each and every syllable, as I know his fans will be tonight.
Once they’ve strummed the last note, Curtis walks over, sits down next to me, arms folded across his chest, and says, “So what did you think?”
“Incredible,” I say.
“They are, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. The fans will get what they came for.”
A stretch of awkward silence settles between us, and I sense he wants to ask me something.
“So,” he says, “you mind if I ask what’s going on with you and Josh?”
The bluntness of the question would be offensive except for the fact I know Curtis is asking out of Klein’s best interests, representing his client first and foremost.
“We’re getting a divorce,” I say.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Dillon. Except for the fact that I always thought you were too nice for him.”
I lean back a little, not hiding my surprise.
“Well,” he says, “everybody knows Josh is out for Josh. Surely, you knew that, too.”
“I found that out, but no, I can’t say that I knew that in the beginning.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Divorce is a bitch. Believe me, I know.”
I soften. I’d heard about Curtis’s experience. His wife had decided she didn’t want to be married anymore but also wanted to leave the marriage with more than her share. She’d hired a shark of an attorney, and the rumor mill had suggested her efforts paid off.
“It can get ugly, I hate to tell you,” he says. “You got yourself a good attorney? Can’t recommend that highly enough,” he adds with a twinge of sarcasm underlining the words.
“From all indications, yes,” I say, hating the ick factor of the mercenary aspect of ending a marriage.
“Yeah, I never imagined mine would end up the way it did,” Curtis says. “I don’t think any of us do. But when one half decides they’re not happy anymore, and you realize there’s nothing you can do to fix it, you need to get off the boat with a life vest.”
I smile, nodding a little. “I’m pretty sure Josh would just as soon see me drown.”
“You gonna take him for half the business?”
“I’m planning to strike out on my own.”
“Taking any clients with you?” Curtis asks, the glint in his eye telling me the real motivation behind his questioning.
“Would I like to take Klein with me? Yes. Of course, I would. Who wouldn’t? Do I expect that to actually happen? Probably not.”
Curtis looks at me for a few long seconds. “Josh know about these aspirations of yours?”
“He does.”
“And I’m surprised we haven’t already heard about this.”
“He’s probably hoping I’m bluffing.”
