“I fell out of a canoe. A fishing boat hybrid that’s not technically a canoe, but they call them canoes—you know what, it’s not important. I was wearing makeup over it the other day.”

He squints at me. “My name’s actually Pilot. Penn’s my last name.”

“Can I call you Penn?” I almost tell him Pilot’s a ridiculous non-name and I won’t say it aloud, but I don’t because I want a favor out of this guy.

He shrugs. “Why not.”

I get up, order us fancy coffee, and bring it back to the table. “Okay, I’ll get straight to it here. Does this production company make more than indie-pop mellow stuff?”

“Uh, well, we’re a branch of a bigger company that has other genres attached.”

“Emo music? Angry music like … metal?” I ask hopefully.

He narrows his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Do you think you could arrange an internship for someone who’s really passionate about that stuff? I think she might really enjoy it.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is ‘someone’ you?”

“No, Penn, believe it or not, I don’t much care about music. I’m asking for a friend.”

He nods pensively. “I have to make some calls, but I think we can at least get her an interview.”

I feel my face light up. “Oh snap, really?”

“Yes, really.” He grins.

“Thanks, dude.”

He sips his cappuccino. “No problem. Any friend of Zarar’s is a friend of mine. He’s a good guy.”

“He is.” I take a sip of my coffee. “You’re a weird boss.”

“I’m not the boss. I’m the guy he’s interning for.”

“Question. Did he invite you to his acting thing?”

“He did.” Penn smiles. “Shane and I are going. See you there on Saturday?”

“You two are quite the social butterflies.”

Penn snorts. “We like to support cool people chasing after cool careers.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Zarar is cool?”

Penn bobs his chin up and down with his eyes closed. “The coolest.”

“When and where is it?”

Before I head home, I stop by QCZ one more time. They’re gearing up for their first real show of the evening and a handful of other people are around. Zarar’s not currently at the front desk; a woman’s standing there. I take advantage of the absence.

“Can I sign up for an open mic night two weeks from now?” I ask.

She pulls out a clipboard.

95. Angst and Wine

SIRI

September 11, Friday

New York City

Mom, Jamie, and I are sitting in a fancy restaurant after a day full of shopping when conversation shifts to Gladys, Jamie’s thirteen-year-old Chocolate cell phone. Mom pronounces it absolutely unacceptable. Jamie puts up a hilarious defense.