“Geography. I like to know about people from other places. What they eat, how they dress, what kinds of houses they live in, what music they listen to.” She looked up at the wall at the picture of a Greek port framed by olive trees. “D’you think that landscape makes them who they are? You know, ocean people are different from mountain people, different from jungle people, different from desert people? I think they make music to fit their lives. One day I’d like to see singers from every place come together—like in ‘We Are The World.’ ”

He made a goofy face. “For once, these guys were able to leave their egos at the door and do something good together.” He signaled the waitress for the check, and kept on talking. “I like you. You’re witty, which is handy for the stage and interviews, and intelligent, which is critical both for discipline and for maintaining an artist’s cool.” He crossed his arms on the table and looked into her eyes. “And don’t underestimate the pressure, even the pressure of fame. When the glow of stardom is reflected back by millions of admirers, it is magnified enough to burn—as it has many an experienced artist.” These last words were said with theatrical flair as he slapped his credit card on the table. “Drugs. The bane of our business. Do you do any?”

She shook her head. Never again would she want those dreams before sleep. “I’m squeaky clean.”

“Good. I want you to audition at our studios, then we’ll take it from there.”

The word “audition” grew in front of Nola's eyes into a giant multi-armed creature. For two days she didn’t wash her hair, stayed in bed, and refused to eat. She stared at the window until the brightness outside blinded her, yet she would not avert her gaze. A full orchestra played in her head and she dreamed that her voice had turned into a howl.

Beverly Cutter blasted in, all bouncing curls, her legs scissoring a long, full black skirt. “What’s the matter?” She put her hand on Nola's forehead. “Why haven’t you been in school?”

“I don’t want to audition. I don’t want any change in my life. Didn’t you want me to go to Yale? Tell Mr. D. that’s what I’m planning to do. Please? It was your idea all along.”

“I think I know what this is about.” Beverly closed the door and sat at the edge of the bed.

“No you don’t.” Nola crossed her arms over her chest.