For the scheduled day of the audition, he mailed her and Beverly a pair of tickets to the American Ballet Theater for later that evening.

He told Nola to trust Beverly, and Beverly told her to trust Wade.

Two days later, he called to say he was authorized to sign her, in spite of her young age. Musix had great hopes for her future.

Nola cried and decided to never speak to Wade Dalton again. She went to a friend’s to watch MTV because Mini-Nazi didn’t allow it, and looked with renewed awe as Madonna shimmied her boobs and gyrated her hips. No way could Nola be like her, to have that presence and be so surefooted even while floating on the screen in a cloud of mist. She was so homely.

It took Beverly days to come up with the clinching argument to convince Nola to speak with the lawyer Wade had recommended to represent her interests. “Do it for Jenna’s future, too,” Beverly said.

The night before the contract-signing, Nola was at Beverly’s, when Wade called to say the meeting had been canceled.

“What do you mean ‘canceled?’ ” Nola asked Beverly. “They hate me after all?”

“Canceled, but Wade says he has a better deal. A surprise.”

“I told you!” Nola sunk to her knees and leaned her head against the wall mirror. “It’s not going to happen.”

“He’s driving out here to take us to dinner. He wants me to pick the best French restaurant in town. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s giving up on you.”

A couple of hours later, at the restaurant, Nola sat dressed in a light blue suit with zippers all over it, anticipating more bad news, while Wade gossiped about singers and bands and rattled off names of composers and heads of labels. Nola pulled at each of the zippers, listening to their music. Wade's conversation had nothing to do with her; she was never going to break into that world.

He asked her to predict who would top the charts. “Anything Billy Joel,” she replied.

Wade's light-colored eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Anything?”

She shrugged. “Since his marriage to Christie Brinkley, millions of men believe they stand a chance with a beautiful woman.”

Wade and Beverly burst out laughing. Letting go of a zipper, Nola gave a wan smile. “Also Madonna. Boys like her, girls like her. Totally.”

“Madonna,” Wade repeated, mauling the name. “The little virgin has become quite the little fornicator. She’ll either fall flat or make it big.”

“Some call a music channel devoted entirely to teens depravity,” Beverly said.

“I think it’s progress,” Nola said. “Someone’s paying attention to what we like.”

Only when the main course arrived did Wade get to the point.