A couple weeks later, Jonathan called one morning, early. “Did I wake you up?” he said.
“Oh, no,” I croaked, “I always get up ten hours before I have to do anything.” Fortunately, the phone was on a milk crate beside my bed and I lay down with the phone on my ear. Vague thoughts went through my mind like: maybe I should buy some furniture now while I had a little money in the bank.
“I thought you’d want to know,” Jonathan was saying, “that the issue hits the stands next week. You should be getting some copies in the mail soon. Maybe today or tomorrow.”
“Wow, so it’s really happening.” A feature article in Spin.
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Merry Christmas.”
There was a pause where he didn’t make motions to hang up and I didn’t know quite what to say next. “So, what did you say about us?”
“You’ll have to read it. I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope so.”
“Me, too,” I said automatically. “Hey, what happened to journalistic objectivity?”
“You don’t have to trash somebody to be ‘objective.’ And who the fuck cares? People want to read an entertaining article. I want to write a good story. If I also happen to like the band a lot–bonus.” He was more vehement than I expected, maybe more than he meant to be.
“Well,” I said, “I’ll read it.”
There was another one of those pauses. Then he said, “I’ll be in Boston next week. What are you up to?”
“Fucking off, mostly. BNC is hinting strongly they want to hear demos of the next album so they can extend our deal. I’m still pushing for another tour. We’ve got people doing ground work while we rehearse new material.”
“So you’re free.”
“Yeah, I guess. Do you want to hear some of the new stuff?”
“That would be great.”
“Give me a call when you get here and I’ll give you directions to the rehearsal space.” I didn’t tell him we still rehearsed in our basement. I figured he’d get a kick out of seeing it, though.