I couldn’t drive. I kept hitting the gas pedal too hard and taking unbelievable risks because that fucking car moved like a Serengeti cat. I had a heart-lightening exuberance I hadn’t felt since, well....ever.
I needed a lawyer. The problem was artists didn’t hire entertainment lawyers. I couldn’t call someone out of the phone book or get a recommendation from a friend and hire an entertainment lawyer for a ridiculous hourly rate. Entertainment lawyers took on clients they believed in and either charged seven-fifty per billable hour or took a percentage of the contract’s value. They didn’t just look over a contract; they negotiated it, and negotiated hard. The big ones were picky. They weren’t wasting their time on a negotiation where their client had no leverage.
I pulled over, parking by a meter on LaBrea. I called Jonathan but got a recorded message in a soothing female voice telling me the subscriber wasn’t available. I’d never heard that one. I didn’t go to voice mail. Just nothing. Fuck it. I played with my phone until the web told me the number I was looking for.
“Hi,” I said when I got a pick up. “This is Monica Faulkner. I’m looking for Margaret Drazen.”
“Hold please.”
I waited. I was sure I’d be sitting at the side of the road in my white convertible for a good long time. Her firm was huge, her name was on the door, and I wasn’t even a client.
“This is Margaret,” Margie said.
I sat straighter, pausing because I didn’t expect her to pick up. “Hi, uhm, this is Monica. Jonathan’s...” I paused again because I didn’t know how to describe myself.
“Yes. Hello. Nice to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I really hate to do this. I feel like I’m imposing on you.”
“You don’t need me to help you move or anything, do you?”
“No. I need a lawyer.”
“Fancy that,” Margie said. “I’m a lawyer, and I got a staff of them running around here.”
“I know, but I need an entertainment lawyer. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to use Jonathan to get ahead. I’m just in a bit of...well, a great position, actually. And I need help with some contract negotiations. So I’m sorry, but—”
“My dear,” Margie said, her voice warm and comforting, “don’t you realize? You’ve turned my brother around. You may live to regret this, but you’re one of the family now.”
She seemed so happy, I couldn’t tell her about the previous night.