Nine
Emily spent the next few days at home, off work. The advantage of shift work, she acknowledged, was the time at home when no one else was around. Grocery shopping in the middle of the week when everyone else was at work was a pretty big pull. Of course the tradeoff was nights and weekends, but hey, at least she could get her hair cut without waiting months for a Saturday appointment.
One morning, not long after receiving Trent’s last and most disconcerting email, the one containing an actual invitation, she found herself, alone at home, sitting at the computer. She decided to Google Trent Buchanan to see what she could find out about him. Not surprisingly, there were fan sites, and the official record company site. She clicked on the band’s “official web site”. Photos of the band greeted her. She listened to clips of old and new songs, and learned that the band had formed fifteen years ago, when three musicians had met at University of Toronto. They played gigs around town to pay their tuition. In the intervening years, and in spite of a few quiet personnel changes, they had recorded eight albums of original music, and toured almost annually. Their fan club claimed to have over a million registered members.
Wow, Emily thought, impressed in spite of herself. And he wants to have coffee with me.
She actually downloaded a pile of Uptown songs from iTunes, careful to actually pay for each. What would he say if she did get to know him, and had to admit most of the music she owned was actually stolen?
After a day or so of listening to the music, and deciding she really did enjoy the clever lyrics and complex rhythms, she emailed him back.
To: singingfool@uptown.com
From: epeterson@fghospital.com
Subject: Re: Hey
Dear Trent:
Why not? Where and when?
Emily
I’m not a groupie, she thought. I’m a thirty-five-year-old doctor. I am someone’s mother. I am a widow, damn it. I am not a groupie. I happen to like the music, that’s all. And have the singer’s email address. I wonder if I am the oldest person to ever look up their website?
One morning, not long after receiving Trent’s last and most disconcerting email, the one containing an actual invitation, she found herself, alone at home, sitting at the computer. She decided to Google Trent Buchanan to see what she could find out about him. Not surprisingly, there were fan sites, and the official record company site. She clicked on the band’s “official web site”. Photos of the band greeted her. She listened to clips of old and new songs, and learned that the band had formed fifteen years ago, when three musicians had met at University of Toronto. They played gigs around town to pay their tuition. In the intervening years, and in spite of a few quiet personnel changes, they had recorded eight albums of original music, and toured almost annually. Their fan club claimed to have over a million registered members.
Wow, Emily thought, impressed in spite of herself. And he wants to have coffee with me.
She actually downloaded a pile of Uptown songs from iTunes, careful to actually pay for each. What would he say if she did get to know him, and had to admit most of the music she owned was actually stolen?
After a day or so of listening to the music, and deciding she really did enjoy the clever lyrics and complex rhythms, she emailed him back.
To: singingfool@uptown.com
From: epeterson@fghospital.com
Subject: Re: Hey
Dear Trent:
Why not? Where and when?
Emily
I’m not a groupie, she thought. I’m a thirty-five-year-old doctor. I am someone’s mother. I am a widow, damn it. I am not a groupie. I happen to like the music, that’s all. And have the singer’s email address. I wonder if I am the oldest person to ever look up their website?
posted by Cluttered Mind | 7:16 PM
|
0 comments
