Cordelia introduced herself, sounding as calm, self-assured, and in control as she could manage. She sounded good to her. "I want to talk about Buddy Holley's catalog," Cordelia said. "I understand Shrike holds the rights. Here at Global Fun and Games we're very much looking forward to having Mr. Holley perform a selection of his past hits at this weekend's global benefit for medical victims."
There was a brief silence. "What sort of medical victims?" Cordelia didn't like the sound of her voice. South Bronx, probably. "Um, AIDS and the wild card virus. The live video feed will reach-"
Miss Delveccio interrupted her. "Oh, right, that benefit. I'm sorry, Ms. Chaisson, but it will be quite impossible to cooperate with Global on this project. I am sorry," She didn't sound sorry.
"But surely there-"
"Shrike owns Mr. Holley's music under an exclusive license. We just won't be able to release the permissions you need." The tone of her voice said, and that's final.
"Perhaps if I could speak with your department head-"
"I'm afraid Mr. Lazarus isn't in today."
"Well, maybe-"
"Thank you for thinking of us, Ms. Chaisson," said Miss Delveccio. "Have a nice day." And she hung up.
Cordelia stared at the phone for a minute or two. Damn it. She hoped Miss Delveccio would have an extremely difficult period. After another minute she switched on the desk terminal and pulled up the on-line Variety. She flipped through a few electronic pages at random and then turned on the modem and dialed up Variety's index base. While there were quite a few key-word entries for Shrike Music, but not many for Buddy Holley, there was one story that flagged both. It was dated nearly three months before, while she had been in Australia. It seemed that Shrike Music had inked a megabucks deal with America's second-largest advertising firm. The advertising company was a client of a major evangelical organization that was looking to market its theme amusement parks and other commercial subsidiaries through what the article, quoting Leo Barnett, termed 'the innocent, but energetic, nostalgia, of Buddy Holley's music'.
Oh, Cordelia thought. Oh, no. No wonder Shrike wasn't eager to have Holley's songs associated with the benefit. This was going to be a problem.
Luz Alcala stuck her head through the office door and said, "Good morning, Cordelia, did you have a good weekend?" Cordelia looked up. "Definitely. You get your keys okay? Thanks again for the car."
Luz nodded. "You all right? You look a bit distracted."
"It's just Monday morning."
Luz smiled sympathetically. "By the way, did you reach our lycanthropic friend?"
Cordelia shook her head. Thought fast. "Still can't find him."
"Let me give you a suggestion. After you try their management, call the presidents of the companies they record for. When you can't get satisfaction, go upstairs. It almost always works."
Aha! thought Cordelia. "Thanks," she said.
After Luz chatted a little more and then left, Cordelia dialed Shrike back and asked for the president's office. After two layers of secretaries, she finally reached one Anthony Michael Cardwell. Cardwell was more sympathetic than Miss Delveccio, but ultimately no more helpful. "True, Shrike Music has a responsibility to the community-and we participate in nwny projects toward that end-but ultimately we are responsible to our shareholders and our corporate owners," he said. "I believe you can appreciate the difficulty of our position."
Bullshit, Cordelia thought, furious. What she said was much the same thing. Definitely too blunt. The president of Shrike Music cut the conversation short.
After setting the phone down, Cordelia drummed her fingers on the desktop. Go upstairs, Luz had said. Cordelia touched the terminal keyboard and called up GF amp;G's research list of entertainment industry data bases. As she started to dig out the roots of Shrike's corporate family tree, she wondered how Jack was doing.
Naturally Jack had believed Cordelia when she had told him Sunday night that things looked good so far as obtaining permission for Holley to play his own music. More, GF amp;G would take care of Jack's leave of absence Monday morning. That would free Jack so he could help move Holley into Manhattan. Cordelia had arranged a room downtown at the Hotel California, Manhattan's premiere hostelry for visiting musicians. "The management," Cordelia had said, "doesn't care what happens to a room so long as the damage gets paid for. Platinum Amex cards are welcome."
By noon Monday, while Cordelia was playing silicon Nancy Drew, Jack had moved Buddy Holley into his eighth-floor room at the Hotel California. "You've got an open account," the desk clerk had said, so they ordered up sumptuous lunches.
Jack watched as Holley unpacked a compact tape deck and a box of cassettes. There was an eclectic selection of new age music-lots of Windham Hill albums, along with starkly packaged relaxation tapes of wind, storm, sea, rain-and a varied lot of early rock, blues, and country. "Got some scarce stuff here," said Holley, picking up a handful of what were obviously home-dubbed tapes. "Tiny Bradshaw, Lonnie Johnson, Bill Doggett, King Curtis. Got the better-known stuff tooRoy Orbison, Buddy Knox, Doug Sahm." He chuckled. "A real Texas collection, those last boys. Also have some George Jones-got a soft spot in my heart for that boy too. Me and my first band played behind him back in '55 on the Hank Cochran show."
"What's that?" Jack pointed at what seemed to be the only vinyl record in the box of tapes.
"I'm real proud of that." Holley held up the 45. "'Jole Blon.' Waylon Jennings's first record. I produced that for him back when he was playin with the Crickets."
Jack took the record and examined it gingerly, as though looking at a holy relic. " I guess maybe I heard this on WSN."
"Yep," said Holley. "Just about everybody I respect from that era learned about music first from listenin' to the Grand Ole Opry."
Jack set down the 45 of "Joie Blon." A tremendous lassitude swept across him. He looked at the remains of lunch. Nausea rocked back and forth in his belly. He sat back on the hotel couch and tried to keep his voice steady. "'Fore I came to New York, I listened to the Opry all the time. Once I was here, I found a station out of Virginia dat carried it."
"You come from the same place as your niece?" Holley said interestedly.
Jack nodded.
"Alligator your totem too?"
Jack said nothing, trying to control the new pain in his gut.
"'Gator's a powerful guardian animal spirit," said Holley. " I wouldn't mess with one."
Jack doubled up and tried not to whimper.
Holley was at his side. "Somethin' wrong?" He ran his hands down Jack's chest and stomach. His fingers fluttered lightly over the man's belly. He whistled. "Oh, man, I think you've got some trouble here."
"I know," said Jack. He groaned. Any other year he'd be pretty sure he could avoid the flu-type stomach bugs. But Tachyon had briefed him about opportunistic infections. He'd had the instant image of viruses zeroing in on him from every pesthole in the world. " I think maybe it's just the flu."
Holley shook his head. "It's a heavy-duty power intrusion I'm pickin' up here."
"It's a bug."
"And the bug's gettin' through to you because your protection, your personal mantle is screwed."
"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Jack.
Holley took his hands away from Jack's abdomen. "Sorry, nothin' personal. I don't know if Cordelia told you, but I-well, I know something about this stuff." Jack looked back at him bewilderedly. "What you need," said Holley seriously, "is a traditional treatment. You need to have the intrusion sucked out. I think it's the only way."
Jack couldn't help himself. He started chuckling, then guffawing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this. It hurt to laugh, but it helped as well. Buddy Holley looked on, apparently astonished. Finally Jack straightened a bit and said, "Sorry, I just don't think, uh, sucking an intrusion out of my body would be a real wise idea right now."