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it. She’s as silent as a tomb. As mysterious as all the great seductresses.
    Our CD ’s a huge hit! Since it came out ten months ago now (boy, does time ever fly), it’s sold like hotcakes.
    One other thing bugs me: the songwriting credits are nowhere to be seen. Tom claims he forgot. But he sure didn’t forget to write: © Tom Paradis Inc. and the year.
    When I pointed it out, he immediately bristled, “Really, Alexandre, do you not know anything? For your information, I have to put that logo on everything I produce for tax purposes. It’s the law. So much so that I’m not even the one who saw to it, the printer looked after it. Nothing can be published without showing the person responsible. Income tax, buddy, ever heard of it? Of course not. The day you start paying, you’ll understand …”
    What can I say other than that his explanation doesn’t change the fact that our names don’t appear anywhere on the CD and that’s got me pretty mad?
    He raises his hands like he can’t do anything about it and has no desire to discuss the matter further. As far as he’s concerned, the case is closed. So he changes the subject. “Listen, I forgot to tell you I’m off to London in a few days’ time. I’ll be there for four or five weeks. Catherine will look after your contracts while I’m gone. She’ll mail them out to you. You’re still good for another three weeks. If things slow down, it’s no big deal. For the past year, you’ve barely had a single weekend off. A bit of a rest will do you good.”
    I agree. Our career, since that’s what this is, has taken over our lives. We never stop, not even for a second. Two or three weeks off would be a welcome break. We could start writing more songs, too.
    We’ll have to anyway, since our fans are starting to get tired of our material. For once, I think Tom’s right. Especially since we’ve paid back the amount owed for the CD by now. And we don’t really need the money ...
    Curious as always and forever on the lookout for new opportunities that might suit our band, I ask him what he’ll be doing in London.
    â€œThat’s my business, my man.”
    â€œHey, just asking—I wasn’t trying to stick my nose into your business. You’ve been to London twice in the past six months. I just wondered if it had anything to do with us, with Nexxtep.”
    â€œIf something pans out, I’ll let you know.”
    The message comes in loud and clear. I shut my trap. Tom gets to his feet and waves. “See you in a month or so. Till then, take care, my man.”
    Tom may seem like the consummate salesman, always brimming with confidence, but this time I get the feeling he’s uneasy around me. Why? Who the hell knows ...

We, too, are U2
    four
    W e’ve been on edge for three weeks now. We haven’t heard anything from Tom. He was supposed to be back on October 12 th . It’s now the 30 th . No calls. No sign of life. Nothing but silence. As for Catherine, his secretary, she’s impossible to get hold of.
    Not surprisingly, we have no contracts for the coming weeks. At first, that suited us just fine. Now it’s a drag. Time off is great, but you can have too much of a good thing. We’re pacing like caged lions. But what can we do?
    To keep busy, we’ve written some new songs. Five in all and one in particular, “Limited Sensations,” that has the makings of a hit. The tempo is great. Really rocking. I’m not unhappy with the lyrics either.
    With John Wayne
    Riding a horse
    With James Dean
    Driving a car
    Looks different
    But it’s all the same
    Just like you
    Just like me
    Don’t care about you
    Not like it’s true
    Only want to have their way
    They always pass on through
    (chorus)
    They will die in pain
    Unsatisfied
    And nothing can explain
    Never knowing why.
    So we keep rehearsing in my basement, waiting