"Thank you for allowing us to put you on our label," Taylor replied, shaking her hand. He looked at the 3 other girls who stood around, looking relaxed and uncomfortable all at once, and the extra help who were just here for inspirational and musical aide. They seemed a little less uptight. "Well, since you've all been introduced and you're good to go… I hope this turns out great."
He waved, and quickly bowed out of the small room in which the writing process was going to take place. The girls were young and new to the industry, and if anything they were anxious. They just needed a little help. After all, they hadn't demoed enough good songs to put on their debut album. He sighed, and glanced at his watch. 12:37. Where to now?
He checked his coat pocket, and fished out the rumpled sheet of paper. It was a page of the "Wi" section from the phone book he'd found in his hotel room the night before. Circled in red pen was "Wilcombe, T". He took a breath and headed out the door that was beneath his window (also called the "back entrance"). The street was busy. He double-checked the address listed below her name, and headed up the street. It would be a few blocks over, but not too incredibly far. At least, not far enough for a taxi.
After walking for 20 minutes, he found the apartment building listed. He looked around, then walked up to the door. Inside there was a small lobby area in which there was an elevator, bathrooms, and a few desks crammed into the corner. At one of them sat a young man, thumbing through some note cards and then turning to type something in on the computer at his desk. Taylor approached him quickly.
"Excuse me, sir?"
The man looked up. "How can I help you?"
"I was wondering if you could tell me a room number?" Taylor asked.
The man eyed him skeptically. "Have a seat. I'll be back to you in a minute."
40 minutes later, Taylor was still sitting and waiting. The man finally looked up. "Okay, now, what is it you wanted?"
"I was wondering if you could tell me which apartment Teresa Wilcombe is renting," he replied.
The man's eyes narrowed dubiously. "That's private information, sir. I'm not at liberty to tell give out that information. If you'd like to leave a message…"
"Do you know her?" Taylor asked, leaning forward.
The man stammered. "I…I…well…"
"Do you?"
"Well, um, yes. In a matter of speaking, yes, I know her," he replied, looking a bit uneasy. "Do you know her?"
Taylor blushed. "In a literal sense, yes, I know her."
The man leaned in a bit closer, squinting at Taylor. "How well do you know Teresa, Mr.?"
"Hanson. Taylor Hanson," Taylor said, shaking his hand.
"Jordan. Simon Jordan," the other replied. "Again, how well do you know Teresa, Mr. Hanson?"
"Um…are you familiar with the Old Testament of the Bible?" Taylor asked.
Simon cocked an eyebrow. His mouth turned down in a frown. "I thought so. Mr. Hanson, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. I have direct instructions to make sure Ms. Wilcombe's residence is kept from your discretion at all costs."
Taylor's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"You aren't supposed to be here," Simon replied. He got up and took Taylor's arm, leading him to the door. "That will be all."
"That's not fair!" Taylor exclaimed. "I need to see Teresa!"
"She doesn't want to see you, Mr. Hanson," Simon replied. "Leave."
"You said I could leave a message," Taylor said, stopping Simon just before he slammed the door in his face. Simon paused, peering at him scrutinously.
"I did."
"Leave her a message for me," Taylor said. "Tell her…Tell her that I didn't know. Tell her I tried. I really did. Please, tell her…"
"I will," Simon said coldly. "Goodbye, Mr. Hanson."
And then the door was slammed in his face. Taking a moment to get over the initial shock of being kicked out of an apartment building, he straightened and then hurried back up the sidewalk. He glanced at his watch. 1:02. Hungry? He sighed, and then decided to find some lunch. He remembered "Little C's". Might as well try it out, he thought to himself. I'll probably be eating many a meal there…