Bud asked, refilling his coffee mug in the white tile kitchen, where it always seemed cold. “Right. It was mid-October 1986.” “You left the woman who loved you?” he added. My silence was all the answer he needed to that question.Bud ferried the hot mug back into our work area, setting it down on a cork coaster and returning to his notepad. He set the small Panasonic tape recorder on the coffee table between us. I’ll hire someone to come in and ghostwrite for you. All you have to do is remember and talk. You can do that, right? “You got yourself to Chicago and … what?” “Moved in with Brian. He was working at a club called XN-tricity and said he could get me a job there.” “I remember that place,” Bud said with a fondness in his voice. “It closed down about ten years ago, but I was there.” He whistled. “Very hot.” “Anyway, I moved into Brian’s crummy apartment on his invitation to come up and have a good time, and at the beginning it was fun. Within a few days I was working at the club and making exactly the kind of money Brian had described.”
