Chapter 5

Tom Shilder was bright. A young kid. Lots of energy. But he fiddled. Rory Steinbalm hated fiddlers. From his corner office on the 24th floor, he glared in Tom's direction, sending him hate from over his notes, across the room, through the glass door and into the receptionist's office. "Tom, get in here. And put that cup down."
Tom the intern made his way toward the office door, realizing that the hammer was about to fall. Again. But this is my time to shine, Tom thought. Every opportunity to assert his place in this dog make dog eat intern world of the music industry was a chance to prove them all wrong. Dad. That kid on the bus. His piano teacher. He put his hands on the cold metal handle and pulled the heavy glass door wide. It weighed like his conscience after deciding to take this job in London.
"We've got a problem, Tom. The studio is getting prepared as we speak. They are rolling in the cameras. They've got some good suits tailored. Everything is according to plan. However..." Rory paused.
Tom braced himself. His mind quickly racing to all the nagging questions that had no answers, as of yet. Sweat covered his brow. Oh God, he prayed. Don't let my face do that thing it does when I get really nervous. His face started to do that thing.
Rory continued,"We've got to get Phillip Bailey over the buildings and into this studio."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Tom gathered himself.
"What about a helicopter?" Tom said instinctively.
"What the hell do you mean, a helicopter? You're insane." Rory glanced at his watch. "But it just might work."