f♮ live: Kristin Bank. That’s the one that put sharpt33th  on the radar for most people. Who knew serialized rehab pregnancy could be such a draw? Did you like it?

leon: I don’t know if they are shows that you like or don’t like. You just watch them.

f♮ live: I know exactly what you mean. Okay, let’s have Cole again. You might be wondering why she’s interested in putting him on an original web TV program. Why do you think that would be, Cole?

I was not an idiot. Baby North was interested in me because I came with a built-in audience. She was interested in me because I had a pretty face and knew how to do my hair better than most guys. She was interested in me because I overdosed on the stage of Club Josephine, and then vanished.

cole st. clair: Oh, my great music, probably. Also, I’m super charming. I’m sure that’s it.

Leon offered a limp smile. In front of us, the cars sluggishly shuffled like playing cards. The sun rippled thickly off mirrors and reflectors. The palms lining the highway were lanes and lanes away. I couldn’t believe I was here in California, looking right at it, and yet couldn’t touch it yet. The interior of this car still felt at least two states away.

f♮ live: That sounds true. She’s known for her taste in music.

cole st. clair: I get that. That’s a joke.

f♮ live: You are a quick one.

cole st. clair: I’ve never actually heard that before.

f♮ live: Oh! I get that. That’s a joke.

Both Leon and I laughed out loud.

I’d met Martin. Though he had an eternally youthful voice, he’d been in music journalism for longer than I’d been alive.

The first interview I’d done with him had been twenty minutes of tastelessly conveyed sexcapades, and then I’d met him in person and discovered he was old enough to be my father. Questions, questions: How dare he sound twenty and be sixty? Did they make cosmetic surgery for your vocal cords? And just how badly had I offended him? But it turned out that Martin was one of those not-dirty older men who were amused by us still-dirty younger men.

f♮ live: How long are you taking to write and record this album? It’s not long, right?

cole st. clair: I think it’s six weeks.

f♮ live: That seems ambitious.

If you looked up ambition on Wikipedia, my photo was the first thing that came up. I did have some material that I’d written while sitting alone at camp in Minnesota, but it had been strange to try to complete anything in a vacuum. No band. No listeners.

They’d come together in the studio.

cole st. clair: I’ve got a vision.

f♮ live: Do you think you’ ll stay in L.A.?

I wasn’t particularly gifted at staying anywhere. But L.A.

was where Isabel Culpeper was. Thinking her name was a dangerous, obsessive thought-road. I would not let myself call her until I had gotten to the house. I would not call her until I had thought of a theatrical way to tell her I was in California.

I would not call her until I was sure she would be happy I was here.

If she wasn’t happy I was here, then . . .

With one move, I slapped shut the airconditioning vents. I felt too close to a wolf for the first time in a long time. I felt that churn in my stomach that meant the shift was close.

cole st. clair: That depends. On if L.A. wants me.

f♮ live: Everyone wants you.

Leon held up his phone so that I could see the screen. He had just purchased “Spacebar” by NARKOTIKA (feat.

Magdalene). He seemed happier than when I’d first met him, back when he was Larry. Outside, the heat tantalized. The asphalt shuddered in the exhaust. In a minute, we hadn’t moved an inch. I was looking at L.A. through a TV screen.

And now I’d let myself think Isabel’s name and there wasn’t room for anything else. This car, this interview, this everything else — Isabel was the real thing. She was the song.

cole st. clair: You know what, Martin and Leon, I’m going to get out of the car now. Walk the rest of the way.

Leon raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t a walking road. I think it’s illegal to walk on the shoulder. Do you see anyone else getting out of their cars and walking?”

No, I didn’t. But I very rarely saw anybody else doing anything I was doing. And if I did, it usually meant it was time for me to stop.

Isabel —

f♮ live: Wait, what’s Leon saying? Where are you?

I’d already left the interview behind. It took every bit of my willpower to drag my attention back to Martin’s questions.

cole st. clair: He’s advising against my plan. We’re on the 405. It’s okay. I’m in good shape. You wouldn’t believe the muscles we pick up in rehab. Leon, are you coming with me?

I had already unbuckled my seat belt. I dragged my backpack — the only thing I’d brought from Minnesota — to

my side of the car. Leon’s eyes opened wide. He couldn’t tell if I was serious, which was ridiculous, because I was always serious.

Isabel. Only a few miles away.

My heart was starting to tumble inside me. I knew I should contain it, because I still had a long way to go. But I couldn’t quite pull it off. This day had been so many weeks of planning and dreaming in the making.

f♮ live: Are you trying to get Leon to abandon a car on the interstate?

cole st. clair: I’m trying to save his life before it’s too late.

Come with me, Leon. We shall walk away from this car, you and I. We shall find fro-yo and make the world better.

Leon held up a helpless hand. Only moments before it had been a jazz hand. How he was letting me down.

leon: I can’t. You shouldn’t. Traffic is bad now, but in a few minutes, it’ ll be over. Just wait — I clapped my hand on his shoulder.

cole st. clair: Okay, I’m out. Thanks for having me on the show, Martin.

f♮ live: Is Leon coming with you?

cole st. clair: It doesn’t look that way. Next time, though. Leon, enjoy the track. The account’s all settled, right? Good.

f♮ live: Cole St. Clair, former frontman of NARKOTIKA.

A pleasure, as always.

cole st. clair: Now, that I’ve heard before.

f♮ live: The world’s glad to have you back, Cole.

cole st. clair: The world says that now. Okay. Gotta go.

Hanging up, I opened the door. The car behind us let out the softest of honks as I climbed out. The heat — oh, the heat.

It was an emotion. It owned me. The air smelled of forty million cars and forty million flowers. I felt a spasm of pure adrenaline, memory of everything I’d ever done in California and anticipation of everything that could be done.