We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

case, I only saw the movie, not that I’ll cop to that. “Refresh my memory.”

“It’s about these guys who learn to use stats to build a perfect baseball team. And they do. They assemble a team with way less money. It sounds all great and underdoggy, but then everyone starts playing moneyball. And in doing so, they took what was an art and turned it into a formula. And they ruined it. Baseball’s so much more tedious now, like watching robots play. There’s no magic to it.” Lou sighs. “Daryl’s a moneyballer. He doesn’t sell stuff, he monetizes it.” Lou’s voice breaks a little. “He doesn’t even like music.”

“Neither do I.”

“So you keep saying,” he shoots back. “But you’ve kept those records pristine, man. You’ve honored them.”

“But that wasn’t me. That was my brother.”

“Well, then you’ve honored him.”

If Lou only knew. “I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be. I’m out of options and out of time.”

The line goes silent so long I think Lou hung up on me. But then he says: “You know what I don’t get?”

“What don’t you get?”

“Why is it that guys like Daryl always seem to win and guys like us always seem to lose?”

I’ve spent the past few years asking myself that. “I don’t know, Lou,” I say. “I honestly don’t know.”

I call Daryl Feldman’s office at nine o’clock. The assistant says he’s booked until after the holiday. I call every hour until finally she relents. “He just had a cancellation,” she tells me. “Can you get here by five?”

His office is in Seattle, a two-hour drive with no traffic, and there’s always traffic. I’m meeting Hannah—an hour’s drive from Seattle—at seven. It’s now three. If I leave now and everything goes right, I can make it work.

Of course, being me, everything does not go right. The Volvo refuses to budge past sixty even on the downhill, and it needs gas, and I can’t find a parking spot and wind up pulling into one of those garages that charge by the second. I sprint to Daryl’s office, pushing open the door at ten past five.

“Am I too late?” I gasp to the assistant.

“He’s just wrapping up a call.”

Twenty minutes later, he’s still wrapping up a call. “Do you know how long he’ll be?” I ask.

“Any minute now.”

“It’s just I have to be somewhere at seven.”

“We can reschedule if you want.” She peers at her computer. “He’s out most of next week for the holiday, but we can do the following Monday—no, scratch that, Tuesday.”

The following Tuesday is too late. “I’ll wait.” I text Hannah that I’m running behind.

I had built Daryl Feldman into a slick Wall Street mogul, Gordon Gekko with a soul patch, but when, at 5:46, I’m ushered into his office, I’m greeted by a short, dumpy guy, the kind of person Ira would call a schlub.

“So sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, gesturing for me to sit down. “You want a coffee? Or beer? It’s almost six.”

“Uh, maybe a water.”

“Sure! Ella, bring us some waters, the LaCroix Pamplemousses.” He says LaCroix with a French pronunciation. Ella brings in the waters. Before she pours his, he plucks out an ice cube. “Two cubes, Ella.”

“Sorry. Sometimes they stick.”

She leaves and Daryl’s eyes follow her. “She can’t figure out how to separate the ice cubes, but that ass.” He takes a gulp of his water. “I hear from Lou that you have some primo vinyl to sell.”

“I do. Two thousand two hundred and sixteen pieces.” I pull out the laminated indexes and slide them over. “They’re listed by genre, pressing, condition. Some are boxed sets. A few imports. Some very rare bootlegs. Some sell for hundreds of dollars. I looked up the Iggy Pop and it’s—”

“How many again?”

“Two thousand two hundred and sixteen.”

He pulls out an adding machine and does some calculations. As the tape whirs I imagine what number will spit out. Maybe it’ll be more than thirteen thousand dollars. Maybe it’ll get me out from the Penny deal and leave us a cushion to spend on the store. Pay Ike and the guys with more than coffee.

He rips off the tape and hands it to me. I blink. $4,432. “This is your offer?”

“I do two bucks a pop.”

Never mind the fact that he needed an adding machine to multiply 2 times 2,216, but four grand? “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m never not serious about business,” he says.

“You must know from Lou that they’re worth way more than this.”

He sighs. “Hell, it’s Thanksgiving, so I’ll round up to forty-five hundred.”

“But you don’t even know what I’m selling.”

He shrugs. “I pay per piece.”

“But some of these records are really valuable.”

“And some will be worthless. I’ve found it all evens out in the end.”

“Trust me.” I push the index toward him. “Nothing in this collection is worthless. If you just look at the inventory. Lou practically hyperventilated when he saw it.”

“Bet he did. Asked for an advance on his paycheck to buy more. But that’s why Lou’s Lou and I’m me.” He takes a long, self-satisfied slurp of water. “Look, I’ve been doing this for a while now. I have overhead and shipping costs and I have to hire guys to do fulfillment for online orders. And do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to ship records? You need these special mailers, and special cardboard inserts. And if a record’s at all warped, the buyers want a refund.”

“If a record warps, the sound is off!”

He shrugs. “So they say. Whatever. Who needs records when you can play any song you want on your phone for free?”

“It’s not the same! Just because there’s Netflix doesn’t mean you can’t read books. And four thousand five hundred dollars, are you kidding me? That’s not remotely enough. Even wholesale they’re worth triple that. Four thousand five hundred dollars dishonors the records!” I shout.

“Jesus. Calm down. It’s just business.”

That’s exactly what Penny said when I accused her of holding the