"Sorry to be the one to tell you," I said to Harold, "but Altamont was no Woodstock. It was a little disturbing to be honest."

"I heard about the stabbing..."

"Yeah, but that wasn't the only thing. It was a complete mess, just constant fighting around the stage. Even some performers were injured."

Harold shook his head.

"It's hard to pin down," I continued. "The bands were great and the crowd was enormous, but it definitely wasn't the kind of event you've been hoping for. There wasn't the sense of shared purpose."

"Well, the news hasn't been that bad, considering."

"Give it time, Harold. Altamont is going to develop a bad reputation. And unfortunately, it's likely to make it harder to put on another big festival."

"You say it like you know that for certain, Reuben. Sometimes I don't understand you. If you'd been at Woodstock, you'd see what was on the horizon. We're entering a new age."

I realized there was no point in naysaying for its own sake. "Yeah, Harold. Maybe it is just a setback. Who knows?"

"Anyway," Harold continued, "Altamont was pretty small, a one day concert. Some of the best acts from Woodstock were missing. Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, they'll be with us for a long time to come."

Could he come up with a worse reply? Maybe Harold saw the future too, only in opposite form. I just kept quiet and started doing the math in my head. It was December 1969. That left a little less than 10 months. How many days was that?

"Reuben, are you OK?" Harold asked, seeing my face. "The point is just that they're still young, under 30. Amazing musicians. There's still a lot of time for them to grow and set new trends."

"Yeah I know. Um... sometimes I just wish these, uh, rock stars, would take better care of themselves." It was the first thing I could think of to say and I couldn't hold back.

"Well, the life of an artist. Always has to be wild, right? Not even-keeled businessmen like us." He winked.

Truth is, I never believed that. Not in that other life or in this one. I do not believe that an artist needs to burn bright and flame out fast. Some do, no question about it. When that happens it's a tragedy. And some of them just keep on keeping on like they say, well into old age. It's a purely individual thing. Artists are more mercurial than their agents, but it was a damn shame to lose so many of them, and so young. I hadn't thought about Joplin or Hendrix until now, nor the fact that their deaths were less than a year away.

Altamont aside, I wondered if I could do anything about it. How I could I have the warnings and be doomed to live through it again?

I looked at Harold. With his new look and the conversation we'd just had, I wondered if he was as even-keeled as all that. But as far as I could tell, he was still as reliable as ever.

"So how'd it go while I was gone?"

"What can I say? We're firing on all cylinders. I saw a couple of the bands you handle. Packed houses. I still don't know how you pick 'em."

"It's all about audience." I told a half-truth, leaving out that extra knowledge I had. "It's not about whether I like the band personally."

"I know," said Harold. "and that was always part of my system. But I could never leave out personal taste. I'm impressed at your professionalism. I believe you must have been doing this before, even if you can't remember when or where. And... I still think you should see a doctor about that."

"What can a doctor do for me? I feel fine. I am more in my element than ever." That part was true. Whatever my other life was about, it's as if I'd been preparing for this one.

On my desk were a few short messages from the bands I represented. I read them over. With no more appointments today, and no new bands to screen, I told Harold I was taking the rest of the day off.

I went back to my apartment. Seeing my mask again, I was tempted to take a late morning nap with it. Something made me wary. The mask seemed to have a lot to do with my predicament, though what I could not be sure.

I looked over the record collection I had begun to accumulate. New albums from bands I had only read about as history, bands in their prime. On vinyl for crying out loud! I thought of "Raymond" in that other life. He'd have given his right arm to be living at the time I was now. I might as well enjoy it. I put on some music and lay back.

Could I change history? That was the big unknown. I could try at least. I closed my eyes and began to think of a plan.