I let a few weeks go by to think over the opportunity. I wasn't eager to switch, but I wanted to keep it open. I worked out a plan for the other problem vexing me. It began with a discreet inquiry the next time I was in the office.

"Harold, I had meant to ask. Janet didn't happen to leave any contact information, did she?"

"You're not pining over her, I hope," replied Harold, getting straight to my awkwardness. "It's not a good look in a man your age."

"No. No, I agree."

"I'm not sure what you do when you're off work, but you ought get out more, like on dates I mean, not just checking on your acts."

"Yeah," I smiled. "You're probably right about that. I just thought I'd send her a postcard or something, tell her how business is going. Maybe she could tell us more about the scene in England right now."

"Well," Harold chuckled, humoring me, "I guess there's no harm in that. She left a permanent address, her parents', in case she'd forgotten papers or anything. I haven't needed to use it."

"I'd appreciate it."

"Just keep it professional, all right? I trust you."

"I will."

"And, uh, tell her I said hi. You can let her know the door is always open if she wants her job back."

This was a start at least. It would still seem strange to get a letter out of the blue from me. I had to get the tone right. There had to be some plausible, non-crazy explanation for why I needed her help. I also had to avoid the impression that I'd been nursing a crush all this time. Though I didn't see why she'd leap to that conclusion, Harold had. Right, keep it professional.

Business moved along smoothly. We considered adding new clients for the first time in months as we inevitably lost a few. I had a feeling Harold was working on something. I saw him writing a lot of notes but he'd get cagey if I tried to bring it up.

Then he sprung it on me all at once.

"It's done! What do you think of it, Reuben?" He held out a poster for my consideration. I'd never seen Harold sketch as much as a stick figure, and this looked like the work of a skilled graphic artist. Had he had it commissioned? "Thousand Suns Records," it said, and in smaller print "Dedicated to the Light Within Each of Us."

"Um, well, I like the artwork a lot." And I wasn't lying. The artist had blended a powerful mind expansion motif with softer themes of peace, love, and harmony. It was almost a Rorschach test to decide which was dominant. "But," I asked "what is it for?"

"Our new recording label! I'll make you a full partner."

I stood speechless.

"You know," he continued. "I've saved some money over the years. I had meant to expand the business, but was never sure how. It finally hit me. This is what I've been working towards all these years. So, you in or what?"

"I need more..." I stumbled over my words. "I think starting a brand new business is pretty risky, don't you? Have you run it by anyone else?"

"You're the first."

"If, if you don't mind some constructive criticism." I began hesitantly. "Don't you think a lot of people are going to think of atomic testing when they see 'Thousand Suns'?"

"It's all explained here," countered Harold, and he pointed to a blurb at the bottom of the poster.

As I read it, Harold walked me through his thinking.

"It turns out that Oppenheimer, the physicist you know, was alluding to the Bhagavad Gita when he said that. It's a sacred Hindu religious text, very influential."

I knew some of this. Thoreau for instance, but I waited for him to continue.

"So it always referred to a divine light. And this will be dedicated to the idea that..."

I cut Harold off and quoted back his own blurb. "... the light of the human spirit can outshine the most terrific intensity of our superweapons."

"Harold," I began, "you're a good guy and I think that's a wonderful sentiment, a real keeper. But didn't you once ask me if I knew what business we were in? Are you starting a recording company or a religion?"

"Is there a difference?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes!" I couldn't control myself. "Yes Harold, there is a big difference. I've been listening to you go on about freaking Woodstock for months now."

I saw his expression and toned myself down as well as I could.

"OK," I started again. "You may have a niche market here. You're not alone in this whole, uh, quest for enlightenment."

"Neesh?"

Maybe nobody used the term "niche market" in 1970. I wasn't sure. I explained, "I mean you might find a small group of customers who really like it."

"No," insisted Harold. "This is going to be big. This is going to change everything."

"Well," I backpedaled. "Let me think about it. I've always trusted your business sense. It's a big decision."

"I know."

A job at an established label looked better right now than it had before. I would have to follow up on the phone call. But first there was the matter of writing that letter. I had been putting it off as I considered how best to phrase it. Was I crazy to think that just by using the right words, I could set a chain of events into motion on another continent?