Let them learn the song.” It’s a strange request, but if she asked me to walk across the room in a handstand I’d agree. It’s been just six weeks since I signed the contract, and already Madame Nivine has secured my first recording—a song called “Only Me, Lonely Me,” written especially for me—and we’re heading to the studio as soon as she has finished getting ready. She’s in the bedroom of her apartment in Mohandessin; I’m in the sitting room. I saunter past a cabinet containing a collection of crystal animals and step out onto the glassed-in balcony, where she keeps her plants and parakeets. I turn to the birds—an identical pale-yellow pair—and start to sing. I add my own brand of color to the lyrics: “It was love at first sight, Now you wanna take a flight Just know when you’re on that plane Your sweetheart is aflame You wanna go? Then go, go, go. And stay away. Oh no, no, no. On my own . . . that’s me . . . yes, me. All alone . . . only me . . . only me .
