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“Man, that was fuckin’ fire! Your lady friend got you twisted—”
“Don’t have one.”
“Bullshit. Ain’t nothin’ ‘cept a lady friend that can pull those types of rhymes out of a dude. And I should know.”
“Hey babe,” Mea Culpa chimed in, appearing next to him in the doorway like some kind of hip hop goddess.
“Hey baby,” Spoken cooed in a lower octave.
I rolled my eyes.
Spoken gazed down at his petite counterpart as the sun rose on his face.
Mea looked up at him with sparkles in her dark eyes.
I couldn’t decide which of them looked cooler. Her black hair sat on top of her head in a mohawk-like updo, braided in tight cornrows on the sides and sculpted into artful curls on top. The tips were a blue so bright it seemed to glow.
I watched them canoodle for a moment, feeling awkward because I couldn’t look away.
After several years in the music industry, I’d learned something about rising stars: they all had this captivating gravity to them. Watching one of them move and speak and entertain was enchanting enough. Watching two was nothing short of spellbinding.
And when they were in love? It was like watching a nuclear explosion. It was brilliant, horrifying, dazzling, captivating. You could feel their love was true, and it enhanced everything they did creatively.
For the first time, I felt a prickle of envy as I watched them.
Maybe I wanted something like that for myself.
Maybe. In the future.
But I knew that probably wasn’t in the cards for someone like me.
You’re just… a lot to handle.
“So we gonna make music today or what?” I asked, a little disgruntled.
Spoken and Mea glanced at me as if just now realizing I was there.
A wide, gloating smile spread across Spoken’s face, and I could tell that he knew exactly what I was thinking.
Luckily, he had the grace not to pick on me about Grace. At least in front of Mea.
I tossed my phone into my messenger bag and said, “Let’s light it up.”
Thank God getting into the music pulled me out of my head. It could get suffocating in there with all of the words pressurized and plastered on the insides of my eyelids.
The session went down smoothly, as always with these two. They were perfect components; holographic puzzle pieces that shone in synchronization as the music tilted the mood of the room. I’d never seen a couple fit together so flawlessly in and out of the studio, and by the time we’d finished recording, I knew that somehow, some way, they’d tapped into something in the realm of genius.
Fulfillment flowed through me as we finished up, completely satisfied with the session.
I loved being a producer. I loved helping young musicians, mentoring them, getting them contracts, negotiating for them, and pouring creativity into the world. It was my purpose. It was my outlet.
Music in all shapes and forms was the only way I could escape from my obnoxious mind.
Hell, I was so in the zone that I didn’t even think about Grace again until it was time to pack up.
Mea popped into the control room to grab her purple purse and more words fluttered through my head. I zoned out for a minute, thinking about Grace again.
“Hello? Anyone home? Earth to Sam!”
