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I thought for a second he’d been checking out my tits, but I couldn’t quite be sure. Maybe he was just staring at the shirt I was wearing, since it was relevant, and all of that.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked him.
“Where would you like to start?” he repeated patiently.
“What needs to be done?”
“Good answer,” he said, with a sly wink. “The exact tasks can change by the day at this job. You’ll be by my side through most of it, watching and helping when needed. It might sound easy but it can be a real boot camp. The skills needed are varied and can change at a moment’s notice. It can be a challenge. Do you think you can handle it?”
“Yes,” I said, almost sure I believed it.
“Good. If you do well, there could be a more permanent job in it for you.”
My hopes stayed resolutely earthbound, despite wanting to take wing. Gritty realism—not youthful optimism— was my best bet for success.
“I’ve got some demos to listen to; we could start with that,” he suggested, and I nodded my agreement.
For a brief, beautiful instant, it looked like he was going to have me sit on his lap. It was the only way we could both listen to the headphones, since there was only one chair— at least until he unplugged the headphones, the CD player already on speakers, and rolled over his desk chair for me.
My disappointment run out of town with pitch forks and torches, I sat on the office chair, next to the main one at the listening station. I was still very much at the ready for whatever might come. After taking a CD case from the pile in front of the player, Seth put it in.
While we waited for the first song to cue up, he got a Moleskine and fountain pen from the desk before settling into the other chair. His pen was poised at the ready when the onslaught began.
It was maybe a minute before he switched to the next track, a frown etched onto his face. There was little improvement, the entire demo a write-off by the second of the four tracks.
“That’s a no,” Seth said, starting a new pile in front of the player.
I nodded in agreement once again, hoping that my face didn’t show the disgust I felt at hearing that demo. He showed me his notebook, which had the names of all the bands in the pile for that day.
The first, a death metal duo called ‘Infant Annihilator,’ had a line through their column, with a sizeable x next to it.
I was glad I’d never have to listen to them again.
“It’s like a check list?” I asked Seth.
“Sort of, only with eliminations, and you write it out yourself.”
“I see.”
Not too hard, then. It was beginning to look like a pretty easy job after all. Then he put on the next record.
The music absolutely blasted out, and I couldn’t help it; my hands flew to my ears. I liked my music as loud as the next rock fan, but not only was this loud, it was even worse than the first one had been, and I hadn’t thought that was possible.
I kept my fingers pressed tight into my ears until I realized there was no lingering pounding, then cautiously unplugged them.
“It’s safe now,” Seth said.
A hand touched my shoulder. The spark was undeniable. I fully uncovered my ears and looked at him with hope and longing.
“Does that happen a lot?” I asked him. “The really horrible demos, I mean?”
“More than I’d like it to,” he admitted. “One of the downsides to mostly being a Metal label is that there can be a very superficial understanding of what the music is supposed to sound like.”
“It was just screaming,” I said, still wincing. “Not growling, even. There was no control at all.”
“I hear you. It’s shocking at first, but you’ll get used to it.”
He sat back down and picked up the next prospect. Meanwhile I held my breath, praying for better things. Regardless, I folded my hands in my lap and crossed my fingers, determined not to cover my ears again either way. I didn’t want to be unprofessional.
“Loki’s Laugh,” Seth announced. “They’re usually pretty good.”
My muscles melted as the disc spun. Sweet relief in sonic form filled the utilitarian space.
“And that’s a yes,” Seth said, extravagantly adding a checkmark beside the name.
The glory was never to return. As we continued to listen, all subsequent bands fell short of Loki’s Laugh, but they also, mercifully, greatly surpassed the first couple offerings, so the overall experience wasn’t completely agonizing. That was always a good thing.
It had taken most of the morning to get through the stack and was getting to be early afternoon by the time Seth returned the Moleskine to the desk.
“Get your coat,” he instructed me.
