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“I need a smoke first,” Cannon grumbles.
“Don’t be too long,” Hayes warns, and Cannon nods in response, already sticking a cigarette between his lips.
The three of us follow Hayes inside the studio. From the outside it looked impossibly small, but inside it’s spacious. It opens up to a main room with original hardwood floors, tin ceilings, and brick walls painted white. Several mismatched sofas are strewn about, and one wall boasts pictures of the members of Willow Creek at different venues over the years. Looking at the photos I can see the bond they share, similar to the one I have with my friends. We’re friends before bandmates, and I think it makes all the difference.
Hayes starts down a hallway and we trail behind like good little soldiers. There are several studios, and a common area with chairs and a small kitchen.
“Nice vibe,” Fox comments.
“Thanks,” says Hayes. “I’ll admit, Arden,” he refers to his wife, “and my friends’ wives helped decorate. Fuck knows I can’t decorate worth a shit.”
“Why Mist Records and Studio?” Rush asks as Hayes opens the door to one of the recording rooms. There’s a couch against the wall and a chair in front of all the studio equipment.
Hayes cracks a grin. “Inside joke,” is all he says.
The three of us take a seat on the couch and Hayes straddles the chair facing us with his arms draped over the back.
“We’ve already discussed the songs you all want on the album and I’ve approved them. It’s up to you to decide which one we start with. I want to get a single out there in the next couple of months, hopefully by the first of the year. Build hype for your first full-length album.”
The three of us exchange glances. We’ve already discussed this extensively as a group. We know Hayes gets the final say, but the fact he wants our input means a lot.
“We were thinking Midnight Eyes,” I answer.
Hayes grins. “My choice as well.”
Cannon saunters into the room then, the stench from his cigarette clinging to his skin.
“You need a shower man,” I joke.
He gives me the finger.
Cannon is a man of few words.
He plops on the opposite end of the couch beside Fox.
“All right guys, let’s get to it.”
Hayes claps his hands and we get to work.
* * *
Hours later we’re all tired, but really fucking pleased. Everything we did today was magic. It was more than any of us ever hoped to dream of.
Hayes takes us out for dinner—we worked right through lunch—before dropping us off at the hotel and making sure we’re checked in.
Handing us our keys he says, “If I find out you’re out clubbing again and getting into trouble I will shred your contract before you can utter a pathetic I’m sorry. Don’t mess with me.” His tone screams he’s not kidding. “You’re here to record an album. Don’t fuck it up. The vehicles you requested will be here tomorrow. Think of them as a gift, but one toe out of line and they’re gone.”
We all nod.
“Yes, sir,” Fox mumbles.
“Ass kisser,” I cough.
Hayes glares at me and I wince.
“Trust me, if you leave this hotel I will know.” He makes eye contact with each of us. “You did good today,” he praises. “I see great things in your future if you stay on the right path. Night.”
Before we can respond he’s heading for the revolving glass doors.
