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Murray
Mo and I werethe last ones in the studio with Jimmy, listening to a playback of the song I’d written. It was nearing midnight at the end of our first week of recording. There was no doubt he was itching to get home to his wife and baby, while I was itching to get home to my girl.
I’d never had a girl while we were in the studio. In the past, I would stay all night, working on tracks until we got it right. It was plain as day that ship had sailed for Mo, and I was beginning to think for me as well.
He scrubbed his face with a groan. “It’s just not working, man.”
He’d been saying that all day. Jimmy had made adjustments, sped up the bridge, switched verses around, but nothing stuck. I was frustrated as all hell. This song wasthesong for me, and I didn’t want to see it chopped up into a faint resemblance to what it once was.
“It’s not working for me either,” I agreed.
Mo bent forward, his elbows on his knees. “Would you kill me if we table it? Give it some breathing room and come back to it in a few days?”
My stomach got tangled with an anchor, quickly sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor. We tabled the song, we were tabling it for good. Time was money, and we’d wasted a hell of a lot of time and money on this.
“It’s all good.” I shot up, brushing my sweaty palms over my jeans. “I need to get my butt in bed before I fall over.”
Mo stood too, frowning at my sudden manic need to escape. “I’m not saying it won’t make the album…”
I nodded sharply, pissed at myself for getting upset over this. “I got it. No worries at all.”
He exhaled a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to act like you’re not disappointed.”
“I know.” Sighing too, I pressed my fist into my eye. “I am disappointed. It’s the best thing I’ve ever written, but we’ve got a lot of good tracks to lay down, so I understand. You and Jimmy did me a solid by trying to get this thing up and running.”
Mo clapped me on the shoulder. “It wasn’t me doing you a solid. I wanted it to work too. Itisgood, no doubt. But maybe I’m not connecting with it yet.”
“I get it. I’m not going home to cry in my panties.”
Mo burst out a tired laugh. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Jimmy smirked from his swivel chair. “Sounds like Murray’s leaving open the possibility of wearing his panties, but he won’t be crying in them.”
I cocked a finger gun at him. “Spot on. Don’t even try to shame my love of silk against my balls. It’s luxurious.”
Once Mo and I dragged ourselves out of the studio, I threw myself in the back of the car taking me home and sent a text to Yael, needing her to still be awake.
Me:Boo.
Less than a minute later, I had my reply.
Yael:Tell me you’re on your way home.
Me:I’m on my way home. You awake?
Yael:I had a sarcastic reply at the ready, but I’m holding back. What’s wrong with me?
Me:Was it something about your mad texting while sleeping skills?
Yael:Sigh. Yes. I’m so predictable.
Me:I think our brains are tuned to each other.
Yael:That sounds better. How should I greet you? Pajamas or naked?
Me:Surprise me. It’s been a rough day and you’re all I’m looking forward to.
Yael:Oh no. Do you need me to squash you into the bed?
