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Danny made sure to bring a change of clothes for the morning.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Lauren arrived at the studio the next day with a guitar case over her shoulder and wearing a cat-that-ate-the-canary expression.
“Well, look at you,” Tisha said. “Someone had a good night.” She arched an eyebrow as she looked Lauren up and down.
“It was a very good night,” Lauren said. She stopped and knelt, fussing unnecessarily with the lace on her boot. She hoped that would end the conversation.
“Good for you, hon,” Tisha said. “I’m glad someone’s getting some because I’m certainly not. They’re in Studio C today. Fitz needs A for a review but he’ll be with you shortly.” Her voice followed Lauren down the hall. “And when you’re ready to dish, I want to hear all about it.”
Lauren demurred. Trish was fabulous and quickly becoming someone Lauren considered a friend, but her affair—she winced inwardly at the word—with Danny wasn’t for casual coffee talk. Maybe someday, but not now.
DJ recognized the case containing Lauren’s favorite six-string as soon as she came in the room. “Now we’re getting serious,” he said. “She’s bringing out the big guns.”
“One of these days, I’m taking that guitar away and proving you don’t need a lucky charm. Freakin’ superstition.” Ox guffawed, amused at himself.
Lauren stopped where she was and locked onto Ox with military precision. “You ever put your hands on this guitar, Ox, I will personally key the crap out of your precious little vintage Porsche.”
Ox gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Touch that guitar and you’ll find out,” DJ said. “And I’d bet good money she’d trash the engine, too. You donotmess with the mojo.” For emphasis, he keyed out some dramatic notes on his keyboard.
Fitz hustled into the room, a five-foot, four inch ball of energy. “Ah, wonderful ta see everyone. Good, good. I want ta get started.” He bombarded them with a list of tasks that included going through some tapes, laying down vocal tracks from Lauren on two songs, and deciding once and for all if Augie would do the vocals for a song called “Wolf” that they’d been toying around with.
When they broke for lunch several hours later, Lauren pulled out her phone and sent Danny a message. Based on how the day was going, she knew they’d be late tonight and probably the next. Likely she wouldn’t be able to see him until at least the middle of the week.
He replied a minute later:
She could feel Augie watching her and kept her face averted, pretending to go through email. She tried using some of her hair to hide her expression, but it didn’t work.
“So, what’s going on with you?” Augie asked.
“I, uh… I guess I have a dinner date later this week.”
“A date?”
Lauren swore she heard disapproval in his voice, but maybe it was her own guilt. She pivoted in her chair and cocked her head. “With Danny,” she said, daring Augie to make a comment.
He called her bluff. “Not a good—”
“—Don’t really care.”
“Lauren…” Augie said.
“Don’t. Just don’t.” She turned and walked away, knowing exactly what the concerned expression on Augie’s face looked like. She didn’t know what made her angrier: that he was judging her or that she deserved it.
The Kingmakers plowed through the afternoon and worked well into the evening. Lauren and Augie stayed even later to collaborate on some lyrics. By the time they were done, Lauren’s nerves were frayed, and her writing difficulties showed no signs of abating. The next two days were the same: long hours at the studio with only a little progress and quite a lot of bickering. Listening to them once, Fitz told Tisha he was sick of the “bloody lot of knobheads” and that they “needed ta be sent off with a flea in their ear”—which he said loud enough for all of them to hear, before stomping off to have a shot of whiskey in his office.
By the time Thursday arrived, Lauren was counting the minutes until dinner. She wasn’t even all that hungry. She just wanted some quiet time with Danny—time with no demands, no arguments, no debates, and no big decisions. They’d planned on meeting at her place at six o’clock. At 5:45 she was still at the studio, embroiled in a verbal brawl with Stevie and Augie about the direction of a song.
“I wrote the goddamned thing, and I know what it means.” She waved her hands in frustration as she yelled.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Augie slapped a hand on the table.
“Our fans can handle a little complexity.” Lauren’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth.
“Augie’s right on this one, luv,” Stevie said. “You might know what it means, but I don’t think anyone else will. The lyrics are a bit obscure.”
