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“He’ll love what we heard tonight. Symphonic, a bit operatic, and rock? You have to talk to him.” Irene was adamant. “Your voice is so well trained. I’d sing with you, if we found the right song.”
“I’ve been writing a tune I thought would make an amazing duet.” Matt snapped his jaw shut after blurting it out. Had he dared to suggest Irene Jonson sing a song he’d written?
She brightened. “If it’s anything like what I heard tonight, count me in.”
* * * *
“No, no, no, no! Recorder, erase the take.” Matt stomped around his music room. The new song’s shortcomings were driving him crazy.
Kom poked his head in. He clutched his handheld, which was no doubt displaying some scientific journal. Kom loved science and read articles Matt couldn’t begin to comprehend.
His amused attention was focused on Matt, however. “You sound as if you could use a break.”
“You’ve told me that half a dozen times.”
“You haven’t taken my advice thus far. Here, I have a distraction for you.” He came into the room and offered Matt a new com unit.
Matt gazed at it as if Kom held a venomous snake. “What do I need it for? You said you weren’t leaving me alone in the foreseeable future. If anyone wants to reach me, they can com you.”
“You are the grumpiest man in the universe lately. You’ll want this when Irene or her manager calls you to offer you a contract and a tour.”
Matt barked disbelieving laughter. “Haven’t you heard the garbage I’ve been playing? No one will offer me a job singing at birthday parties, much less a tour.”
“Mattie, you sound fine. You’re nervous is all.”
“I stink. The first two songs were flukes. I wonder if Parlek would listen to covers? I can’t screw those up too badly.”
Irene had been right about Casual Innuendo’s manager being crazy busy at the show they’d attended. Matt hadn’t cared; he and the clan had had a blast hanging out backstage. It had been an amazing performance, and the thousands of fans had sung along with every song Irene belted in her strong soprano. She’d looked every inch the dark goddess she was likened to by the press, wearing a black leather dress with a long train and boots that added five inches to her already impressive height.
There’d been a quick introduction to Dramok Parlek, then the harried manager had raced off to check arrangements for the next day’s interviews, photo shoot, and iron out a thousand last-minute problems that had arisen. “Send me the files when you have five songs ready,” he’d shouted as he’d run from the dressing room, where the band had invited Matt and Clan Avir to party after the show.
Matt had been trying to finish his third song for three days since the concert. It had seemed the most promising of the batch, but perfection eluded him. The lyrics weren’t gelling with the tune, though he was pleased by the words and the music separately. His frustration was in the stratosphere.
Now Kom was handing him the means for the monster to find him. He scowled.
The Nobek exuded amused patience. “Mattie. Sweetie. Precious little man. Cutest guy in the universe. Why don’t you trust me?”
“I trust you. It’s the asshole and his brother I’m worried about.”
“Which is why you have a new frequency they don’t possess. And—” he spoke louder to override Matt’s start at a protest “—why it’s set to block their frequencies and also every damned frequency originating from Mercy Colony.”
“Oh.Everyfrequency from there? You can do that?”
“I can, and I did.” Kom waved it at him again.
Instead of taking it right away, Matt set the Martin down. He hugged Kom, his cheek pillowed against the Nobek’s naked chest, where he could hear his heart beat. Kom chuckled and kissed the top of his head.
“Thanks, Kom. Sorry I’m such a jerk.”
“As long as you’re my jerk, I can handle it.”
“I’m so frustrated!” Matt stepped away before the allure of nude Nobek could convince him to quit for the day. “It’s like the tune is purposely being too pretty for these angsty-ass lyrics. It needs to growl and snarl.”
“As you just did?”
“Exactly. It needs to—” Matt stopped. His emotions, clanging and banging in his brain, merged with the soaring melody that had become an irritant. A discordant but satisfying strain of music spoke in his head.
He barely noticed Kom’s knowing grin as he grabbed the Martin. “I think I’ve got it.” He riffed a couple of bars. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it! System, record.”
