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The reception area of the studio is a lounge, with couches, coffee tables, a juke box and vending machines.
Me and my guitar plop on the couch beside Sandra, tired and lightheaded.
“I composed a song,” I say.
“Hmm!” Now she gets animated. “What are you calling it?”
“Talk to me.”
“Based on any particular episode of your life?” She pries. I normally don’t mind when she does, but I have my reservations about telling her details on this one.
“A nice night I had with good company…” I say with a devious smile. She slaps me on the arm.
“Ouch! What did I do?!”
“You slept with ‘that Fryars guy’?” She put it in quotes.
“No!” I shout, offended. Fryars wasn't even the slightest bit attracted.
“It was someone else.”
“Who?”
Your brother, Sandra. I forked your brother.
“A lady doesn’t tell,” I say, feigning coyness. “Where’s the band?”
Sandra looks at her wrist. Remembering there’s no watch there, she looks at her phone.
“Michael called and said he’s picking up Emerson for the rehearsal. On the other hand, I called Chris, and he was so stoned he apparently forgot we had a rehearsal today. And Adrian… Eh, when is Adrian on time?”
“My boys!” I giggle and raise my fist in the air.
“Yeah, your boys are costing me money…” She stands and walks to the coffee machine.
“Wanna hop in the booth and record your new song to show the boys later?”
“Sure,” I agree. “It’s not complete, especially the lyrics. But I can try and see if we get something useful.”
We move to the recording booth right after Sandra has her cup of coffee. Jerry, a punk who works here as a technician, sets me up to test the microphones and my feedback on the headphones.
He leaves the booth for the observation room, sharing the space with my manager, and gives me a thumbs up to start. I can see them both clearly through the glass.
A few soft chords go in as the introduction, played in arpeggio. The lyrics come next, my heartfelt ode to a moment that started awkward, became amazing, then reverted to awkward. And sad.
It made me sad not to know what would happen with Brody after all this was over.
“Was it good?” I say as I finish.
Jerry opens the sound from his side. “Gorgeous, Lily!” he says, insincere.
Too bad he doesn’t like my music, I like his. “Wanna do it again?”
“Sure!”
I have time to play the song twice more, making tweaks to the chords and the lyrics as I go, before the band arrives.
“You’re here!” I say, dropping the guitar to the side and jumping into Adrian’s arms.
