by Tineka Brown
The pages of her notebook, which had seemed filled with great ideas just a few days ago, now seemed sparse. She hummed half-finished melodies to herself as she read lyrics she’d written over the past year or so, trying to parse whether any of these so-called “songs” might have that magic touch that would make for a smash hit.
You’re a singer, not a promoter, she tried to remind herself. Anyway, she’d heard plenty of songs on the radio with dumber, more nonsensical lyrics than hers. And it was possible that Terrence only wanted her to prove that she had written her own songs so that he could be sure she was serious about the whole singing thing.
Finally, she narrowed down her choices to three songs, all of which had finished lyrics, and at least some half-started idea for a melody. Then she looked at Terrence’s business card, and back at her phone.
For a moment, she contemplated waiting for Everett to re-emerge before calling. He was her acting manager after all. But that was the key, wasn’t it? Acting manager wasn’t real manager — and anyway, she didn’t know how comfortable she felt being managed by someone she was romantically involved with.
You’re getting ahead of yourself, Olympia, she chided. There was still time for Terrence to call off the whole contract, if he didn’t like her music. The thought made her palms sweat — but, she reasoned, if she was afraid of losing this contract, then she was making the right choice by taking it.
She pulled out her phone and dialed the number.
Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking gently on Everett’s office door.
“Olympia?” He called. “Come in, I’m just finishing up a couple emails.”
She opened the door gingerly. Everett’s office was rather different in design from the rest of his penthouse— where the rest of his home was outfitted in sleek tones of slate grey and chrome, his office was considerably warmer, with a massive mahogany desk taking up the largest space. Behind him, a massive bookshelf held stacks upon stacks of file folders, binders, and textbooks.
He smiled at her, and Olympia suddenly had the distinct sense that she’d walked into a job interview. “What is it?”
“Oh, I uh… I wanted to let you know that I called Terrence and he wants me to come to that studio at five o’clock this evening.”
“Five?” Everett glanced at the clock on his laptop. “It’s eleven now… yeah, no problem. I can drive you there.”
“Would you… would you stay? While I’m recording? I’ll admit… I’m a little nervous. And I don’t really know Terrence. I know you’ve said he’s a good guy but. Um. I’d feel better if you were there, I think.”
Everett brightened. “Of course! I’ll have to make a stop at the casino today — I’m discussing the next stage setup with the contractors, and of course there’s preliminary bookkeeping to be done so I’ll have to talk to my accountant but… I’ll be back here by four and then I’ll drive you over there, okay?”
Olympia felt like a child asking her father for a favor. “Okay,” she said, nodding.
A few moments later, she was back in the living room, feeling unsure of what to do with herself. Eventually she decided that if she was going to be cooped up in the penthouse again, she may as well get a workout in.
The gym next to the pool was, once again, totally empty. Olympia wondered if anyone else besides Everett even had access to it. She ran on the treadmill for what felt like eons, losing all track of time, lost in her imagination. A new song was coming to her — though she hadn’t had a moment to write in the last two days, the days had certainly been packed with enough emotional events to keep her supplied with song writing topics for years.
It wasn’t until she began gasping that she realized she’d been running at high speed for 45 minutes. She slowly lowered the speed, then stepped off, stumbling to find a seat on a nearby weight bench.
She sat there, breathing, for another ten minutes. The new song was solidified in her head —now all she had to do was write it down. She stood and headed for the showers.
When she got back to the apartment, she practically lunged for her book and pen, the words coming to her mind almost faster than she could jot them down. Everett emerged from his office as she was still writing, and asked her a question, but she barely heard him, and didn’t respond. When she finally had the first verse and the chorus down, she came up for air, looking around with her eyebrows raised.
Everett seemed to understand, and said, “I asked if you were hungry. What’s that you’re working on?”
“I was thinking about a new song. I uh... “ she looked at the notes she’d just written down. Her writing was messy and scrawling. She could barely read it. “I was inspired.”
“Are you going to sing it for Terrence?”
“Yeah. I mean… yeah.” Olympia swallowed. The sense of confidence that had filled her up just moments ago was quickly fading, replaced by some uncertainty.
Again, Everett seemed oddly perceptive. “You feeling self-conscious about it?”
He came around the sofa and sat down next to her.
“A little, I guess. I’ve never recorded anything before. What if he doesn’t like any of my songs?” She turned and looked at Everett. “Will he back out of the deal?”
“I’ve never known Terrence to back out of a contract that’s already been signed. If he doesn’t like your songs, he’ll help you workshop them. Or, he’ll hire a professional songwriter to help you polish them. Nobody’s expecting you to have a full platinum album just waiting to be recorded in your notebook, Olympia,” said Everett, the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. “I know you’re new at this. Terrence knows you’re new at this. If you weren’t, you’d already have a record deal.”
“Right.” Olympia allowed herself to breathe.
“The most important thing right now, I think, is that you relax. It’s harder to sing when you’re so anxious.”
Olympia nodded, taking a moment to gather herself. She shut her notebook, clutching it in one hand. “Um… so. To answer your question. Yes, I’m hungry.”
Everett grinned. “I’ll take you out for lunch.”
*****
When five o’clock finally rolled around, Olympia felt oddly at peace. She didn’t know what to expect from the recording studio, but for the first time since signing the contract, she felt comfortable in that uncertainty. They arrived exactly on time, and Terrance was standing out by the door of the space, dressed in a bright yellow suit this time, waiting to greet them.
“It’s a little tricky to spot the place from the outside,” he explained. “I thought I’d help you out a bit.”
“Thanks!” Everett said, shaking Terrence’s hand again.
Olympia smiled.
“So, are you ready? Feeling good?” Terrence asked as he led them into the building. They passed down a narrow, carpeted corridor with soundproofing panels on the walls. The interior of the building was maze-like and seemed to house several different studios and rooms full of assorted audio-visual equipment.
“Feeling good.” said Olympia in the most confident-yet-casual voice she could muster. She wished she’d taken the time to brew some tea with honey, or at least pack a water bottle.
They turned a corner into a small, dim room half occupied by numerous flashing and blinking sound boards.
“This is it,” said Terrence, turning and putting his arms out. In front of the booth, a man in a grey t-shirt sat fiddling with one of the dials on the boards. He was wearing large headphones and apparently was so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t heard them come in.
“And this,” said Terrence, gently removing the headphones so that the man could hear them, “is Geoff.”
Geoff turned with a start, looking almost angry before realizing who it was and relaxed. “Terrence,” he said, half-laughing. “I thought I told you not to do that.”
“Sometimes it’s necessary.”
Geoff stood, smoothing his shirt, and offered a hand to Olympia. “Are you the up-and-comer?” He a
sked, as if he met up-and-comers every day.
“Yeah,” said Olympia, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake.
He nodded in approval and went back to his seat.
“So,” said Terrence. “Do you have those songs at the ready?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Olympia, fishing the song book out of her purse. “I’ve got a bunch here. Actually, I was… I felt inspired earlier today, and I started writing a new one. If we have time I’d like to… test it out.”
“Already taking charge like a pro,” said Terrence. “Of course we have time! You can choose whatever songs you like. We’re going to aim to get about three or four really solid recordings. Let’s just treat this like we’re building an EP, okay?”
Olympia nodded, standing still for a moment before she realized that the ball was in her court. She opened her book and flipped to the pages where she’d written earlier.
“It’s called, uh… Vegas Heart,” she said. “At least, that’s a working title.”
“Vegas Heart, love it,” said Geoff. “Alright! Let’s get you in the booth and you can sing a few test lines so that I can hear how you’re going to sound through the mic.”
Olympia dropped her bag on a free chair and stepped into the booth.
As soon as she did, she felt as if she’d finally come home. All those years spent working, and hustling, and writing for no one, and finally — she was here. She was ready to record. Her heart swelled with excitement.
Geoff smiled and gestured at a spot on the wall behind her. Olympia turned to see a pair of headphones hanging from a hook on the wall. Right. She’d have to be able to hear the monitor.
She put the headphones on and stood, feeling suddenly as if she were underwater, just waiting to take a breath. The microphone sat expectantly in front of her as she watched Everett, Terrence, and Geoff through the glass. Geoff turned a few dials, pressed a few buttons, and typed something on the computer monitor that was hooked up to the whole apparatus.
Then he faced her and gave her a wide smile and a thumbs-up. Speaking into the microphone on the table, he said, “okay Olympia, on three. One… two…”
And Olympia opened her mouth and sang.
She shut her eyes as she sang, wanting to block out the eyes of the three men. It was just her, and her voice, in this recording room — she may as well have been back at home, singing in her own shower. The notes flowed out of her smoothly and evenly, though it didn’t feel quite as natural as it had on Everett’s casino stage.
That’s to be expected, she told herself. No one’s ever heard this song before, not even me.
Eventually she got into a sort of groove, swaying gently with the tune. In her head she heard the horns and percussion, a whole, complex melody and composition to back up her voice. Even after she’d sung the last note of the song, she stayed moving with her eyes closed for a few more seconds, hearing the imaginary band playing her out.
When she opened her eyes, it was to three bright smiles and a modest round of applause. She pulled off the headphones as Geoff gestured for her to come back into the main room.
“How was that?” She asked breathlessly.
“That was great! I think I got a really good take. You’re going to go far in the recording industry if you can keep it together that well. Not even a nervous wobble in your voice.”
Olympia beamed. She looked at Everett. “You really think I did well?”
He nodded and, to her surprise, wrapped her in a tight embrace. “You sounded amazing.”
“You can listen to that take if you want,” said Geoff, clicking around on the computer monitor, which now displayed a series of sound waves and a tracking bar.
“Um. Sure.” Olympia felt suddenly self-conscious. She’d heard herself sing, once or twice — her mother had taken cell phone videos of her first few performances — but it had been a while.
“You don’t have to,” said Geoff, apparently hearing the anxiety in her voice. “Some people prefer not to, I get it. It can be awkward.”
Olympia nodded. “Yeah, I think I’ll wait, uh, until it’s more polished.”
“Sure thing. So want to get back in there? I hear you have a couple other songs.”
“Yes.” She glanced at Everett. He was engaged in a hushed discussion with Terrence but noticed her looking at him and flashed her a grin. She wondered what was so important. As she stepped back into the booth, she resolved to seek out another manager as quickly as she could.
Chapter 10
“How do you feel?” asked Everett gently.
They were driving down the Strip, on their way back to Everett’s penthouse. The recording was finished, and it was just after eight o’clock in the evening. The sun was a fiery orb at their backs, and Olympia was forced to squint against its reflection in the rear-view mirror. She didn’t know how Everett was managing to drive so smoothly.
“I feel…” she took stock of herself. How did she feel? Certainly, she felt good. She also felt as if she were still in a dream. The car, the scenery, felt fragile — as if at any moment she might awaken, and it would all disappear. Maybe she’d only dreamed Everett, as well.
She turned to him and put a hand on his leg, as if to double check that he was real.
“I feel great,” she said.
He nodded. “Good. You did great. Terrence definitely thought so.”
Another thing that Olympia was having trouble believing. Terrence had evidently liked her singing so much that he’d asked her to come record some of her songs in Los Angeles, at the Diamond studio, in two weeks. Olympia had barely been able to speak. She’d waited so long, and now this was all happening so quickly.
They pulled into Everett’s driveway and the valet came out to take the car.
“Do you want to go somewhere for dinner?” Asked Everett, as they entered the lobby.
Olympia thought about it for a moment. “No.” She said. “I want to curl up on the sofa with a box of takeout. I’m exhausted.”
Everett put an arm around her. “Whatever you want. When you say takeout, you mean like… actual takeout?”
“Charles is still on vacation, isn’t he?”
“Yes. For another two days.”
“Then yeah, I mean actual takeout. Whatever means we don’t have to cook.”
“I know a wonderful Thai place that delivers.”
Olympia eyed Everett suspiciously as they entered the suite. “You have got takeout to this place before… right?”
Everett turned red. “Okay. You’ve got me.” He put his hands up.
Olympia laughed. “I knew it! I knew you were totally out of touch with the common man. Well. I’m going to teach you a thing or two about being a broke lounge singer.”
Everett smiled. “I’d be happy to learn.”
Within a few moments of searching on her phone, Olympia found the Thai place in question. “Are you sure they’ll deliver? They look pretty swanky.”
“Give me the phone. For me, they’ll deliver anywhere.”
As it turned out, Everett was old friends with the owner of the place. In a few minutes he’d ordered enough food to feed the two of them for the next two days, happily giving his address and instructions to leave the boxes with the downstairs doorman.
“Yes, he’ll give you the cash down there,” said Everett. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”