Queen of Kings

by RH Tucker

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at me nervously. “She’s got a free hour right now before she has to go to work tonight.”

  “So set something up for this weekend or something.”

  “Dude, this might be my shot.” Letting the words hang in the air, he waits for a moment longer. “Austin, cover my shift for me.”

  “Are you crazy? What do I know about being a security guard?”

  “Security guard?” He starts laughing. “You know as well as I do that this job is less dangerous than Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Come on, man. I’m begging.” He clasps his hands together and shakes them at me.

  “Get out of here,” I tell him, laughing.

  “Thank you, bro! I got you next time.”

  “Yeah, right. The next time some girl texts me. That’s happening soon since I’m not currently talking to anyone.”

  “Well, then, it’s an IOU.”

  “Go!” I laugh again, pushing him away.

  He hurries through the front doors of the building, and I take his chair, folding my legs over the desk and pulling out my phone. Neither of us is lying about the danger of the job, nor of the ease.

  I scroll through my InstaPic profile for about twenty minutes before finally getting up and aimlessly wandering around the lobby because there’s nothing else to do. The lobby is lined with black marble tiles with huge windows that look out into the street in front of us. Rich Records has been a staple in Los Angeles for decades. Toying with the rubber fig leaves of the plant next to the door, I roll my eyes at myself and the boringness of it all, before heading back to the chair and plopping back down. A few minutes later, I’m scrolling through my phone again when someone enters through the front doors.

  “No,” the girl says to no one.

  I glance around, unsure who she’s talking to, but quickly realize she’s talking on Bluetooth.

  Carrying a guitar case, she waves her free hand in the air. “Bret, I said no. This is my first day, and I’m already running late. Please, just let me do this on my own.”

  Getting up from the chair, I offer her a wave. She gives me a short one back.

  “Sure, maybe. I’ll let you know. Okay, bye,” she says. I think she’s looking at me, but I can’t be sure. She’s wearing a light gray hoodie that’s zipped up and covering her head. It looks like she has blonde hair, but most of it is tucked under the sweater, and a pair of huge sunglasses cover her eyes, from her eyebrows to her cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

  “Oh, no problem. Can I help you?”

  She looks around, then scans me up and down. “Are you … the doorman?”

  I chuckle, scratching the back of my head. “Uh, not exactly. I’m just covering. What can I help you with?”

  “Yeah, I have studio five reserved. I was supposed to show up earlier today, but …” She sighs again, shaking her head. “One thing leads to another and … Anyway, I’m here.”

  “Okay.” I check the clipboard on the desk, running my finger over the names. “Studio five, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she replies, letting out what seems like an uncomfortable chuckle.

  “I think Bieber recorded in there last year. And Lost Link earlier this year. Sorry, what’s your name?”

  “Ja—” She coughs, averting her eyes. “Kristen. Kristen King.”

  “King. King,” I mumble, my finger searching for the name. “No, I don’t see it.” Flipping the page, I notice a lot of high-profile names that have access to the studio, but not hers. “Are you sure—”

  “I can’t believe this.” She pinches her nose underneath her glasses. “He told me he’d keep it quiet. If anyone found out, this place could’ve been swarming paparazzi.”

  “What are you—”

  “Barkley. Check under Jade Barkley.”

  My eyes pop open. I watch, almost mesmerized, as she takes off the sunglasses. Jade Barkley. One of the Kings of Karmichael.

  I don’t get starstruck very often. I’ve been around my father enough in his meetings or mixers that I’ve seen my fair share of celebrities, but Jade is another story. We’re the same age, but ever since the Kings of Karmichael came out, I’ve had a crush on her. And she’s an amazing songwriter. Of course, when I say a crush, it’s like one of those celebrity crushes that you think will never happen. I intermingle with others in the music business, but I’m not close with any of them enough that I’d consider myself part of their business.

  She offers a timid smile, pulling down the sweater from over her head. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I reply, and just seeing her smile … Wow. She’s gorgeous. High cheekbones, her hair is a sandy blonde, and her green eyes match her name. “You’re Jade Barkley.”

  She grins, nodding. “That’s what I said.”

  “Right. Right, sorry.” I already remember seeing her name on the list, so I step around the desk. “Um, this way.”

  I try to calm the nerves and escort her down the hallway, toward the studio.

  “So this is Rich Records,” she whispers.

  “Yep, this is it. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you recording here?”

  “Ugh, don’t even get me started. That conniving Jimmy Richards basically bribed my boyfriend into a record deal if I used the recording studio here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I probably shouldn’t bad-mouth the guy. I bet he’s like your boss or something, huh?”

  “Uh, something like that.”

  She laughs as we approach the door. “See, what kind of guy is he if his own employees seem afraid of talking about him? You know, I have some friends that said he called them teenage wannabe rock stars … No. Teen girl wannabes. Something like that. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I figured a new place could help me get this stuff out of my system without being around my studio. But Jimmy Richards, ugh! He puts on a good show, I’ll give you that, but I don’t trust him. He’s a snake.”

  “Uh—”

  “Jeez, listen to me. I’m sorry, I’m just upset. He promised me I’d be listed under a different name. I wanted to come in here, keep to myself, and get my songs out of my system.”

  “No, no. It’s all good. I promise I’ll make sure you’re listed under Kristen King, and no one will know. I promise.”

  Opening the door to the studio, she takes a peek in but looks at me. “You’ll make sure?”

  5

  Jade

  The guy who walked me to the studio looks around nervously. “What do you mean you’ll make sure?” I ask again.

  “Well—”

  “Crap, that’s rude of me. I didn’t even get your name.”

  He shifts around a bit, then ruffles his shaggy black hair. “Um, it’s Austin.”

  “Austin …” What is it, only a first name like Cher?

  Another chuckle, and he nods his head. “Uh … Hernandez. Austin Hernandez.”

  I’m not sure if it’s me that’s making him nervous or something else. I can’t imagine what it could be, so I assume it’s me since it happens with everyone else. I’m just glad he’s not freaking out like others and drooling or gawking at me.

  Stepping into the studio, there is a line of guitars against the wall. The microphone rests in the middle, and off to the left are the windowpanes where the mixing studio sits on the other side. Walking over to the guitars, I run my fingers over the tops of them.

  I feel weird.

  Yes, I’ve been wanting a place devoid of the band and everything that goes into making our music together, but I also feel like I’m kind of a traitor right now. Like I’m on the enemy’s team, using their equipment. Which is silly because this isn’t a record deal, no matter what Jimmy Richards will try to say later. I know he’s going to hound me while I’m using the place, but as long as I can avoid him long enough to get everything out of my system, I’ll deal with that when it comes.

  What I want most is a place to record things with a clean slate. This place should work as well as any. And it is a top-of-the-line rec
ording studio. Austin wasn’t exaggerating when he said it’s a VIP studio. I know some of the artists who’ve recorded at Rich Records. No matter how he gets deals done, Jimmy spares no expense when his artists record their music. He’ll bring in the best producers and the most in-demand artists to help his lineup. But I don’t want to be part of his lineup. I’m a King, that’ll never change. I just want to cleanse my musical system.

  “You good?” Austin asks, and I turn to see him waiting in the doorway.

  Realizing I’m still standing near the guitars, I must look like a weirdo, staring at the wall they sit in front of. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, how come you’re recording here and not with your band? Are you …” He looks away, nervously chewing on his lip. “Are you guys breaking up or something?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that. I’ve just had some music in my system for a while and want a place that doesn’t remind me of them. I don’t want the Kings’ style to influence this stuff, even though it’s only for me. Sorry, I’m sure that sounds crazy.”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Plus, it’s gonna help out my boyfriend and his band. I figured why not. Though, after meeting with Richards, I’ve continued to have my doubts. I don’t know how you can have him as a boss.”

  He lets out an awkward chuckle, looking away. “Boss. Right.”

  “Sorry!” I cringe. “Man, I’m being super rude today. Maybe I’m completely wrong, and he’s not. Maybe I read the entire meeting with him wrong.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” he admits, walking closer. “Jimmy Richards can act … dubious.”

  “Well, you’re working for his company, so I guess he has to offer some perks.”

  He chuckles in a way that sounds sincere and annoyed at the same time. “Yeah, you could call it that.” Catching my unsure expression, he clears his throat. “So, um, do you have any engineers or producers coming in to help you record?”

  Walking over to the microphone in the middle of the room, I take a seat on the high-standing chair in front of it. “Not today. I was just going to work by myself.”

  “I can work the board for you if you want.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. Who is this guy? “I thought … what do you do around here again?”

  “I’m sort of like a catch-all. I’ve, uh, been around the music business for pretty much my entire life. A, um, family member got me this job here. I’ve worked the mixing boards and helped record some tracks for other artists. But I assist with pretty much anything in the building. Last week I helped a producer with laying down different samples for a track, and as you saw today, I was working at the front desk. So, uh, yeah. I can pretty much do everything.”

  He lets out a slightly uncomfortable chuckle, which earns a giggle out of me. He’s cute. In addition to the dark, shaggy hair, he has dark brown eyes and is unshaven. It’s not a full beard, but definitely a little more than a five o’clock shadow. He’s wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt, over which is a baby blue plaid short-sleeved button-up. It looks like he works in an office building and took advantage of a casual Friday attire day. The most interesting part is his smile. There’s something behind it. I don’t know if he’s nervous now that he knows who I am, or he’s just awkward in general, but it’s a timid grin.

  Deciding to take advantage, I nod to him. “Yeah, I’d love to try this guitar out a little bit.”

  “Perfect,” he replies, and for the first time his smile seems normal. “I’ll get the stuff set up.”

  He heads into the other room, and I grab one of the guitars, plucking at the strings to check if it’s in tune. Adjusting the tuning keys, my fingers strum over the strings, and it seems like everything melts away. I heard the chords, and I already know what I want to get out of my mind.

  A click sounds, then I hear his voice through the speakers. “Okay,” he calls out, lifting a thumb up behind the glass. “You’re good to go.”

  Offering him a smile and a nod, I pull the microphone closer and start strumming the strings again. It’s a simple melody, on the slower side. I let out a soft hum, closing my eyes, feeling the rhythm and lyrics inside.

  There was a time that I wanted it all.

  And when I said I wanted you, I wanted for keeps.

  But look where you’ve gone and look where I’ve stopped.

  Please stop the bleeding, the cuts are just too deep.

  Letting my fingers play over the strings, I keep my eyes closed. I slow the rhythm down even more, almost to an angsty slow ballad, feeling the pain from the song.

  I wanted it all, and then I had it.

  You ran through the clouds, holding my hand,

  And when I asked for your promise, you let me go.

  Don’t act like you want me, when I know you’re already gone.

  Cooing the rhythm, my fingers start to pick at the strings, hitting each note. It’s a song that I’ve been scribbling in notebooks for a while now. I’ve been playing a few other things in front of my brother or the guys, but this is the rawest piece of music I’ve let out. As much as I hate to admit it, I did need this place. It doesn’t remind me of the Kings. It reminds me of nothing, and I feel anonymous singing and playing right now. Which is exactly what I need to get these kinds of songs out of my system.

  Please stop the bleeding, the cuts are just too deep.

  I repeat the line again and finish with the last strumming of strings. Opening my eyes, I stare at the microphone in front of me. I feel a ball of emotion lodge in my throat and take a deep breath. Shaking my head at myself, I see Austin standing behind the glass. He’s staring at me, but his expression is void of all emotion. It’s a blank stare, and I almost feel like he’s looking right through me.

  “Was it that bad?” I ask, letting out an uncomfortable chuckle.

  He’s quiet for a moment longer, and I see his Adam’s apple bob. He reaches over, and I hear the click of a button, then his voice. “That was … amazing. Heartbreakingly amazing.”

  When I record with the guys, we all compliment each other. We’ll tell one another which lines we think are good or where we can improve. Austin’s comment is the first one I can remember in I don’t know how long that hits me. Even Bret, when I’ve played little snippets of things I’m working on, he’ll tell me it’s good, but he does it so offhandedly. Like he has better things to do. Austin’s words drip with sincerity.

  “Thank you,” I reply, looking down at the guitar.

  Pulling out his phone, he quickly glances at it before waving it at me. “I have to go. I’d love to just sit in here and listen to you, but I have a class I gotta get to.”

  “Oh, you’re in college, too?”

  “Yeah. First semester.” He looks around the studio, then back at me. “Um, I’ll leave everything recording, and you can keep going as long as you want. I’m sure you know your way around the mixing board in here.”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, Austin.”

  “Yeah …” He waves, unleashing the genuine smile again. “And I promise, you’ll be listed as Kristen King. Um … Why Kristen, if you don’t mind me asking? I get the King part.”

  I let out a light giggle. “It’s my first name. Jade is my middle name.”

  His smile has stayed in place, and he nods. “Nice. Okay, Kristen. I’ll see you later.”

  6

  Austin

  “I could’ve been fired,” Shawn continues to complain.

  He’s been going on about how I was gone the other day when I was watching the desk for him. By the time he got back, he had only sat down at the desk for a few minutes when I hurried past him, without much of an explanation of where I was.

  “Dude, you wouldn’t have been fired.”

  “Please, you know your dad.”

  “He’s out of the country right now. Working with someone in London.”

  Shawn shoots me a sideways glance. We’re hanging in our apartment, eating a pizza. When we started rooming together, I sa
id I’d pay the rent if he paid the utilities. He pays less, but I don’t mind since it’s my dad’s money anyway. Taking a bite of his supreme pizza, he shakes his head at me. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing yet?”

  “I told you, I was helping this new artist.”

  “Yeah, helping her with what?” He smirks.

  “Shut up.” I flick a piece of mushroom from the pizza at him.

  I haven’t mentioned it was Jade that was in the studio. I changed her name in our log system to Kristen, so no one else will know she’s there unless she wants them to. I don’t know why I haven’t told him about it. It’s not like he’d tip off the paparazzi or anything like that. I kind of like that I’m the only one who knows. But at the same time, I’ve wanted to tell someone.

  Taking another bite of my slice, I nervously swallow. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to say anything.”

  His brows pinch together and he shakes his head. “Austin, who am I gonna tell?”

  “I know, I know, but this is kind of serious. It’s a secret.”

  “You’re acting like it’s the president or something.”

  I let out a nervous chuckle. “Not that high profile, but she’s up there.” I scan our two-bedroom apartment as if there is someone else in the room that could hear. “Okay, have you seen the name Kristen King on the guest log-in sheet?”

  He frowns at me, then rolls his eyes. “Like I remember every name I see on that thing.”

  “Okay, well, that’s a fake name.” That seems to pique his interest. “I’m serious, Shawn. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  Taking a deep breath, I can’t help the grin that crosses my lips. “It’s Jade Barkley.”

  “Get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m serious!” He eyes me, unsure whether or not he should believe it. “I swear,” I add, throwing up my hand. “I guess she’s working on some solo stuff, but it’s not for release. She wanted a place different than her usual studio.”