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Chapter One – Spencer

“And that’s a wrap,” Becky, the studio engineer and producer I’ve been recording with for the last couple of days declares cheerfully from behind plexiglass. “I think that was a record, Spence.”

I pull off my headphones and give my wild hair a shake out, stretching my neck and grinning back at her. We’ve worked together on a few projects now, and it’s starting to show. We’re like a well-oiled machine at this rate.

“Not many bloopers this time around,” I acknowledge, chuckling. “Should we stage a few for J.C.? I hear some authors are sharing our fuckups as bonus content these days.”

I leave the booth and meet her outside the door.

“Whatever sells the books, babe,” Becky shrugs, before her plump lips pull into a smirk, “and you still gave me plenty to work with on that front, don’t worry. I mean, yesterday you completely forgot to switch your voice into Melody’s for the sex scene, remember?”

I cringe. “Ugh. Rookie error for sure. I still blame you for making me record that one first up before I had enough caffeine in my system.”

She cackles like a 1960sBatmanvillain, throwing her head back, making her long dark hair sway with the movement. “It. Was. Gold.” She proceeds to deepen her voice into a mockery of mine as she re-enacts some of the scene in question.

“Shut up,” I huff, then frown and point my index finger at her for good measure, “that shit could be taken as transphobic. Maybe in my creative interpretation of Melody’s character, she’s MTF. Who are you to judge?”

“She got pregnant in the first scene you recorded, dumbass. Your logic is flawed.”

I can’t help snorting at that. With my hands held in surrender, I shrug. “All I’m saying is that there are women out there with deep voices, too.”

Hell, most of my female characters are spoken in a softened version of my own voice. I don’t buy in to the practice of pitching my voice comically higher. As a listener, I think it can come off condescending and cringe-worthy (not unlike a woman making her voice sound ridiculously deep to voice a male character, like Becky just did playfully).

She arches one of her eyebrows at me. “You’re serious.”

“I am.” We haven’t really ever shared any deep and meaningful discussions in our past interactions, so my reticence to come off even at all offensive or exclusionary might come as a surprise to her. Nevertheless, ‘live and let live’ is an adage I genuinely try to practice.

“Shit, Spence, I’m sorry. I just thought it was funny.”

“No, no,” I realize that I might have come on a little too strong with my ideologies, too, “it was. I mean, in context it was hilarious.” We’d had tears rolling down our faces at the time. The re-take had also taken an hour longer than either of us had planned because one of us would inevitably start laughing again once the other had calmed down, setting the other off again. On a sigh, I add, “I’m just sensitive about these things. Y’know…inclusion. LGBTQ rights. The whole shebang.”

And don’t get me started on my ‘Bi/Pan Erasure’ rant. Bisexuality and pansexuality exist, damn it. But if I’m dating a woman, people assume I’m straight, and if I’m dating a man, they assume I’m gay, and God forbid I publicly flirt with both genders at the one event!

“Of course, babe. I’m sorry. I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…”

Crap. Now I feel bad. I honestly don’t mean to talkatpeople like that. Or to lecture like that. Or to make people feel bad for just having a little fun. I don’t. But, at the same time, I struggle to just let potentially offensive stuff go. I mean, in the right context there was nothing malicious about it, but what if someone had walked into the studio and misunderstood where it was coming from?

“No, I know; I’m sorry.” I scrub a hand down my face and curse myself for having derailed the conversation so spectacularly.

Well done, Highland. Can’t even carry on a conversation with a colleague…

Grimacing at the turn my thoughts have taken, I add, “I guess it’s been a long day and I’m more tired than I thought.”

Becky waves me off with a smile laced with understanding. “You’re a good guy. It’s nice that you think of other people’s feelings.”

“It’s all that romance I read,” I jest, trying to lighten the mood. “It puts me in touch with my softer side or whatever.”

“Uh huh.” Becky doesn’t sound convinced, but the smile toying at the edge of her lips is playful. She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I’m sure that’s it.”

I scoop up my satchel from the floor outside the booth and fiddle with the strap as I loop it over my shoulder. I’m always a little awkward with goodbyes, even professional ones.

“So,” I say, aiming for casual despite the clusterfuck of the conversation we’ve just shared, “it was awesome working with you again. You’ll call if anything needs to be re-recorded?”

Becky nods. “It was,” she agrees, “and I will.” She cocks her head to the side. “Rumor has it you’ve got yourself a home studio now. Do you do your own post-production?”

“Yeah. It’s…ugh.Honestly, I hate doing it. But it keeps my overheads low and maximizes my profits, so…”

“I get it. If I could perform, I’d be set. But, trust me,nobodywants me reading their books.” She sighs dramatically. “Turns out acting isn’t in my wheelhouse.”