Page 7 of Legendary Rock Star
“I’m on piano,” she said quickly, sitting down and adjusting her microphone to the right height.
I picked up a simple guitar—the one I’d used when I first mastered the instrument on my teenage TV show—and put it around my neck. For once it didn’t strangle me.
“I’ll add guitar,” I said.
She strummed a few keys like she was learning my piano and said, “A demo with you will probably be good to have up my sleeve.”
“I’ll make a few copies,” I said, and that adrenaline high I’d been on all night drove me to play a few notes on the guitar. “And you can email me for any changes you’d make.”
This was the first time I’d even tried to record anything in over a year for myself, not that I’d tell Maggie. Instead I picked up the melody and asked, “How’s this?”
“Lower the bass,” she said quickly.
I followed her orders and her piano notes fell in tune. Then she belted out the first line of the classic song:O holy night! The stars are brightly shining …
I jumped in and sang the refrain with her, then took the second verse.
It took only a few minutes to finish, and in one take. I turned off the recorder and motioned toward the studio.
“That was fun,” I said. “Let’s mix it.”
She followed me, making the air smell sweeter, and took a seat right next to me as we cleaned up the recording and added a few tracks we selected for the beats. Once we were finished, I hit play, and she smiled and batted her eyes at me as she said, “I love this.”
I had so much energy I was tapping the desk like a drum. I hit the button and said, “Then let’s finalize it and we’ll sign releases so we can both do whatever we want with the demos.”
She sat back and then got up, and opened the mini fridge, grabbing a water. “Awesome,” she said. “I’d like my copy as soon as possible.”
I airdropped it to her and then asked, “Would you mind if I send this to my agent so he knows I’m actually recording again?”
She shrugged and finished her water. “Go ahead.”
Then she signed the paper that said we were both freeing each other from suit for using the songs publicly.
“You haven’t been recording?” she asked.
I airdropped the file to Mark, my agent, and said, “I’ve been at a crossroads, to be honest.”
She folded her copy of the release into her pocket. Then she pressed her arm into mine and folded her hands on the table.
“What’s going on in your head?” she asked.
Words I hadn’t expected to say to anyone out loud came out of my mouth. “I don’t know who I am without singing. Mark suggested I go on the show so I’d get my face back out there for music executives to see.”
She pressed her lips together and her blonde hair fell forward, blocking her face, as she said, “I’m here for my first big break. I can’t live in my parents’ basement apartment anymore.”
She smoothed her hair and took a rubber band out of her back pocket and pulled it back in a ponytail.
Part of me wondered what else she had hidden on her—including her figure, which was probably gorgeous. I felt my cheeks heat up and said, “I hadn’t meant to tell you about my plans with Mark. It just came out because I trust you.”
She pressed her hand to my face like she was studying me and asked, “Why?”
I didn’t dare touch her. I might frighten her away.
I said, “Because the muse is slipping away, and I can’t let my past destroy me.”
She stood and her thumb brushed against my chin. She said, “Tell you what, let’s do another song.”
The pulse in my veins quickened. I pursed my lips because I didn’t understand. “What?”
