~ 10 ~
Rona
“How was your holiday?” Oscar, all six-foot two of him said while clasping his hands and stretching up to the ceiling, yawning.
I’d got back from Greece last week. Oscar was joining me in the studio today to meet Flavia Milan, one of the world’s hottest and up and coming young stars.
He was a big fan of Flavia’s too and I wanted her to have a fun time in the studio.
Oscar was fun, stylish, edgy, and super gay.
Things I was not, well, except for the gay part.
“Um…”
“Did your set not go well?” He looked at me quizzically now.
I checked my watch. Flavia would be here soon. “No, my set went well. It was amazing.”
He raised both eyebrows as if waiting for me to expand. “Did you meet someone?”
I must have blushed because he smiled as if having worked it out.
“Who is she?” He smirked.
The buzzer went. “She’s here.” I stood, not knowing how to stand so as not to look too keen.
“Your new girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend. It’s Flavia.”
“So you did sleep with someone.”
“No comment.”
“We’ll come back to this. Your new star is early. I like her already.”
This was a double-edged comment. One of our ongoing tensions as friends was my lateness.
Oscar was always early and found late people rude.
He made an exception with me because he had a soft spot for me and I made him laugh.
That and we’d been close friends since forever.
It wasn’t like I was always late, but I did struggle with it, even now.
Oscar had experienced some of my worst lateness incidents and would carry his grievances forever, most likely, even if I did magically start being able to see time properly.
Ignoring his comment, I quickly checked my face in the mirror and fixed my hair. Flavia would be one of the most heterosexual femme cover girl types I’d ever worked with. I tended to feel quite judged by women like that.
“She’s going to love you,” Oscar said, cool as anything with his curly hair styled into a mullet and carrying it off.
Flavia Milan sailed into the studio wearing an oversized purple hat and extra-large sunglasses. Her raincoat made her look more mature for a twenty-one-year-old. Scruffy Vans trainers peeked out underneath hugely baggy jeans.
Oscar and I met her in the entrance hall to the humble studio in a side-street off Seven Sisters Road.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” I said, going in for a hug even though we’d never met in person before. In a way, it felt like I knew her from her music, which was my favourite way of connecting with people.
She reciprocated the hug, warmly. “I’m up here excited to be meeting you both.” She gestured to a point above her head and smiled.
She reminded me of a little sister that I wanted to protect, guide and teach.
Oscar said hello and they hugged as well. “I love your hat,” he said, stepping back.
She took it off. “Thanks. It makes me feel very dramatic.”
“We’re both huge fans and loved your debut album. Honestly, it was excellent,” I said, starstruck. Flavia had such a stage presence and reputation for putting on unforgettable live performances.
She smiled at this and for a moment, the facade dropped and a fresh-faced young person receiving professional approval stood in front of us instead.
“I write all my own stuff. Always have.” She stood up straighter, and the star in her was back. “I produce it as well, but the label likes it if I work with different producers from time to time. Hence, why I’m here.”
I loved her self-confidence. I had none of that at her age. “You’re in control, Flavia. You set the pace and use us how you like. We can start from scratch or you can show me some stuff you’ve been working on. Whatever works for you. Oscar will pop in from time to time.”
“I bring vocals and vibes.”
Flavia laughed. It was a promising sign.
“He’s just being modest.”
“Oh I know. I loved your albums when I was little. You were one of the bands that inspired me to get into music. I’ve been following your careers ever since then.
I loved your solo album, Oscar. Like, it’s one of my top ten on repeat.
And Rona, I think you’re one of the most innovative producers in the industry. ”
“Stop it,” Oscar said, clearly thrilled with Flavia’s compliment.
“Aw,” I said, genuinely moved that our band helped inspire Flavia to get into music. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
We went through to the studio and within five minutes we were playing around on the guitar.
She’d picked up my favourite acoustic and got massive points for good taste.
Flavia wanted to freestyle for a bit to get started.
I already loved her strong sense of self and authenticity for such a young age, at least to me as a thirty-five-year-old millennial. A dinosaur to Flavia most likely.
Oscar hummed along, easily picking up the notes and catching the beat, happy to go with the flow. He was so good with new people.
Flavia was tipped to be one of the next major stars and I wanted to make sure I helped her take her music to the next level, in whichever way felt natural to her.
I wanted Flavia to feel in control of the process at all times – since I’d found it was the thing that got the best out of people – but I also wanted to make sure we started from a place of understanding.
I needed to know what made her tick, as a person, in order to help her with her music.
Sometimes the person shared this with ease, other times I had to get creative.
“This studio is so quaint. I feel like I’ve travelled to the early noughties.”
Oscar and I shared a quick look. We weren’t that old, were we?
We spent the next half-hour or so tinkering around with a few chords Flavia had in mind, but she wasn’t very into it. In fact, her whole approach fast became lacklustre and flat. The only lyric she tossed out there with any gusto had been when everything feels wrong it probably is.
Flavia delicately placed the guitar back on its stand. She looked at me like a student who was confessing to their teacher for not having done their homework. “Is it okay if I level with you?”
“Always. I want you to feel able to be honest with me. About the music and in general. I’m here to help.”
“I don’t have any new material. All this is just me making stuff up on the spot.”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Her record company said she had lots of stuff to bring in to be produced. Her album was due in six months and I was contracted to help make it happen for her.
“If this is you making stuff up on the spot, I can’t wait to hear what you come up with when you put your mind to it,” Oscar said, filling the silence.
Flavia gave him a limp shrug.
“We can get your album done in the time we have left. It’ll be fine,” I said, reassuringly. All it would take was a ton of work at speed with her total participation and commitment. I was up for it, but I wasn’t sure she was based on her vibe at this meeting.
Flavia looked at me like she was a million miles away. Like she had given up.
“Are you okay?” I asked, hoping she would elaborate.
I had a feeling something was bothering Flavia and it was blocking her writing process.
I’d seen that look of creative flatness in many talented artists over the years who were going through a hard time in their personal life.
It was a sort of haunted and pained look, and Flavia had it now.
My take was that if a creative person didn’t express themselves, there were consequences, and this flatness was one of them.
“I’ve been going through something these past few months. I haven’t had the concentration to put anything together. It’s the longest I’ve gone without making music since I wrote my first song when I was nine.”
I nodded, sympathetically. “What have you been going through? If you don’t mind me asking?”
She looked between us both. Oscar in the chair in the corner and me on the main sofa beside her.
“I’m dating an older woman – a famous actress – who is married to an even older woman.
She told me they had an open marriage, but now I’m not sure if that’s true.
Things have been very intense between us.
But she’s being evasive about when she’s going to tell her wife that she wants to get divorced.
Safe to say she doesn’t want to launch our relationship.
Hard or soft. I’ve been journalling a lot and practising breathwork when she goes on set.
Her wife is back in the US. I feel like shit, to be honest.”
I couldn’t help but glance at Oscar again. His face was trying its best not to contort in confusion. I had no idea Flavia was sapphic either. Last time I saw her name in the media she was apparently dating a guy.
“How old is this woman?” He asked.
“Thirty-one.”
“And the wife?”
“Forty-two.”
“Oh boy,” Oscar muttered under his breath.
I leant forward. “That sounds like a lot, Flavia. How long have you been seeing each other?”
“A year.”
I winced internally so she didn’t see it.
“She says she just needs time until after her next film comes out. Then she’ll tell her wife.”
“She’s got all the cards. You’re on hold,” Oscar said.
“I know,” she slumped back on the deep and cracked leather sofa.
No music was going to be getting made until we thrashed this out. No music would be worth making until Flavia got this off her chest anyway. I had a pen and paper strategically positioned in front of and beside the sofa for occasions exactly like these.
“Where did you meet?”
“At the Grammy’s in LA. Then I flew to New York with her after we stayed up partying all night. It was the most romantic first date I’ve ever had.”
She could write a situationship album out of this material. It could be major, if handled well, with Flavia’s mental health supported appropriately. We’d only just met but I wanted to wrap my arms around her and protect her from all this.
“Does your manager know?” I asked.
“She knows. She’s never been happy about it.”
“What support do you have about this?”