6. Drix
DRIX
Iadjusted the instrumental in front of me for what felt like the hundredth time then froze and looked back as the door to the studio creaked open. Myome stuck her head in.
“Hey.” She gave me a little wave before walking further inside.
She wore an oversized sweatshirt and athletic shorts with tennis shoes, but had a duffle bag I was sure held her change of clothes before she headed out… if she ever got to head out.
“What’s up?” I looked at the soundboard while Myome got settled, setting her bag down and digging out a water bottle.
I looked at my watch while I listened to my instrumental loop. I’d scheduled my session with Radiant Reverie for seven sharp. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to lay the entire record but I wanted it to get knocked out on this second day if possible.
It was six.
“Why you here so early?” I asked.
Myome greeted me as she walked over. “Well good morning to you too.”
“Why you here so early?” I repeated.
“I couldn’t sleep so I planned on messing around with vocals in the booth. I didn’t think you’d be here this early,” she admitted.
“I always show up early, so when the artist shows up they can jump straight in the booth.” I pushed my chair backwards. “You can hop in if you want though.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I nodded and hopped up. I paused.
“Oh yeah.” I tapped my pockets to feel where my box was then plucked it from my pocket. “I got this for you.” I held the box toward her.
Her eyes jumped slightly. Then they went from the box to me, back and forth.
“You know I was joking about needing a bigger ring, right?”
“Yeah, alright.” I scoffed. “Well my pops wasn’t joking, and besides, I’m cool with upgrading you.
Fake marriage or not, I don’t want nobody walking around talking about how I’m cheap and won’t cash out on my wife, especially for some shit that should be the single most important piece of jewelry I’ve ever gotten them.
” I watched Myome pop the top open and her eyes widened even more.
“Ain’t no fucking way.” She forced a small laugh. “Drix, this is insane.”
“Shit ain’t two carats no more.” I chuckled. “Pops said you needed some shit on your finger that let men know you was off the market before they even spoke to you, so…” I shrugged.
Myome continued to stare at her new ring. It was nine carats, pear shaped with halo design and a white gold paved band.
“Well I’m sure everyone in a room with me will know I’m off the market with this thing on my finger.”
“Good.” I walked over to the couch and collapsed. “You gon’ stand there and stare at it all morning or get in the booth.”
“Drix, this is one hell of a ring.” She turned toward me, ignoring my statement.
“Act right and I might let you keep it in the divorce.” I kicked one of my feet up on the coffee table in front of me.
Myome laughed. She shook her head then set the box on the soundboard and slipped a jump drive into it. She tapped a few buttons for the music to fill the room, set it up, then headed into the booth.
I checked my emails, messages, and socials briefly but found myself staring at Myome through the large glass as she recorded. She had her eyes closed, one hand on her headset and her other hand moving while she adjusted the way she was singing.
It was a ballad.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard one from her group. They mostly did up-tempo music. Sometimes one of them dropped a rap in their shit. For the most part, they stayed in their lane.
Myome sounded fucking amazing. Her voice was good, even when it wasn’t buried beneath a beat and heavy production. I liked how stripped down she sounded and found myself drifting toward the soundboard without even thinking about it.
I adjusted the instrumental, letting some of the instruments drop off before Myome hit a high note. She didn’t falter when I messed with it. Her eyes opened but she followed through and I locked in automatically, making a few more adjustments on the fly.
When she finished, she blinked at me through the glass.
“What do you think?”
“I think you sound amazing,” I said immediately. “I also think your production could use a lil bit of work. Come out.”
“Okay.” She set the headset on the microphone and sauntered out.
I nudged my head to the seat beside me and she collapsed into it. I played what she had recorded so far, both of us sitting in silence while we tried to decide what we liked and didn’t.
“Check this.” As soon as the song ended, I started adjusting shit, moving her vocals and chopping it up, keeping the parts I really liked, moving the ones I somewhat liked, and fully deleting whatever I didn’t.
“Now, I want you to go in, lay that first verse a lil softer than you did the first time, do that second chorus the exact same way, and hit that shit on the last verse, but once you get to the chorus round it out and float it.”
Myome nodded. “Let me see what I can do.”
“Ain’t no letting you see.” I adjusted a knob. “Get in that shit and do it.”
Myome rolled her eyes but got up and headed into the booth.
I restarted her and let her sing it all the way through, then had her do it again and again.
After the third recording, I had her switch to background vocals and started stacking them.
Myome’s alarm went off at six-fifty and she came out of the booth and collapsed beside me.
“How’s it looking?” she asked.
“Good.” I nodded. “Let me have it for the night. I’m going to clean it up, piece together what I like, and have you fill in the blanks and the background vocals sometime tomorrow if you’re free.”
“That actually sounds amazing.” Myome smiled. “How much is this costing me?”
“Fuck out of here.” I snickered.
“What?”
“You couldn’t afford my work if I gave you the price,” I said simply.
I locked in what we had so far and put a copy on my drive before handing Myome hers back. When I looked back at her, she was still staring at me, frozen in shock.
“What?” I asked seriously.
“You talk a lot of shit, nigga.” Myome scoffed and jerked her jump drive from my hand.
“I wasn’t talking shit. I was being honest. Shit. Your label didn’t sound like they wanted to throw the money in for the production I’m doing now. I can’t imagine you’ve made enough on your own to pay me for my work, especially considering y’all don’t even have an album out.”
“Yeah, alright, Berlin.” She dragged my name out and I lifted an eyebrow.
I grabbed the chair she was in and jerked her in close.
“The fuck you just call me?” I asked.
Myome glanced up at me and smirked.
“Yeah, alright, Berlin,” she repeated.
“I’m gon’ end up having to hem yo’ lil ass up one of these days, huh?” My eyes searched Myome’s and I could have sworn she smiled even wider at the threat.
“You can try, but I’m not Niecy.”
I chuckled. “What does that mean, Myome?”
“You’re damn sure not about to put me in a headlock and go off to brag about it. You would be getting stabbed expeditiously. I promise.”
I laughed even harder. “I like that.”
“So you like crazy women?”
“I like women who stand on business and have ambition and self-respect.” I pulled up Radiant Reverie’s music and adjusted everything for their session. I looked over at Myome. “But being crazy is a plus.”
“So you can play the victim or what?”
“What?”
“It wasn’t a trick question. Why do you like crazy women?”
“Because I’m a passionate ass nigga and don’t play when it comes to the people I care about. If the woman I’m with plays behind me, that shit makes me feel like they ain’t for real.”
“And what if they aren’t that kind of woman?”
“Then they ain’t for me.” I shrugged. “Shit, even my fake wife be beating bitches up. You don’t think my real one needs to match that energy?”
“I beat up one bitch.”
“And we ain’t even been married a month,” I countered.
Myome giggled and I smirked at the sound.
My smile fell from my face when I heard the door open behind us. We both looked back and Charm waved at us as she walked inside.
“Good morning,” she sang.
“What’s up?” I gave her a quick nod then looked at my watch. “It’s six fifty-eight. Y’all girl gon’ make it?”
“She’ll make it,” Charm said. “Trust me. Retta is not going to miss the chance to get her vocals laid so she can be on this song.” Charm paused and yawned.
“You tired?”
“Not too tired to sing,” Charm countered.
“A’ight. Don’t come in this bitch playing around.”
“I won’t.
“Good.” I looked between her and Myome. “We still got a lot to lock in, so who wants to get started first?”
“Me,” Myome said immediately. “I’m already warmed up so I feel like I may still be in my zone.”
“Alright, cool. Get in.” I watched Myome climb up and pull her shorts down. “Ay”—I grabbed her wrist before she could get too far away from me—“Put that fucking ring on yo’ finger.”
Myome rolled her eyes but held her hand out. I grabbed her ring and slid it onto her finger. She lifted her hand by her face and stuck her tongue out. She wiggled her fingers a little while she wagged her eyebrows at me.
“Go do that shit in the booth.” I nudged my head toward it and Myome giggled but headed inside. I plucked my phone up and tapped the speaker once she was inside with the headset on. “That wasn’t a joke,” I said. “Do that shit again.”
Myome lifted an eyebrow.
“For what?”
“Content,” I deadpanned.
Myome lifted her hand by her face and wiggled her fingers again. I snapped a single picture and uploaded it straight to my story. Chandler and Myome’s record label would love that shit.
“I just need you to lay your verse and come out, Yo. Don’t play around. We in and out.”
“I hear you.” She nodded once.
“You need me to count you in?”
“Nope.” She shook her head.
I nodded once myself then did some last minute changes to the instrumental before starting it.
Myome immediately bobbed to the music but stilled when it was actually time for her to come in, which I appreciated. I couldn’t stand a shaky ass recording. She laid her verse and I clapped at the end.