Chapter 15 Alexander
Monday
“Let’s run that one more time,” comes the engineer’s voice from the control room.
My back stiffens in frustration. Freddy shrugs his shoulders and reaffirms what I’m already thinking.
We nailed that take. Everyone had their parts perfectly down.
Andy played the melody note-perfect on guitar.
Freddy used just the right amount of percussion for this stripped-back version of Compare To You.
And if anything, my voice has gotten better throughout the afternoon.
The mild irritation in my chest quickly moves beyond frustration and into anger.
Since lunch, everything seems to be moving at a slower pace. We’ve done numerous takes of each song. Repositioned the microphones. Got through trade union-mandated breaks for the hired musicians.
I have the feeling that the team is delaying things. Paul is running down the clock, using every possible stalling tactic he can so we run out of time to record Stolen Moments.
“Let’s take five. I wanna hear the playback.”
I jump off the stool, sliding my headphones off and hanging them over the mic stand before heading up to the control room.
My mood darkens with every step I take up the wooden staircase where so many of my idols have climbed, where I see the engineers and Paul standing alongside my A&R guy Nathan Watkins, who’s flown over from LA.
“Can you run that last take back for me,” I say as soon as I open the door, skipping the formalities or even a greeting for Nathan, who arrived only half an hour ago.
The engineer, who wouldn’t look out of place playing with the Strokes with his gaunt frame and long dark hair scraped back into a ponytail, pulls up the Logic file, hitting the space bar to kickstart it.
“Turn it up a little.”
He slides the volume up on the sound desk as I move over and sit down in one of the free chairs.
I lean back and close my eyes, allowing the sound to wash over me.
Of all the tracks I’ve recorded, Compare To You is one of my favorites.
Other songs have been more commercially successful, but this one was the game changer for me.
And it was the first song I wrote after Samuel died.
My eyes well up at the thought of him.
When the track finishes, I rub my eyes and then open them, turning my attention to Paul and Nathan, who seem to be joined at the hip. Nathan takes a drag of his vape and then picks at the label on the empty plastic bottle in his hand.
“Sounds perfect to me. What’s the issue?” My forehead crinkles as I study them.
Nathan moves his hand to his nose, fiddling with it like he’s done one too many bumps. Discomfort is written across his aging face. For a forty-year-old, he looks closer to fifty.
Paul remains silent, letting Nathan lead the conversation.
“The vocals were slightly behind the musicians in the second verse,” Nathan says, averting his gaze. He looks over to the couch where Lucy and Connie are seated, working away on their laptops.
“Pull that up for me, will you?” I ask the engineer. I get up from the chair and move closer to the sound desk.
The engineer skips to one minute twelve, hitting the play button. I lean in next to the speaker, listening intently. I try to pick up on the delay Nathan is referring to, but I don’t hear what he’s talking about.
“Doesn’t sound out of time to me.” I turn back to face Nathan, crossing my arms over my chest.
What do they take me for, a fool?
Nathan gets fidgety, takes another drag on his vape and looks down at his sneakers.
“Paul?”
Clearly Nathan doesn’t want to be made to walk the plank for whatever is going on here, and he’s obviously following Paul’s command, who, once again, always has to be in control.
“I know you’ve got a better take in you,” Paul says.
“Once this is out there, it will live online forever. You don’t want anything out there that’s less than perfect, right?
” His eyes narrow, while speaking to me in a patronizing tone that grates on me like nails down a chalkboard.
Like he thinks I’m still fourteen and unable to see through his manipulation.
Nathan chucks the plastic bottle at the bin but misses. He walks over to the bottle, picks it up, steps back a few feet, shoots… and misses once again.
Ugh.
I tap my foot on the floor while I wait for Nathan to pick up the bottle and place it in the bin properly. I feel my anger get bigger with every tap of my foot.
“Where are we at with the side agreement?”
“We’re still waiting for the label lawyers in LA to get back to us,” Paul says, pulling his phone from his pocket as if checking for an update.
I look at my watch. It’s 11:15 a.m. over there. At times like these, I’m glad I leave my watches on LA time.
“What’s the hold up? It’s been hours since we agreed to this.” I’m unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“These things take a moment, Alex,” Paul says, volleying it straight back at me. His voice is elevated, causing both Connie and Lucy to look up from their screens and the engineers to look away.
His words hit me right in the chest.
Scolded like a child, humiliated in front of his class.
I shrug my shoulders, refusing to take my gaze from his.
This is not how this conversation is going to end. Not on my watch. Not this time.
“You’re telling me the label can secure all that promo for tomorrow in the space of a couple of hours, but their lawyers and mine can’t knock up a standard one-page side agreement?”
The room falls eerily silent.
Check.
“It’s not as easy as that, there’s terms to discuss,” Paul says, breaking the silence and rolling his eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” I say. My nostrils are flaring like a dragon ready to unleash fire. “Like the terms we agreed to for doing the promo tomorrow, on the condition I get to record Stolen Moments and include it on the live album?”
How dare he try and make me look a fool.
This is my career he’s messing with here. Not his.
The fire is no longer swirling in my stomach but is rising into my throat.
“Let’s call up the UK label boss. Let’s tell her tomorrow’s promo is off, because you and Nathan couldn’t get the promo down.
In fact, better yet,” my attention turns to Nathan, “let’s get Nathan’s boss on the phone right now, and tell him we’ve decided not to renew my record deal with them. That we’ll be going with Sony instead.”
Check. Mate.
A look of terror washes over Nathan’s face as I return my gaze to Paul.
Paul looks at me, as if to call my bluff, but I reach into my pocket for my phone, bring up the CEO’s number and wave it at him.
I don’t care if everyone in this room thinks I’m a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum. I’ll be damned if I continue to march to the beat of Paul’s drum.
“Let me chase up the lawyers now,” Paul says, turning and heading for the door.
Nathan gets up out of the chair to follow him, but I’m not done yet.
I need something to take the edge off this rage.
There’s no gym here. I can’t go out for a run with all the work there is left to do. And I can’t see Christopher to do the only other thing that settles this swirling mixture of emotions. Which leaves only one other option.
“Nathan. A quick word.” I motion him toward me.
He looks back and forth between me and Paul and starts to step slightly toward Paul, but my stare intensifies, and he reconsiders. Paul shakes his head, closing the door behind him.
“You want me to renew this deal, right?” My voice lowers, as I sling my arm over his shoulder.
“Of course I do,” he says, his voice wobbling.
“Well, I’m going to need you to do me a favor. I’m going to need you to get me a couple bottles of Belvedere.”
“But…” Nathan stops me, turning his head to face me.
Nathan knows I’m in recovery, but I hold all the power right now.
And I am going to take advantage of it.
“It’s just for this week. You know the deal with the pressure. I’m just taking the edge off of things. If anyone can understand that, it’s you.” I rub my nose for effect to acknowledge his habit, which these days seems more like an addiction than a bump here or there.
“I don’t know, Alex. You got yourself into pretty bad shape last time. Do you really think it’s a good idea to open that box again?”
I have a flashback to the intervention in my home before I push it away.
Nope, not going there.
I can control my drinking now. I went all yesterday without a drop.
“All things considered, I think anyone would have been in a bad shape given what I went through. I’m good now.
The tour is coming to an end. The album’s outperformed even our wildest expectations.
My Anchor looks like it will hit number one this week.
I can handle my liquor. I just couldn’t handle what happened. But I’ve dealt with that now.”
The rumble in my stomach contradicts me. I’m lying, both to him and myself. But I’ve dealt with it the best way I know how. I put it in a box and filed it away in a dark room at the back of my mind. Alongside everything else.
Nathan turns to me once more, and I give him the same smile that drives all my fans crazy. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
I’ve got him.
“That’s my man,” I say, patting his chest twice with my hand. “Oh, and this is between you and me, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, nodding in agreement.
“Now go get that deal across the line,” I say, slapping his ass as he trots off to find Paul.
I head across the room to the couch, where Lucy and Connie are sitting. There’s a Christopher-shaped hole between them. Lucy looks up as I tower above her. Connie doesn’t give me the same courtesy.
“Where’s Christopher?” I ask, rubbing my chest with my hand. The anger inside is starting to subside.
“He said something about jumping on a Zoom. Took himself off to find a quiet space.” She closes her laptop, slides it inside her bag, and pushes herself up off the couch.
“Do you know where?” I ask, my gaze dart to the door when I see a figure passing by the window.
“I don’t, but I could go find him if you want?”