Chapter 16
I T’S COME DOWN TO THE BLAZER. I ’M TORN BETWEEN THE light blue tapered and the beige double-breasted. The beige is comfy, unthreatening. It’s ready for work but could also easily be grabbing a matcha latte on a Sunday afternoon. The tapered is all business. A mix of rayon and spandex so it gives without yielding its form.
Today’s the first day we’re allowed in the studio as a proper behind-the-scenes crew, so I want to make the right impression. I want to blend in, but also be taken seriously. Most importantly, I want everyone to feel they can trust me.
Yesterday’s interview wasn’t groundbreaking, but at least I had something to send to Maureen. James helped me prepare a clip of René describing how he wants to share his culture in this album, along with a few moments of him hanging off the balcony recording the frog sounds.
I slip the tapered blazer on and pull my hair into a tight ballerina bun.
My cell buzzes and I’m surprised to see who’s calling.
“Hey, Mom, how’s it going?”
“Here, fine. Did you see my email?” She sounds unsettled.
“No, let me check.” Mom prefers sending emails to texts. Her main form of communication is an email. Even if she often sends a text to let you know she’s sent an email.
I find her email and gasp. She’s sent a photo of the wall where the large window is supposed to go, except it looks like it’s been attacked by an ax. Three large sections of sheet rock have been cut out, exposing the insides of the walls.
“Did you see?” Her tone is accusatory. I wish I’d been there to help with all the things she must have had to deal with. Clearing the room for the workers, wrangling the dogs, who must have barked the entire time.
“Yeah, it’s—”
“They made such a mess. All for nothing.” As she speaks, she riles herself up.
“What do you mean?”
“They need to get an engineer because they couldn’t find the structural load.” The last two words sound studied. “They said it will take another week, but I don’t believe them. Who knows when this is going to be fixed?”
“I’ll call them.”
“Meri’s doing that.”
“She’s got enough on her plate, Mom.”
“When you get home, this mess will probably still be here.” She sounds frustrated.
“I’m sure it will all be done by then.” I try to comfort her. “But I’m sorry about the mess, and the delays.”
“I just wanted you to know so you’re not surprised when you get the bill for the engineer. Setecientos cincuenta pesos. ” She has switched to Spanish for the price because “seven hundred and fifty dollars” in English would seem fair. Whereas “ Setecientos cincuenta pesos ” said loudly and with more inflection sounds like a colossal rip-off. And it’s worked. I feel the sting of the additional cost to the already costly windows that much more.
“How’d you sleep?” I find James at the small mosaic bistro table near the pool and set my breakfast tray down. “Good,” he says, though he sounds otherwise. “Do you want to sit inside?” James inspects my outfit.
“No, no. I’m fine.” I tug at the mock turtleneck beneath my blazer. “This is sleeveless.”
“Okay.” I pick up a hint of irritation in his voice.
I notice he’s wearing the white linen button-down shirt I gave him for his birthday last year. We’ve yet to receive a schedule from Camila, so we agreed to meet for breakfast at 8:00 a.m. and set up in the studio before anyone arrives.
I turn my focus to breakfast. Café con leche and a bowl of farina . The burst of warm buttery sweet cinnamon has time-traveling powers. How long has it been since I’ve had farina ? I move the spoon around the bowl, lost in the memory. Dad used to make it for us on the weekends, when he had the time.
James stirs his coffee loudly. Something is definitely on his mind.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He pulls his lips in and takes a breath. “Yesterday was irresponsible,” he says at last. “He shouldn’t have pressured you to step over the balcony like that. You could have been hurt.”
“I didn’t feel pressured,” I respond, somewhat defensive. “It was fine, I felt safe.”
He nods, but I’m not sure he’s satisfied with my response. “How’s your injury?” he asks with the seriousness of a cop and points to the wrong leg.
“It’s better, thanks. Just a little swollen today.”
Being out in the rain with René feels like a distant dream. The waterfall, Dad’s song. I purposefully left the audio cassette back in my room, hoping René will forget all about it. Now there’s the busted-up wall, Mom’s frustration, and the additional cost of an engineer.
We head to the studio in silence and I try not to think about how badly I need to keep my job. I just have to keep squashing the bad thoughts away and try to focus on the task at hand. Is it me, or is James dragging his feet? There are so many concerns to squash, with new ones creeping up by the second. My brain’s playing one drawn-out round of whack-a-mole.
Inside the studio, Santiago is on his laptop and there’s an engineer inside the recording booth moving equipment around. Santiago presses the button on the intercom connecting him to the booth. “René’s getting his guitar, so we’ll need that microphone.” The engineer gives him a thumbs-up through the glass.
I exchange looks with James, and he heads across the room to prep his camera.
“Oh, check it out,” Santiago calls out to me and points to something a few feet away from his console. I peek behind the long desk. Beneath the wide audio mixer is a stack of bulky equipment encased in stainless steel. Santiago leans over, presses a button, and a tape cassette deck glides out smoothly, like a mouth opening wide. “Did you need one of these?”