Chapter 16 Sydney - Studio Session
Chapter 16
Sydney - Studio Session
W hen I woke up the next morning, the sun started to make an appearance. I knew I didn’t need to set my alarm. That bed felt plush and comfy. My twin bed at home seemed miniature in comparison. Although Brooke and Abby had left home years ago, my mother still insisted on keeping all three twin beds in my room, like a twisted time warp. The tiny daisy and rosebud wallpaper that Brooke and Abby picked out before I came along still hung in strips that peeled around the seams. Our pale pink quilted bedspreads held more ruffles than Little Bo Peep’s skirt.
Once I hit sixth grade, I never invited friends over for sleepovers. The juvenile wallpaper and outdated comforters made me embarrassed. I pleaded with my mom multiple times over the years to let me upgrade to something more age-appropriate, but she stonewalled me. You have a perfectly good comforter , she would say. As if I still wanted to wear patent leather shoes and ruffled socks with my dresses like I did when I was five.
Her cheapness rivaled those extreme coupon clippers. When I turned seven, I wanted to take tap lessons. I begged for months, and my mother finally signed me up at the local dance studio. But she refused to buy tap shoes—I had to wear my sneakers to class. How fun is it to take tap lessons if you don’t have tap shoes? I quit at the end of the month. Her takeaway? I’m glad I didn’t waste money on tap shoes.
I reeled my mind back to the present. I wondered how much we would get paid for our song. I barely had time to process this whole scenario. The past twenty-four hours seemed surreal. I knew this first-class treatment should impress me, and it did. The people who lived this life didn’t appreciate it the way I did in this moment.
A knock rapped on my door. “Miss Sydney, would you like breakfast brought up?” Craig spoke from behind the door.
I rolled out of bed, shuffled over to the door, and opened it. “What are they serving?”
Craig seemed puzzled for a moment. “Miss Sydney, you order whatever you want. The chef will make it for you.”
“Oh, I see. I’d like scrambled eggs with cheese in them, home fries, and bacon, limp. And orange juice. Should I go ask Austin? I’m not sure how late he stayed up last night. We’re not on L.A. time.”
“No, Miss. That won’t be necessary. I will take care of Mister Austin. I will alert you when breakfast is ready.” He headed toward Austin’s room.
I wanted to call Meghan. But then I remembered she had a couple finals today. I sent her a text instead.
Me: Having an exciting time here. Will send you pictures of these swanky digs. This enormous suite is as big as my parents’ entire house. Have our recording session today. Hoping to walk the Hollywood Walk of Fame later. Call me if you have time!
I thought about getting dressed but didn’t. My long nightshirt stopped at my knees, which provided plenty of booty coverage. I shuffled over to the living room and sat down on the biggest sofa, my feet curled under me. The view of the city’s skyline captured my interest, and I let my mind wander as the sun rose in the sky.
Austin fumbled out of his room, wearing his pajama bottoms. His chest barely had any hair on it. It infuriated me how guys could walk around without a shirt. His messy hair needed a comb, and I could see stubble on his chin.
“Good morning,” he rasped. “I seriously need coffee.”
“I hope you asked for coffee, because I did not.”
“I did. I thought it would be here by now.” He flopped onto the couch across from me and covered his eyes with his arm .
“I’m sure Craig is good at his job, but he’s not a genie. Give it a minute, Mister Impatient,” I clucked at him. “If we were at home, you’d be making your own breakfast.”
“But we’re not. I could get used to people waiting on me.”
I thought about that. “I prefer being able to do things for myself. Like drive my car. And go to Walmart or my favorite restaurant without being bothered. I read a tell-all by a female paparazzi recently 4 , and she didn’t hold back. She spoke candidly about many celebrities. It’s not always as glamorous as it seems. I know I wouldn’t want people constantly following me with telephoto lenses aimed in my direction.”
He lowered his arm from his eyes and squinted at me. “You are a morning person. I don’t have the brain cells for an existential conversation like that. Coffee first. Then talking.”
Craig must have heard him. He arrived with a cart full of our requests. He wheeled it over to the dining table and assembled our feast. I waited, while Austin hustled back to his room to find a t-shirt to wear. The food smelled delicious, and my stomach announced its agreement.
We sat down and eagerly devoured our eggs and side dishes. Austin poured a cup of coffee and sipped it.
“Did you put anything in your coffee?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Nope. Straight black. The nectar of the gods.” He did a chef’s kiss with his left hand – his right holding his cup of “nectar.”
“That’s boiled bean water. Yuck!” I stuck my tongue out.
“What do you consider real coffee? Enlighten me.”
“Cream and sugar in it, of course. Then I’m not burning my tongue, and it tastes much better.”
“I thought you were going to rattle off one of those fancy-pants Starbucks concoctions that are just foam and chocolate drizzle. That’s not coffee at all.”
“I agree with you. I don’t even think about going there most of the time.”
We both returned our attention to our plates, and our utensils scraped against the China dishware. Austin finished before me, but sat there, sipping on his second cup of bean water.
I paused with a fork full of scrambled eggs in the air. “I think I’m going to take a swim in that giant tub. We have at least an hour before we meet the car, right?”
“Yep. I need to clean up too. Let’s meet back here in an hour.”
“Sounds good to me.” I pushed my chair away from the table and started collecting dishes.
Craig appeared and swiped them out of my hands. “I will take care of that Miss Sydney, thank you.”
“I apologize. It’s what we do at home. Breakfast tasted scrumptious.”
“Thank you, Miss Sydney, but this is my home. I will take care of it.”
I retreated to my enormous room and started running the water for the tub. While I waited for it to fill, I evaluated my clothing options. Thankfully, I had packed the dresses from our Campbell Sisters shopping day, and I laid one on the bed. I wanted to make a good impression at the studio.
When we arrived, Venus whisked us into a conference room to sign a handful of legal documents at a mammoth conference table. She had referred us to Cody and Christian Morris for our entertainment lawyers. I felt fortunate to have their expertise looking out for our best interests. Otherwise, I would still be sitting at the conference table with a dictionary attempting to understand all the legalese in our contracts. We already applied for a copyright per Professor Nelson’s recommendation, which eased my mind.
Then came the fun part: recording our demo. At least I didn’t have to sing in front of a full auditorium. Austin tried to contain the Tigger-like excitement I saw last week, but it was all there just below the surface, clearly. He caught sight of the amusement on my face.
“I can’t help it,” he said, “I’m like a kid at Christmas. This is amazing, Sydney! Can’t you feel it?”
“You are nuttier than a fruitcake. I don’t know you.”
Venus opened the door to the sound room, and it felt like we were stepping into another dimension. An entire table of buttons and dials and levers faced a glass partition that separated it from the recording room. A piano, drum set, guitars, and a handful of microphones stood around the room, waiting for someone to play them. Benches and stools sat around several mismatched rugs on the floor. The sound room had a distinctive smell that I didn’t recognize.
Austin breathed in deeply. “Oh my God, the pot lingers in the air. Or maybe the carpet.”
Ah, that was it.
The door opened, and three people came in.
“Are you ready to make the magic happen?” said one who looked more like a short linebacker than a musician.
His baritone voice resonated across the room despite the padded walls. Mirrored Ray-Bans hid his eyes, and he sported a toffee-colored goatee. His form-fitting navy t-shirt showed off his broad chest and beefy biceps. His unnatural tan made him appear to be in his late thirties or early forties. I guessed that his black “I heart NYC” baseball cap hid a receding hairline or a bald spot. In my experience, men who have hair don’t need to wear hats indoors.
Right behind him stood a tall, waifish woman wearing an orange tank top and a floor-length brown hippie skirt covered with tiny kittens in white, orange, and gray. Her small breasts hung braless, and the alert nipples pushed against the fabric of her shirt. A few firecracker tendrils of hair fell around her milky complexion and pale oval face. A thin matching ribbon gathered the rest of her hair at the base of her neck. I caught Austin out of the corner of my eye. He was practically drooling as he took her in. She held a small notepad and pen in her left hand, and surveyed the room with large brown eyes that reminded me of a spooked deer.
Venus made introductions. “Austin and Sydney, I’d like you to meet Jason Cooper and Tori Morgan. They are working on the score and soundtrack for the movie. They’re both brilliant at what they do. This is where I leave you. When you get finished, a car will come for you. It’s at your disposal. I texted the number to both of you.” She put one hand on my shoulder and the other one on Austin’s. “You’re going to be great!” She turned and swished out the door in her black leather pencil skirt and white wrap blouse.
Jason repositioned his shades to the brim of his cap. “I don’t mean to brag, but she’s right. You are in the presence of greatness.” He bowed but had to catch his sunglasses as they fell off his hat. He stood upright. “I watched a video of your performance. I know this is going to be the hook they need for the movie. Today we record the demo, then Tori and I will remix it together. Venus will pitch it to the studio. Then they will decide what big stars will sing their version for the soundtrack.”
It made me feel better to know that it wouldn’t be me singing on the soundtrack. I glanced at Austin and saw the disappointment on his face. I wondered if Venus had left out that important detail on purpose.
Tori stood there nodding her head. My radar registered something different about her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She opened her notepad and scribbled. Then she shoved the notepad towards Jason’s face. TELL THEM.
“Okay, Miss Bossy.” He snorted. “Listen, Tori doesn’t speak. She can hear fine, if you’re wondering. But she chooses not to talk. You’ll get used to it.”
He addressed Tori. “Are you happy now?”
She nodded.
“Great, then let’s get started. Austin, I need you to lay down the piano track first. That will give you both a track to listen to when we tackle vocals. Sydney, you can hang out in the booth with us until I’ve whipped this guy into shape.” He winked at me. I cringed a little on the inside and thanked my lucky stars that I had Austin with me. Jason’s energy made my stomach clench.
He put Austin through his paces. I lost count of how many times Jason had him start playing all over again. Tori adjusted knobs and dials on the giant sound board. She wrote her thoughts on her notepad and Jason shook his head in agreement or disagreement. Once, he disagreed with her and she smacked her notepad on the countertop. He raised his eyebrow. She smacked it again and jabbed her finger at the words.
“I want it raw and untouched. We agreed on that already. This is a demo. They’ll add all the fluff once they select the famous singers they want for the soundtrack version.” He didn’t waiver. “Are you finished with your tantrum? Shall we continue?”
Tori didn’t seem intimidated by him. She gave him the okay sign and forcefully let out a breath in frustration. I could hear the air rush from her lips; that’s the only sound she’d made all day.
After a late lunch, I took over the dancing chicken duties. Jason had us record our parts separately. In a futile attempt to calm my nerves when it was my turn in the booth, I closed my eyes and envisioned myself singing in the shower. Whoever smoked pot in here had the right idea. Jason kept making me start over, even close to the end. I tried not to get frustrated. It was just a demo, and I was far from a professional singer.
After making it to the end for the third time, Jason relayed through my headphones that he got what he needed. Through the glass I saw him and Tori giving me thumbs-up signs. Venus and Austin sat on the couch behind them, engaged in a separate conversation. Hanging the headphones on the hook attached to the microphone, I joined them at the control board. I could hardly believe it was already close to seven in the evening.
Venus rose and grabbed her Louis Vuitton handbag. “I’m starving. Let’s get out of here.”
Since we finished our parts of the demo yesterday, that meant we had the entire day free. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. The rice in a plastic bag trick worked! Abby texted me.
AC: How did it go yesterday? I didn’t hear from you.
Me: It went well. We finished the demo. Austin and I are going to do tourist stuff today.
AC: Let me know if you spot anyone famous while you are out today.
Me: Will do!
After about a half hour of playing on my phone, I still didn’t hear any movements outside my door. I flipped back the covers and hauled myself out of the warm cloud. The living area remained empty, and I padded across to Austin’s room. I stood outside the door. I could hear faint snoring on the other side. I had an idea for payback.…
Journal Entry
Making the demo for our song proved to be a fascinating and tedious process at the same time. We spent over six hours recording in order to get enough raw footage for a measly four-minute song. No wonder it takes so long for recording artists to crank out albums.
My reluctance to make the demo stemmed from the fact that I didn’t want to be singing my poem for the entire world. I felt relieved when I learned that wouldn’t be the case. Austin didn’t know about this either. I know he’s disappointed and thought this would be his ticket to stardom. When I told Danny over the hotel phone in my bedroom, he felt bad that this experience wouldn’t go the way Austin had envisioned.
After we finished recording, Venus took us all (Jason, Tori, Austin, and me) to a trendy restaurant, Olivetta. The food was amazing! I lost count of all the courses and felt like they should have pushed me out in a wheelbarrow. Austin indulged with Jason in sampling a forty-year-old bourbon. He said it was the smoothest he’d ever had. I didn’t realize he was a bourbon connoisseur.
I’ve never been to the Pacific Ocean, and I can’t wait to stick my toes in tomorrow. I almost wish Brooke had come with us since she lives here. But she decided to stay in KC and bask in the adoration of my mother. It’s probably best that I don’t get to bear witness to a whole week of that.
4 Buhl, Jennifer. Shooting Stars: My Unexpected Life Photographing Hollywood’s Most Famous . Sourcebooks, 2014.