Kiss The Sun

Chapter 13

I stood in the doorway until someone forcefully pushed past me. I shook off the brush and gripped my guitar case a little tighter.

And I opened the door.

I was greeted by the same young girl who always sits up front and told to head back. No wait. For once, they were expecting me. But at what cost? And what were they really expecting? Did they know I would fail? Did they want to drop me? Or did they have that much faith in me?

I doubted it was the latter. 

Still, I walked back hesitantly. Walking into the studio, the head of the label, Thomas Line, stood to meet me. 

"Brooklyn. How are you?" He asked. His figure towered over mine. His hands were calloused and cold when he shook my hand.

"I'm good. Life on tour is keeping me busy in the best way." I answered.

"I bet. Well, we won't waste any time. I'll go grab the others and we will get started. Go ahead and head into the booth." With that, he walked out. I opened the door to the recording booth and stepped in, setting my case down. I had just barely grabbed my guitar out of the case when he reentered with another man and a woman, both of which I had never seen. The other man sat down at the sound board, the woman sitting her purse on the couch behind him. She was the one who pushed the button and spoke to me. 

"Alright, Brooklyn. We have time for a couple songs, if you wanna throw some new things around, see what you vibe with." 

I nodded at her, wracking my brain for ideas. The songs I had written about Jake were not what they wanted lyrically, but I had played around enough to at least make the sound vaguely familiar. I hoped that if the sound was similar enough to what I normally did, they would overlook the scandalous lyrics. I started with a strong riff and allowed the music to lead me how it does on stage. My vocals were relatively strong and the upbeat tempo kept it fun and quick. When I finished, I could immediately tell they were not impressed. 

Mr. Line stood to speak. "Let's uh...let's just run that one again." 

I gave him a tight lipped smile and nodded. Not a great start. I needed to be better. Louder. More. So I opened with the same riff, adding in a few more extra notes for emphasis. I sang just a little louder, a little stronger. I closed my eyes and imagined Jake's hands roaming my legs. I saw the three outside the booth exchange a look that I could not fully read. 

When I finished, they all looked at me, until the guy at the booth pressed the button. "That was a good take. How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," I said, holding my thumb up.

"Okay, if you feel good, let's maybe try something new?" 

And that was his response to the next three songs I played. A couple takes, tight smiles, and polite inquiries to move on. This was it. I was leaving the tour. I had tried to manufacture something worth hearing. I had tried doing what I always do. The sound was there. Each song fit so perfectly with what I had already done. But something was missing. Even I knew that. I just could not figure out what was not filling in the gaps. My mind flooded and the pit in my stomach grew. I thought I was going to throw up right there on the equipment. 

"Do you have anything else?" Mr. Line asked. "Or call it a day? We could run one more." 

I'd been there for hours, playing until my fingers were sore, my voice hoarse. I had sang all my new runs, played all my best riffs. I had nothing more to give. I just hoped what I had given was enough to allow me to stay on tour.

I was about to tell him I had nothing else when the door opened and a figure slipped into the room.

Sam.