Brando (8 page)

“So,”
Josh says, putting his cup down
on a speaker, “how
do you guys see this going?”

Haley
looks up at me and I take the lead.

“I’m
thinking we start simple. Nothing too complicated. Let’s
do one of your songs –
‘Leaving
Home’
or
‘Not Easy
to Love,’
maybe – acoustic.
Just run through it from start to finish, no pressure, and see what
we get.”

Haley
takes a second to think about it and then nods slowly.

“Sounds
good,” she says.

“Great,”
Josh says, “I’ll
get us set up.”

“Shouldn’t
we take those rugs off the wall?” I
say, pointing at the hippie accoutrements.

“No,”
Haley says, sounding sure for the
first time since I’ve
seen her today, “leave
them. They’ll make
it sound warmer.” At
my lifted brow she adds, “Helps
the acoustics.”

I
look at Josh, who gives me a look that says ‘the
girl knows what she’s
talking about,’ and
settles into a seat as they both start preparing.

It
takes Josh only a few minutes to get everything ready, sorting cables
and arranging the studio with deft expertise. Once he’s
done, and Haley is sitting on a stool in the recording booth, all
mic’d up with the
mahogany guitar in her lap and a big pair of headphones buried in her
hair, Josh joins me on the other side of the glass partition.

“Haley,”
Josh says, holding down a button,
“can you hear me
okay?”

Haley
returns a thumbs up.

“Say
something Haley, so I can check the levels.”

“Oh,
um…hi? Uhh…”

The
tremble in her voice doesn’t
need the amplification of a studio to be noticeable. Josh just nods
before pushing the button again to speak. He’s
seen it all before, and I’m
hoping his laid-back demeanor will help calm Haley down fast, because
right now she can barely get a single word out, much less a whole
song.

“That’s
great, thanks,” Josh
soothes. “Just strum
a few chords now.”

Haley
obliges keenly, her neck and shoulders looking tense. As she pauses
to make some minor adjustments to the strings, the expression on her
face tells me she’s
frustrated. Even through the glass, I can feel the anxiety radiating
off her.

“Okay,
we’re golden,”
Josh says. “When
you’re ready to go,
just start. We’re
rolling.”

I
watch intently as Haley breathes so deeply her shoulders rise and
fall a full few inches. She grips the guitar carefully, straightens
her back, and starts playing.

The
second note she plays is an entire key out.

“Wait.
I’m sorry,”
Haley says, her shoulders
immediately slumping. “Can
I go again?”

This
time I’m the one who
pushes the button to talk.

“It’s
fine, Haley. Make as many mistakes as you want. Take your time. Work
out those kinks.”

After
a few more failed attempts, her deep breaths getting deeper between
each take, she eventually makes it through the intro, and starts
singing.

Haley
hits a bum note on the first word. She freezes mid-lyric and looks
over at us guiltily. “Sorry.
I need to start over,” she
says.

“This
her first time in a studio?” Josh
asks me as we watch her go again.

“Second,”
I say, as her voice falls flat
again. “The first
time she ran right back out of it.”

On
her eleventh attempt Haley almost makes it to the second line of the
song, but she plays the wrong chord and immediately drops her head.

“That’s
fine, Haley,” Josh
says. “Come on back
here.”

“I’m
really, really sorry,” Haley
says the second she enters the room. “I
don’t know what’s—”

“It’s
fine,” I say, trying
to smile, struggling to believe it. “We’ve
got all the time in the world.”

Josh
stands up.

“How
about we take fifteen? Try and get our heads straight?”
He pulls out a joint from his
shirt pocket. “I’m
gonna go outside and relax a little. Haley?”

Haley
shakes her curls. “No
thanks. I don’t.”

Josh
nods at me – he
knows I’ve always
been clean – then
leaves the studio. I spin in my chair, following Haley with my eyes
as she walks across the room and slumps on the couch as if it’s
a lifeboat.

“Jesus.
I can’t believe this
is happening,” she
says, tapping her knee rapidly. “My
one chance…”

“Hey,”
I say, supportively, as I get out
of my chair and settle beside her on the couch. “Just
try to relax.”

“I
am
trying to relax. And it’s
not working. Which is making me even more nervous.”

“Your
hands are shaking,” I
say, putting my palm over the hand she’s
using to drum on her knee with.

“You
should feel what my stomach’s
doing,” she replies,
continuing to drum with her other hand. “I
need a drink. A sniff of whatever’s
Josh is smoking. Or…”

She
turns to face me, but her eyes scan my body like it’s
the antidote to her nerves. Maybe it is. Nobody knows more than I do
how much sex can cure a restless mind. She shakes her head, as if
shooing off a daze, and looks down, avoiding my gaze.

I
cup her chin and turn her to face me slowly.

“You’re
thinking too much. Don’t
think.”

A
blush creeps across her cheeks and she drops her eyes again. I brush
her hair away from her face and let my hand rest on her neck as I
slowly move in closer. Her trembling lips steady themselves on mine,
softly settling against my mouth. Our breaths mingle, tongues gently
tickling at the insides of each other’s
lips. I press further, wanting to kiss away all the shakes in her
body, to let her thoughts disappear in the heat of our mouths. Her
hand presses against my shirt, splayed fingers tentatively tracing
the hardness of my chest, before pushing me away from her.

“Brando…”
she whispers, her eyes still
closed, her mouth still wet. “I
think I just need…”

“Tell
me what you need,” I
coax her.

“I
need…” She
opens her eyes, and I already know what she’s
about to say. “You.”

This
is the most restrained I’ve
ever been. Every muscle memory in my body wants to tear her clothes
off, the look in her lidded eyes all I need to know she wants this –
even more than I do. Hours spent
around her blossomed lips, her hidden breasts, her slender thighs,
hours of caging up my lust for her in pursuit of another goal has
made it grow, big and fearsome. Now that the cage is open, it’s
taking all of my reserve to stop it from taking me over. I need this
to be slow – this is
for her.

“I
know how to make you sing, Haley,” I
growl in short breaths. My hand goes to the inside of her thigh,
pressing itself against the front of her jeans. “I
can make you sing better than you’ve
ever sung before.”

I
have the buttons undone in seconds. Warm, strong, fingers teasingly
reaching into the lip of her panties. Her head goes back, eyes closed
as she starts panting at the ceiling.

“Wait!”
she says, snapping back, her hand
on my wrist. “I
don’t understand
what’s happening
between us, Brando. Is this about me? Or is this about music?”

I
kneel in front of her, slowly pulling down her jeans.

“It’s
about music,” I say,
kissing her moistening pussy through the soft cotton of her panties.
“It’s
always about music.”

She
replies by moaning softly and grabbing the back of my head as I run
my tongue down the inside of her thigh, letting my stubble softly
tickle her pale, sensitive skin.

I
get her panties off quickly, and run my hands around the back of her
waist, holding her still while I explore her pussy with my tongue.
The smell drives me wild, stirring the animal in me like a dormant
beast. It’s all I
can do to stop myself from sprouting fangs and roaring –
I wanna take it slow, learn
everything I can about what makes her tick.

I
trace the tip of my tongue up each of her lips to her clit, rolling
it between my lips and sucking on it, listening to her moans and
sighs like cues from a band, playing her pussy like a classic melody
on a new instrument. I reach a hand out and press it against her
shirt, kneading her tit, her nipple hard against my palm. She grabs
my hand and holds it against her, scratching at my fingers with her
guitar-player’s
nails.

Her
moans get higher and her scent hotter when I start to tongue-fuck
her, her thigh muscles tightening around my stubble in rhythm with
the licks. I hold off, always a little less than she feels she needs,
keeping her on the edge, stoking up the heat before the release.

“Fuck,”
she gasps. That’s
the only word she’s
able to get out, and when she clenches my hair in her fist I know
it’s time. I work
two fingers between her wet lips, two fingers longer and harder than
most men’s cocks,
two fingers that always find the right button.

Hitting
the perfect spot is easy, and Haley’s
body throbs and hums under my hands like an orchestra, a musician in
everything she does. Moans and purrs from the depth of her soul guide
me there, the song reaching its high-pitched crescendo when she
starts moaning ‘Yes’
at the ceiling. Again and again,
drawing out the word until it becomes a sigh, a fade-out. My work
here is done.

I
stand up in front of her as she struggles to get her breath back. She
watches with a knowing smile as I lick the taste of her off my lower
lip, and then smooth out my shirt.

The
post-glow lightness is broken by the sound of a door shutting in the
house. Haley roughly pulls her panties and jeans up before smoothing
out her hair in the vague reflection of the partition glass.

“I
was thinking,” Josh
starts saying, before he’s
even entered the studio, “maybe
we should try another song?”

Haley
and I turn and look at Josh, wondering if we left any evidence. I
notice Josh’s eyes
dart quickly to my hair, and I run my hand through it casually.

“No,”
I say, glancing at Haley and
realizing just how big and round and beautiful her eyes are when
she’s scared, “I’ve
got a feeling things will go a little better this time.”

“Okay,”
Josh shrugs as he takes his seat
again. I smile at Haley as she leaves to go back to the studio, then
sit beside Josh again.

“I’ve
known a lot of musicians who couldn’t
hack it in a studio,” Josh
says, once she leaves the room. “Good
ones. Great ones. But they just couldn’t
play without the right audience, feeding off the energy of a crowd.”

Through
the glass I watch Haley sit on the stool again, put on the
headphones, and pick up her guitar. Just as I’d
hoped, something is different now. The smart, sarcastic shine in her
eye, the calm earthiness of her movements. She looks like a girl who
can take on the world again.

“Can
you hear me over there?” she
asks.

Josh
pushes the button. “Perfectly.
Ready when you are. I got a good feeling about this one.”

“Me
too,” Haley says,
and I can tell she means it.

This
time Haley doesn’t
need deep breathing. She takes a second to clear her throat, and
starts. Her fingers move over the guitar strings skillfully, and it
responds with a bed of beautiful, dynamic notes that cascade gently
throughout the studio. When she opens her mouth her voice soars.
Innocent as a girl, confident as a woman. Pure emotion, the sound of
someone letting go.

“Holy
shit,” Josh drawls,
before she’s even at
the chorus, “this is
fantastic. What the hell did you say to her?”

Haley
looks right at me as she sings. A smile in her eyes that seems to
help her get the words out.

“It
wasn’t what I said
that helped her.”

Haley

“It’s
catchy, it’s got
great lyrics, a good groove – it’s
got hit written all over it,” Brando
says, gulping the last of his beer down, slamming it on the bar, and
ordering another with ease. It’s
the kind of club I’d
never go to in a million years. Tables and booths that look way
cleaner and more expensive than the usual dive bars I usually drink –
and play – in,
surround a central dance floor, where you can barely see the people
with all the expensive suits and jewelry flashing all over the place.
Ordinarily, I’d feel
like a nun at an orgy entering a place like this, but being around
Brando is like being in a bubble, where nothing can touch you, and
everywhere is home.

“I
know, but it’s
acoustic
,”
I remind him.

“So?”

“So
acoustic songs never get into the charts.”

Brando
laughs and leans in slightly. Any other guy as big as him and it
would feel intimidating, but with Brando it feels protective, warm,
enticing.

“Quite
a role reversal,” he
smirks. “
You
telling
me
that I’m not being
commercially-minded enough.”

I
look down for a second and giggle a little, before looking back at
him. When he’s in
this kind of mood it’s
next to impossible to keep my eyes away from his.

“Maybe
you’re rubbing off
on me,” I say.

“Well
you’re definitely
having an effect on me.”

“Who
do you think’s
getting the worse deal?”

Brando
laughs breezily.

“Well,
if I become an A & R guy with some integrity, I’m
pretty much finished. And if you end up as a sell-out, you’ll
end up as soulless as—” his
face drops as he notices something in the corner of the club, a cloud
passing over his face and wiping away the spark in his eyes, “her.”

I
search for a clue in his eyes before turning around to see where they
lead. Somewhere between a sea of black-suited bodyguards and a crowd
of people who seem to fade to grey in her presence, I see her. Lexi
Dark. Her pink, latex dress standing out from everyone and everything
around her, as if she’s
somehow more solid, more real. A Technicolor girl in life’s
black and white film. Always the radiant smile, the demure pose; so
brilliant that it frustrates you to only be able to see one side of
her at a time.