Everything had been mangled beyond recognition. This was the
brutalization of a beautiful original. I had participated in
the perversion of perfection. I was not alone, but had I not
participated, it might never have happened. Now I was
feeling the regret, and the wound was fresh and painful. I had
to stand up and speak out against this destruction.
The playback faded out and the intercom cut in with its jarring pop.
Geoffrey's metallic voice was rendered less human by the intercom,
"Can you hear it now, Kyle? It's really starting to take
shape. Now what I want is..."
The
words followed in a blur. I could hear him, but what he said
didn't matter to me. I just kept wondering how far he was
going to let this song go. It had been defiled to the point it
didn't even sound like what Raychel and I wrote together. It
was noise. Pointless, rhythmic, dead noise. And I had
helped murder her music.
There
was a pause in the stream of crapulence, so I looked up and saw
Geoffrey looking back at me. He apparently repeated himself,
"What do you think, Kyle?"
I
waited just long enough for him to think I needed to think further
about it, "I think it sucks."
The
intercom linking us immediately flicked off as Geoffrey threw his
hissy fit. I had gotten used to it. He reared back in
his chair, flung an arm in the air and shouted so loud that Sharon
jolted awake in her corner of the control booth. A sheaf of
papers flew out of his other hand as he kept on with his diatribe.
Of course, with the glass and sound insulation between us, I
couldn't actually hear what he was saying. It was more of the
why-do-I-bother and all-of-my-beautiful-work stuff that he normally
ranted about when we disagreed. It had been like this for
almost four months and it was getting us nowhere. He just
wouldn't bend.
Coming down from his hissy high, he flicked on the intercom again,
"I can't work with you, Kyle!"
I
shouted back, "I don't need you, Geoffrey!"
Another click of the intercom and he was packing up again. It
was almost a daily occurrence. By this time, we knew our dance
steps. I just needed to add another wrinkle. I put my
guitar down and charged the door between us. Time for a
frontal assault.
I
whipped the door open and caught him off guard, "You know I never
asked you to work on this project. You asked us. Ever
since then you've been telling us how great you are and how great
we'll be when we do everything your way. But you've never
given us a chance to do things our way. I've been here every
damn day and not once have you asked me how I would approach a song.
Not once! Now you want to walk out for the 30,000th time?
When the Hell will you stay gone and leave us alone?"
|
"She
evaded my grasp hissing, 'Enough! When will you grow up about
this? . . . He's the head of the company! If he doesn't
like what we're doing he can kill the project.' " |
He
snapped his briefcase shut and snapped, "I may keep walking out, but
you're the one with the problem. Without me you don't have a
viable project. I know it and she knows it. When are you
going to figure it out?" With that he stormed out, the padded
door deadening the impact of his intent.
Her voice crept up from behind me, "Sometimes you can be a real
idiot."
I
turned to face her. She was sitting at her usual perch, on a
stool in the corner, barricaded behind a half-wall of sound
baffling. She stood up and walked toward the door, giving me a
glowering gaze as she passed. I was still wound up from the
all-too-brief fight with Geoffrey, and grabbed after her. She
evaded my grasp hissing, "Enough! When will you grow up about
this? Don't you know what you're doing? He's the head of
the company! If he doesn't like what we're doing he can kill
the project."
"He
can't kill it. He has people to answer to, " I retorted.
"But
those people don't care about us, " she fumed. "Maybe you
think we're making a lot of money but to those people we're just
another contract that isn't paying off. Either you make it
work with him or we're going to be out on our ass! I'm tired
of making the peace for you!" She wheeled away from me and
walked out the door between the studio and the control room.
When she hit the outside door, Sharon got up to follow but was
immediately rebuffed by Raychel. I couldn't hear them, but
they were animated. Finally, Raychel said something that
stopped Sharon, and she sat back down, leaving Raychel to stomp out
the door.
Alone
in the studio, I signaled to Sharon. She dutifully clicked
open the intercom, "What do you want to work on, Kyle?"
"Just
set it up, Sharon. I want to get a new track down."
|
"I
could hear Raychel singing in my head. In fact, I can still
hear her. She deserved so much better." |
After
four months, Sharon probably knew how to operate the control room
better than most of the engineers at Terror Trax. Whenever
Geoffrey ran out of the studio, I would use the opportunity to
record the basics for our songs as Raychel and I wrote them. I
hoped that, after Geoffrey's recording was done, Raychel and I would
have our own album in reserve. I imagined that Geoffrey's
album would fall by the wayside when compared with the stripped-down
sound of our original arrangements. How that was going to come
about, I didn't know, but I was preparing the way for it to happen
if the opportunity arose. When I felt that project was running
behind, I would intentionally say something that would cause
Geoffrey to throw a fit. He always took the bait.
Sharon gave me the thumbs up sign and I started playing "Endless and
Less" on the acoustic. I closed my eyes and trusted my hands.
The song was so familiar, I could hear Raychel singing in my head.
In fact, I can still hear her. She deserved so much better.
When the song was over, I counted to three and opened my eyes.
Much
to my surprise, Ken Kincaid was sitting at the control panel.
He clicked in the intercom, "Sounded great, Kyle. Now let's
record it."
I
gritted my teeth and Ken smiled, "Relax, just kidding, Jesus.
Do you have a minute, Kyle?" I nodded and put the guitar down
as Ken came into the studio.
"I
came down to see how things were going."
"They're going fine, Ken."
"Really? I'm glad to hear that, " he smiled, "How many tracks
have you completed in the last four months? You should be
nearly done. I can't wait to hear it, Kyle." He followed
it up with a look that asked me to level with him.
"All
right, Ken, the whole thing sucks! That's what you wanted to
hear, isn't it? Everything is screwed up. Geoffrey
thinks we've got one good track and I think even that one is
unlistenable."
He
nodded back at me, "That's more like it. I've heard you three
are one Hell of a show."
"Who
said that?"
"I
hear things, Kyle. You know you're not alone down here.
There are other studios down here. I had to move Leather Bug
over to studio one because your arguments were disturbing them.
I've heard you have daily walkouts."
"That's not me, that's Geoffrey."
"That's not my problem. It's yours. You asked for him."
"I
didn't want him!"
"You
know damn well what I mean, Kyle. Raychel wanted him on the
project. You agreed, and now it's your problem."
"You
agreed there wouldn't be any interference in our work."
He
rolled his eyes at me, "And if it was last November I could step in
and help you. As it is, I can't, Kyle. You know you
should consider yourselves fortunate that he's working with you.
You've got immediate credibility. If you put out a disc your
way, there's only so much that I could do for you. Now, you've
got a real company behind the project and Geoffrey f**king MacIntyre
producing you. If you stop fighting it, you might actually be
successful."
"We
won't be if we do it his way, Ken."
|
"Ken
is usually right. That's part of what makes him so easy to
resent." |
He
threw his hands up at me, "Do what you have to do, Kyle. If
you think it's that dangerous, keep ruining things. Maybe
you'll win. Whatever you decide, it seems Raychel understands
how important he is."
I
didn't ask the right question. I probably didn't want to know
the answer anyway. What I did ask was, "Why did you come here,
Ken?"
He
just smiled, "I care." Neither of us laughed, though we both
should have.
Ken
checked his watch, "6:30? That's too much work for me.
How about you? Think you could use a night's rest?" I
just nodded as he got up and walked out. Ken was right.
Everybody needed to take a step back and go fresh tomorrow.
Heal the bruised egos. Forget past injustices. Ken is
usually right. That's part of what makes him so easy to
resent.
I
began packing up my equipment for the night, thinking that maybe I
should stop busting Geoffrey's nuts every day and just let him
control things for a week or two. Just to see what came of
everything. Maybe I was wrong. I didn't think so, but
even so, what if his recording did become a success? Then
maybe we could return to the stripped-down version as a quick
follow-up. Then Raychel and I could get the artistic
credibility that MacIntyre's production was sucking from us.
Was I lying to myself? It didn't matter in the long run.
The
studio door opened quickly and in rolled Sergei Brosovsky with his
cleaning cart. He swivelled his head around the studio and
asked me, "No Raychel?" Raychel had befriended Sergei after a
previous embarrassing experience in the studio. We all found
out how talented of a musician he was that day. What he was
doing cleaning offices at Terror Trax I don't know.
|
"And
I understood. Finally understood. How hard did I have to
be hit with this? How many opportunities had I missed?
All this time. My own plot had folded over and engulfed me." |
"No,
Sergei."
"Is
she out with Geoffrey?"
"Yes,
Sergei."
His
head flopped up and down in over-understanding, "Yes, yes, I know.
They go with each other a lot of times, no?"
As he
said that, Raychel and Geoffrey re-entered the control room and
everything froze for me.
And I
understood. Finally understood. How hard did I have to
be hit with this? How many opportunities had I missed?
All this time. My own plot had folded over and engulfed me.
But now I understood everything that had been fed to me in the last
five minutes.
Ken's, "Whatever you decide, it seems Raychel understands how
important he is."
Sergei's, "They go with each other a lot of times, no?"
Sharon's unseen death stare to Sergei on the other side of the
glass. She knew. All this time she knew.
Raychel and Geoffrey re-entering the studio together, as they had so
many times before in the past four months.
For
once, it all added up. A perfect chord. Double-cross.
And
do you know what I did about it? I let the moment pass away.
I smiled, "Why don't we just call it a day? Let's just go at
it again tomorrow, okay?"
Raychel smiled back, "That's what I was thinking, too."
Geoffrey smiled, too. Why wouldn't he? How perfectly
normal it all seemed. Just like so many times before.
Sharon seemed to relax and Sergei went about his business as we all
went about ours. Leaving Terror Trax. Going our separate
ways. Heading home.
We
made it home a few minutes later than usual, since I was driving a
few miles under the speed limit. I parked the car and we went
up to the apartment together. As I opened the door, I turned
to Sharon and asked her if she could, please, get the mail that I
had forgotten to pick up. She looked to Raychel for guidance,
who in turn rolled her eyes and walked into the apartment, "Jesus,
f**king dog on my ass."
Sharon retreated down the stairs and out of sight. I closed
the door behind me, locked it, and drew the chain across.
* * *
* *
What
more do you really need to know about what happened between Raychel
and I on June 6th? Do I need to describe my confrontation with
her? Do you want me to admit that I attacked her from behind?
Would you even believe me if I told you that I confronted her and
she struck me first? Do you need the blow-by-blow description
of our fight when you already know what the result was? The
answer, whether you like it or not, is no. You do not need to
know. The result was the same. I will not wallow in that
violent oblivion again. I am not proud of my actions. I
do not consider them to be justified. When we made up over a
month later, I swore to Raychel that I would not strike another
person. To this point, I have kept that promise. I even
allowed Lance Wagner to choke me at Raychel's funeral. As
recompense for that promise, I was allowed to outlive what happened
in that room after I locked the door.
The
only person who would tell you what happened that night is in jail
right now, charged with Raychel's murder. Knowing that, would
you believe what she said anyway?
The
result didn't change, but I did.
