Sweet Little Thing(4)

“Yes.” She sighed.

I sat back on my heels. “You’re beautiful.”

Holding her leg from behind her knee, I kissed my way up the inside, from her calf to her thigh and all the way up to her panties. I peeled the lace from her hips with my teeth and then down to her ankles as slowly as possible. She lay there naked from the waist down, watching me gaze at her, hungry for her. Her skin was pure white and it contrasted so strikingly against her dark eyes and hair. She was an authentic beauty. I leaned over her body, putting my weight on my hands, which were placed on each side of her head. Her eyes were searching mine. She whimpered and then tried to lift her face up to kiss me.

I drew my head back. “Uh uh, I don’t think so.” I nuzzled my nose into her neck and trailed kisses to her ear. I whispered, “Stay just like this. Don’t go anywhere.” I planted a swift kiss on her lips and jumped off the bed. “I’m goin’ to play B-ball with Tyler. Be back in a few.”

As I left the room, I glanced over my shoulder and saw her lying there completely still, her mouth open in shock. I got halfway down the hallway before she finally yelled, “Asshole!”

I bent in the hallway and patted June’s head. She rolled over and then got back on her feet and trotted off toward our bedroom.

Before walking out the door, I called back to Mia, “Who’s predictable now, sweet thing?”


TRACK 2: The Creation Process


In the weeks following our introduction to Chad, we were able to get eight solid songs laid down for his album. He had a decent voice, likely attributable to the well-paid vocal coach Live Wire had hired. There wasn’t much I could do about the fact that he sounded so young. I wished for more depth behind the vocals, but Chad wasn’t physically mature or trained enough to control his voice in that way. Once we were comfortable with the music, Mia skipped most of the sessions. She liked to be a part of the creation process but often got frustrated during the long post-production sessions, so she would let the other producers and me handle that.

During one session, Chad’s manager, Michael Dolan, came to me with a concern. He was a pretty straight-laced guy from what I could tell. Chad’s parents looked to Michael as a manager but also as a babysitter for the nineteen-year-old budding superstar. Their concern was that once Chad tasted a moderate amount of fame, he would instantly become the male version of Lindsay Lohan. I didn’t see that in Chad. He was too na?ve; at least, I thought he was. I really believed Chad was the puppet. I’d thought if we ever ran into a problem, it would be with the label, so it was to my absolute shock and horror when Michael came to me and said, “Chad wants to be in on all the sessions. He doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough creative control on the songs he’s written.” Michael was hovering over me as I sat at the sound board, shocked.

I swiveled my chair around to make eye contact and noticed that Chad was cowering behind him. I leaned my head around, looked Chad right in the face, and said, “What f*cking songs, Mike?”

Michael took a step sideways to block the eye lasers I was shooting at Chad. “Now, Will, no need to lose your temper.”

“I totally agree. Why don’t we start with the songs that Chad thinks he’s written?”

“To begin with, ‘Lost N Found,’” Michael said.

I jumped out of my seat. “You mean the piano ballad that Mia composed, the very song you watched her write?”

“I wouldn’t say that Mia wrote that song.”

“You’re saying that he wrote it?” I shot my index finger out in Chad’s direction.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I clapped my hands once, reached around Michael, and grabbed pansy-ass Chad by the ear and proceeded to drag him from the control room to the sound room.

“Ouch,” he said and tried to pull away.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does that hurt?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Will. This is assault.” Michael was shouting behind us.

I was fuming mad. I stopped and turned toward Chad. “You know what hurts? Wasting my time trying to help a little f*ck-nut like you. Let’s go.” I pulled him over to the piano and pushed him down on the bench. “Okay. Play your song, Chad.”

He looked up at Michael like a deer in headlights.

Michael said, “Wait a minute, Will.”

“Shut up, Mike.” I turned back to Chad. “Okay, fine. I know you can’t play the super-complicated masterpiece that my sweet, darling Mia wrote and was willing to let you perform!” I shouted. “Instead, why don’t you just play us ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’? Go ahead. Show us your musical prowess, Chaddy Boy. How about you start on the E above middle C?”

He didn’t even put his hands on the keys; he just stared up at Michael and me and waited for someone to rescue him. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and read a text from Mia: I’ll be at Kell’s until 5. Do u wanna stay in 2nite and have naked dinner?

I didn’t answer. Instead, I put the phone back in my pocket and took a deep breath. It was like Mia could sense when I needed her. There was this invisible string connecting our souls and it was as though we could feel each other tug on that string when we were hurting. I calmed significantly after reading her text.

I looked down and in a relaxed, smooth voice I said, “Chad, do you know where middle C is?”