Chapter 9 Part 1
“They asked me to do it?” shrieked Khrystine.

“Yeah, they did. And what’s better, you even get a line in the song,” added Mike.

The song he was referring to was a Call Against Arms a celebrity fundraiser engineered by one of the greatest pop producers of all time.

She was so excited that they asked her to participate. It truly wasn’t only because the list of performers was nearly guaranteed to be A-list, and inclusion meant that she was considered in this class as well, but she wanted to give something back.

The world had been her audience for the past year, and if she could make a small contribution to improving that world she felt privileged to have the chance. World peace, asking developed countries to cut down on their manufacturing of war weapons was truly a worthy ideal.

She was in Chicago, performing at various radio station promotional events when she got the call. It led to an immediate rescheduling of one appearance, and she boarded a commuter jet to go to New York.

Though the flight was short, she was beginning to cherish flights. They gave her time to think, and time was in short supply nowadays.

She was glad she’d patched things up with JaQuon, because she was nearing the end of the shelf life for her debut album, and needed to go into the woodshed with fresh ideas for her next effort.

She and Jaquon could do anything musically when they put their minds together. And the brillance in their sound was worth the trouble it was to fight off his romantic overtures. She didn’t want love right now, she didn’t want anything she couldn’t “schedule”. And when she did want love, she most certainly didn’t want it with a notorious playboy. If that delicious, virile Dylan Taylor couldn’t sway her to become involved with a playboy, no man could.

Cruel irony as it was, when she needed to be comforted from a long bout of thinking about Lance, she was soothed by feeling Dylan’s strong arms around her, mumuring not to forget that there were people here now that cared for her. Was he even being phony then?

He made her so angry. Since then, she’d been seeing that little floosy from the Libretarian everywhere, even though Dylan had made no comments to the press. She was sure though that he’d probably been involved in the wild mess, and that hotel room looked totally trashed, like a bunch of alcoholics went on a lusty rampage, there was tattered furniture, broken lights. How could she have associated with someone who would do something like that? Even before she was famous, associating with someone like that would have been a Morgan taboo.

That might not have been the only floosy he had that night either. She was probably just the most outspoken. Oh he was such a fraud. She looked out of the window and her eyes rimmed with water.

She’d wanted to believe that someone could genuinely be caring for the sake of that. She’d also wanted to believe that someone could understand her pain about lance. And maybe, perhaps she’d pushed him away by being so hardened, and that was why he found that loose woman so appealing that night at the Liberty.

Khrystine could not help her extra caution though, her thick shell protected her feelings. It took her this far in life. The minute she let someone inside it blew up in her face. It already had.

***

She had not even bothered to look at who else was on the roster to sing at A Call to Arms. Nor did she know how she could find out this information now, but she was sure there were many people she’d used to idolize among them, and now she would be singing with them. What was more, they gave her a line. Only 17 of the 50 performers there had a distinct line in the song, instead of just singing along with the chorus. It meant that she had a recognizable voice, and maybe it meant she was ascending in the ranks.

Khrystine was casually chic in her white silk blouse, unbuttoned to the middle of her cleavage, her black jeans, and white and black leopard print boots. When she arrived at the hotel where she would be staying, a limo was already waiting, and she got wisked away before she even got a chance to check in. She was sure that her assistant would check in for her.

She did vocal warm-ups on the way over. They helped assuage her nervousness, and prepared her in case she didn’t have ample time to warm up. She was running late, behind schedule, and after she’d finished her warm-ups she begged-

“Can you please step on it a little faster sir. I’m late, I just got in from Chicago. This is a big benefit, and I need to get there, speed, do whatever,” added Khrystine with more fear in her voice than a demand.

“Ms. Morgan, I’m stepping on it as fast as I can. I can only go as fast as the traffic in front of me,” added the driver.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just bouncing on the walls and there’s no one here I can talk to,” added Khrystine squaring her shoulders and correcting her posture.

She always corrected her posture, but especially when she was nervous.

“Listen, I saw you on that big MTV thingy. If you do what you did up there, you’ll be fine. What’d they put in lungs like those anyway,” asked the gentleman.

“Aww, thank you. I really couldn’t say. I guess lots of great love songs and a lot of faith. I’m sorry I was jumpy earlier,” added Khrystine.

“Ms. Morgan, it’s okay. You were jumpy, but you weren’t rude. Driving a limo, I get to see everything, believe you me. And here we are. Ever been to the Lyrical Lair,” he asked.

“Never, I’ve always dreamed about recording here though. I cut my last LP at 2:00 AM recording sessions in a tiny booth with a four track mixing deck. I never thought I’d be here,” she added.

He asked for her autograph before she got out of the limo, and she raced into the studio, darted past security without identifying herself and scrambled around the Lyrical Lair building in search of the infamous Studio C.

Studio C was where many classics that she’d loved were cut. And now she was going to record within these hallowed Halls.

There were many different booths in the complex, and by the time she finally found it, she was breathless. She couldn’t just walk in there out of breath and poorly composed. She took a few deep breaths, squared her shoulders, and made a cursory glance down at her attire. Convinced she still looked okay, she glanced down at her watch. She was late, and she knew when she opened the door, all eyes would be on her.

She opened the door to the mixing booth and saw the recording light was on in the glass partition below where the artists were recording. She was so anxious about being late, she didn’t even bother to see who was down there. Hopefully some Gold Tone Artists had been asked to do the single, so she would know someone down there. The studio engineers glanced up in her direction.

“Ms. Morgan, you are late,” said the studio engineer sitting at the mixing boards.

“I know, and I’m sorry. It couldn’t be avoided. I got the first flight in I could from Chicago,” added Khrystine.

“We’ll cut her some slack. We better, the writeup about this has already went to Top 100 radio, they’ll be expecting that voice. You go on down there the next time we have to cut,” added the other engineer.

Khrystine was still to nervous to scan the crowd, but she heard the distinctive voice of Vanessa Miller, a female pop star she’d idolized when she was younger. She had died and gone to heaven, she would be on a track with people she’d only emulated before.

Vanessa goofed on one of the runs, and the sound engineer motioned for Khrystine to go down to the recording area. Opening the glass door slowly she made her entrance, just beginning to scan the crowd.

She saw Cinnamon, and Billz, a rapper from her record label, but everyone was silent. It was embarrassing as though she was a school girl walking into American History class late until Billz whooped.

“Khrystine, Khrystine, you look so clean,” said Billz in his characteristic rap drawl.

She was glad he’d acted happy to see her, because it eased the tension she felt about being late. She also was glad to see Billz, and Cinnamon, familiar faces in a sea of performers whose visages she hadn’t begun to scrutinize. All eyes were on her, the only one late.

“Thanks Billz, I’m glad to be here,” said Khrystine.

“Glad you made it Khrystine I was getting worried,” added Cinnamon.

“I’m glad too. Hello everyone, I’m sorry I’m late, but it couldn’t be helped. They just asked me to be on this single at the last minute, and I had to get a flight in from Chicago,” added Khrystine.

People muttered their hellos aloofly and Khrystine scanned the crowd, waving her hello. Her heart stopped in her throat when she finally reached the last face in the back row closest to the left side of the wall. It was Dylan Taylor. Her stomach felt so queasy that she gently gripped her torso with one hand.

He couldn’t be here. She had hardly expected him to be on this benefit single. After the stunt he’d pulled at the Libertarian, and hearing that bimbo Megan talk about their indiscretion, she was hoping she’d never see him again. And here she was thrown in the midst of him again. At least it was a benefit single, there were fifty musicians here, and she could probably avoid him if necessary. Why did he have to be so handsome, his curly brown hair tied back under a bandana, his open leather jacket doing little to hide his olive muscular chest. She had to force her eyes to look away from his gleaming pectorals even as she loathed him.

She made eye contact with everyone but him, and quickly disappeared into the thick of the crowd to take a space beside Cinnamon and Billz, near the very front of the studio, where the mixing booth was partitioned from the rest of the studio.

Cinnamon put her arm around Khrystine’s shoulders.

“You okay girl? You look sick,” added Khrystine.

“Really I look bad,” shrieked Khrystine softly, combing her fingers through her hair.

“Naw, you don’t look bad. You look like you saw a ghost though,” said Billz.

“Really,” said Khrystine.

“Yeah,” said Cinnamon.

Khrystine consciously relaxed her expression, realizing she’d been looking like a deer caught in headlights, and looked back over at Cinnamon.

“Better?” asked Khrystine.

“Yeah. Don’t be so uptight girl. It’s only music. We know you didn’t mean to be late even if everyone else doesn’t,” added Cinnamon.

Cinnamon had no idea. She wasn’t uptight because she was late, things happened. It was being confronted by that handsome, arrogant, playboy Dylan Taylor without warning that had set her nerves into motion. Could she avoid him? If not what would she saw to him? What would he say to her. Even though she was thrilled to be at the benefit, if she’d known Dylan would be here, she wasn’t sure if she would have accepted the invitation to help. She’d been fairly successful at shaking him from her psyche but she knew her hormones would not be tamed into submission being in such close quarters with handsome Dylan Taylor. Also, deep down, she felt betrayed seeing pictures of that sleazy Megan beginning to pop up all over TV, and in pictures talking about the incident in the Libertarian which may well wind up being one of the biggest court cases of the year.

Khrystine was happy to hear Vanessa Miller begin her vocal riff again, for she knew that it was time to concentrate on singing and that would free her mind of the cognition that Dylan Taylor was 100 feet behind her somewhere in the crowd. She picked up Cinnamon’s sheet music, scanning the lines. She always went someplace else where she sang, into a sphere where nothing else mattered. No one could ruin that, even that irrepressible bad boy Dylan Taylor.

***

- posted by Mahogany @ 4:55 PM