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WHEN I FIRST SIT DOWN, I hear Erik shout over the band, “No, no, no, stop! It’s not right. Start again.”
Gill rips out a scorching riff on his guitar to release his frustration. He’s on his acoustic, so it comes off a bit stilted; I can hear the band members groan.
“Come on then, let’s get it right,” Erik says. “These tracks won’t record themselves.” He’s trying to sound cheerful, but I am sensing from my perch on the bottom of the stairs that the guys aren’t taking it that way. This is nothing like that afternoon I’d spent watching Keith record the wind-chime song. The tension in the studio is stifling.
The band members grumble and start the song again. First, I hear Jeff tap out four beats on his drum sticks. Then Ben starts to sing, “She says I’m an asshole, but I know she wants me anyway.”
My breath catches in my throat; I clamp my hand over my mouth. Unbelievable! Is this seriously about me? But the song feels all wrong. It’s too slow, too mellow. Why is Gill on the acoustic? The bass line is soft and fluid, almost jazzy. I hear Erik pipe up, and they stop again. Is this really what their process is like? There’s no way in hell they’re going to finish this album, ever, at this rate.
“The feeling of this song is all wrong,” Erik says “Is this a fucking love song, or is it a ‘she doesn’t want me, so she can bugger off’ kind of song? If it’s the latter, then it needs to be faster and a bit bluesy. Not this lame, fluffy love bullshit. We need to re-work this one. Gill, get on your electric guitar.”
I listen as Jeff taps out four beats again, this time faster. Gill plays the same riff on his electric but faster. Keith’s bass line booms, sounding like a loose rubber band bouncing along to the beat. Ben puts on a raspy voice and sings about a man chasing a woman who says she’s not interested but is clearly a tease. I brace my hand over my forehead and wince: is this how Keith perceives me? I am being made to look like a tease. This is bullshit. Man, what if Tim hears this?
Toni appears on the stairs beside me and raises her eyebrows. “Eavesdropping?” She smiles. I stammer in response. “Don’t take the song too personally, Brenda. It’s part of the creative process, and we often have to take liberties with our situation to make the song come out right.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“The story of a man chasing a woman is an age-old rock-and-roll story. And, of course, the man is going to call her a tease, because every man wants to think that, if she’s not going to return the affection. It’s not personal, Brenda.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not taking it personally,” I lie. Of course I’m taking it personally. Keith wrote a song for me; and it’s a song about wooing me. My heart leaps with excitement. Someday, millions of people will hear that song, and they’re going to wish that they were me. They might not know that the song was inspired by Brenda Dunkirk. But I will. When Hydra moved into the house, I never expected Keith to write a song for me. I expected that I would, in a way, help them to produce a great album. But having a whole song just for me is way better.
“So, are you just going to sit here on the steps, or do you want to come in?” Toni asks.
“Uh, I don’t think I should go in there if they’re working on this song right now. I just came here because I wanted to know how far along they are. I keep hearing that this could take months. I want to know if that’s true.”
“It’s too soon to tell, love.” And for the first time, I really believe her. If Erik keeps stopping them every few minutes, how long will it take to finish just this one song?
Right now it doesn’t really matter how long it’ll take. Tim won’t hear me out, whether it takes a day or a month, anyway. And if Keith is getting over his writer’s block by writing songs about me, then who am I to complain, right? So long as he’s writing.