Deep End

♪Jooyeon♬

“So, what? Suddenly, I am unfit to write songs?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Did you not?”

“No one is asking you to stop. Write as much as you want, but we’ll have her on board as well. To simultaneously work on something. You haven’t had a single out in more than a year.”

“So, you do think I can’t write anymore.”

“You know, if that were the case, we wouldn’t be trying at all. It’s easier to just keep you, have you play your old music, get our money and everyone is happy.” On another day, this would have been nothing less than an insult, but given the new proposition, I would be lying if it didn’t sound half appealing. “A little help never hurt anyone, J.” My eyes dart across the room, settling on each band member longer than necessary for them to take my side.

They don’t.

“Enzo’s right, J. Maybe what we need is a fresh pair of ears and eyes.” And what Levi, my bandmate is implying is that I need a fresh pair of ears and eyes because I do most of the production and writing for us. “We’ve been at it for four months now, man.”

“She’s blown up recently and there’s so many people looking to work with her.”

“What’s stopping her?” I snap. Because if she has so many artists looking to work with her, she shouldn’t want to work with a slowly fading, washed-up band like us. “It’s not like I want her.”

“Us, J. That’s what is stopping her.”

“So, she’s in it for the money, and you’re desperate enough to keep paying her?” That makes everything clear, doesn’t it? They’ve had her on a leash, and the only reason someone would be willing to wait the four months we’ve come up with zilch is the dollars. And someone who does music for just the money that comes with it? They are the kind of people I can never see eye to eye with. They will never have the something that I want or need.

“She has been making good music, J. Even before this album with Tara blew up.” He leans forward on the table, keeping his eyes pinned on me and with conviction mutters, “She might just be what you need. I think the two of you will get along very well.”

“What I need is for you to leave my band and I alone, hyung.” The ‘hyung’ feels like a bite, I know it does because I meant it to be and because Enzo actually flinches at the word that was once a sign of affection. “I’d rather just play the music that’s mine instead of having someone make it for me and perform them like I am some puppet.” The look I give my bandmates is meant to be meaningful, one of solidarity against the sheer money-making machine our recording company wants us to be. It is anything but. They look disappointed almost, at my refusal to work with a new producer, as if they don’t trust in my ability to come up with something. “Guys?”

“We don’t have to use her music,” Han starts. “But I don’t see the problem with actually trying. Levi was right, Jooyeon-ah. Maybe what we do need is a fresh set of eyes and ears and to maybe remove the stick outta our ass. We’ve hit a wall, dude. We are just going to have to accept it.” What starts off as a flicker of pain slowly roars into an open flame, agonizing and devastating every part of me, inside and out. “You know she can maybe help us with some of our unfinished stuff that-” I put my hand up, stopping my best friend. He’s said his piece, and I don’t for a second believe there is any going back.

“I won’t-”

“J, the company isn’t asking you. We’re keeping you informed. We’re so over keeping her on our roster, waiting for you to come around. Andante isn’t just your passion project, anymore. There’s too many people involved, too much business that’s at play for us to ignore the fact that if we go any longer without new music, you’ll lose your fucking relevance.”

Andate isn’t mine. Not anymore.

In the entertainment industry, it always helps to keep your head down. The more you comply, the more opportunities you end up with. But this very moment, I can’t keep my head down and so I push myself off the chair, that has it sliding backwards. “So, I guess there really was no need for this meeting then, given that you have everything figured out.”

“She’ll be at the studio tomorrow, and we expect that you guys drop by. To brainstorm, warm up, discuss or do whatever it is that you guys do before writing.” He’s pointedly looking at me even though his pronouns make it sound like he’s addressing the band. It’s directed at me because it appears that the rest of this band is on board about giving up our creative freedom.

I know I’ll be there, not to cooperate but to make it transparent with whoever this music producer is, that I will in fact not be working with her and pray and hope she gets the fucking hint and fucks off like a person with an ounce of dignity.

This is what I do. I’ve sold the better part of my life to the devil just so I get to make music and have other people hear it. It’s all I have and all I know. So, if my company thinks that I’d hand everything over to someone just so they can see a few extra dollars, they haven’t ever been more wrong. And if this is how I go down, then I guess this is it. It’s better than having to give away what’s left of me to someone else and have them do with me as they please.

As I make my way outta the meeting room, Enzo calls after me, “J, you better be there. This isn’t funny.”

♪RJ♬

“I need my laptop, my notebook-” “That stupid penguin pen.” “That stupid penguin- hey!” I turn around, attempting a not-so-glare at my best friend who is standing at the door of my makeshift studio, watching me hop around the things strewn around in the limited space as I gather and stuff my backpack with things I think I might need, with the sole purpose of insulting me. “My pen is not stupid, Remz.”

She obviously eyes the pen stand that’s lopsided with more pens than it is meant to hold. And I? I pointedly ignore her. Remy, then, has a rare moment of being the poster best friend and points at a few stray sheets of music that are under the table. “Don’t you need that?”

One quick look has me gasping, because yes. Yes, I abso-fucking-lutely need that. But instead of picking it up, I waddle over to her, getting all up in her personal space. She flinches but lets me have my way as I hug and exaggeratedly whine, “What would I do without you?” I blink slowly and dramatically for the extra flare.

“Yeah, that’s enough.” But I only nuzzle closer. “Get off me, you puppy!” She slaps my shoulder, but there is no strength in it. Instead, her fingers find my head and give my hair a ruffle. “Without me, you’d probably forget to take your music notes and have no one to call over for an emergency babysitting gig.”

“Hey! Lily really wasn’t available. You know I hate taking advantage of your availability.” Guilt hits me square in the gut, bringing up thoughts that I force down on a daily. Remy is quick to read me like the best friend she is and pulls me into a quick hug. “I am the one with the advantage. Lila is a babe.”

“She is. But, she is not-” “If we are friends and I cannot try and shoulder ten percent of your shit, then, what even is the point?”

“I-”

“Aren’t you late? Do you wanna be late on your first day?” My eyes immediately find the tiny clock sitting dangerously close to the edge of my work table. “Shi--- shirt!” Remy is confused for one tiny second there, before the two of us are looking in the direction of the tiny human wobbling her way into my room, a dino toy clutched tightly in one hand, the other hand precariously trying to grab a handful of air. Remy swoops in a carries her like an airplane and brings her to me, that has Lila giggling in baby. “Heyy!” I plop one wet kiss on my daughter’s cheek that takes her laugh, one octave higher. Such a touch person like her mother.

“Ma-ma-ma,” she babbles, making grabby hands at me, her toothy smile on full display. I run my hands through her thick, dark tresses. “Be a good girl for mama?” Tickling her chin, I begin to make my way out of my studio with my two favourite people right at my heels. “Her schedule’s on the fridge and there is milk in the freezer. I’ve left some apples and the mashed apple recipe she likes on the counter. Her nap time-”

“-is at 3, post lunch milk, and her favourite toys are in the top drawer. Okay, helicopter mom. This isn’t my first rodeo with her, you know?”

I stop rambling. Remy is good with Lila and that’s something I am well aware of. Maybe all this rambling has less to do with Remy’s capacity to take care of my daughter and has more to do with my anxiety. After being on the bench for ages, I’ve finally been called to get this album going. I’ve been dabbling with ideas, with alternative and rock being so much more different from pop and it has me excited and nervous all the same. It is the kind of music I’ve been brought up with, after all. “You’re gonna be good. You always are.” She then looks at the infant in her hands, squirming and playing with her dark hair. “Mama’s always so good, right, Li?” She just claps happily, glad to be included in this conversation and that brings a semblance of relief and momentary relaxation. She sees it too and capitalises on it. “I know your daughter is super adorable but I thought you were running late?”

“Shi..” My eyes widen and I swallow the rest of it. God, it is funny how Lila made me realise what a foul mouth I had. “Anyways,” I dodged that bullet because Li is in the phase where she just mindlessly repeats anything that comes out of our mouths. “I am gonna scoot. You two have fun!”

I walk away only to stop when Remy yells, “Your notes!” I thought I’d put that in? I realise I’ve walked away with just my bag in hand, leaving my entire stack of papers from under the table behind. I grab them, thank my best friend again, before I rush out of my modest apartment in the middle of Los Angeles. The last thing I hear as I enter the elevator is, “And don’t take your vehicle of doom and death.”

~

Reached safely on my vehicle of doom and death, I text Remy before rushing to the studio I was asked to make an appearance at with fifteen minutes to spare. Oof! After some verification at the front desk and with the directions to Studio 101 in hand, I head in that direction. While I’ve been on my Midi and guitar constantly, scribbling away random melodies that pop up in the middle of the night, while I sometimes watch Lila sleep on the baby monitor. Even when you feel prepared, you never really are. I have a ton of ideas, none of which I am confident about, and it makes me anxious knowing that this isn’t any popstar who will leave the entire writing and production to me. Bands are always more involved; they know their vision and more often than not, keep their music production in-house. Which is why when MuLab had come to me asking to co-write for Andante’s next album, I was both pumped and nervous, as I was surprised. Rock bands are a whole other ballgame, and honestly, it keeps me on my toes to think about how receptive they will be to me and my opinions.

Did I mention that they are really, really good? It’s hard to see a young, fresh-faced rock band in the scene that is not limited to the underground festival and pub scene, that is making the waves in the mainstream.

“She hasn’t even started, and are you already making excuses for her?” My shuffling comes to a halt right outside my scheduled studio space, the door unsuspectedly ajar, enough to let the voices come through the other soundproofed space.

“No, I am not and you know it. I am just saying, be kind, play nice. Shouldn’t be that hard, right?” I know that voice. Enzo Kim. He’s been the one in contact with me ever since I agreed to co-write and produce Symphony’s next album.

I know there is some disagreement with the company’s decision to hire me and the band; especially the frontman, J, who does most of their producing, has been strongly against the idea. Honestly, as excited as I am about this opportunity, I hear him and get him.As someone who has been writing most of their music, this could feel like a massive loss of control. The ideas can change, and so can the direction of the music. And, while I am a rockhead at heart, just like my dad and brother, my previous work doesn’t necessarily reflect that. He has nothing to go on, and I don’t blame him for being suspicious and careful. It is his band, after all.

“…And why would I do that?”

“She has some personal stuff going on. I don’t necessarily know where exactly her head is at. I am just saying, she’s talented, so play nice and maybe you’d get another hit album out of this.”

“So, we’re making up for the lack of talent with a sappy, sad story?” I zoned out for a bit there, but I manage to hear the one statement that stings the most, even though it wasn’t really meant for my ears.

“Jooyeon-ah.” So, it is J, who said that. Before he could say more, I knock and walk in.

“Hi.” I am met with two pairs of eyes, one evaluating and the other wide at being caught off-guard.

Enzo immediately schools his face, all business-like and quickly takes two steps to shake my hand. “Ms. Mathews.”

“RJ, please.” I turn to J but am only met with a scowl, a plectrum carelessly tossed in my direction, and a sharp, “You’re late,” that would be almost inaudible if I weren’t standing close enough. As he gathers his bag and his bass, my eyes keep going back to his slight frame and shoulder-length hair, which keeps his expressions and glower that I have a feeling is etched on his face away from me.

Enzo looks at me apologetically and exhales loudly. “No, she’s not.” His frustration is evident in his voice, but it doesn’t look like J gives a flying fuck as he gathers his papers that was strewn across the table with handwritten notes on them.

“She is.” My eyes find the clock in the room—10:31 PM.

“J-”

“You’re right,” I cut in, halting his rushed movements. “I am.” That got him giving me attention for the first time in the five minutes, three of which he spent keeping his back to me. Shrugging, he begins making his way out, and I decide I cannot for my life just let him walk away. “And I don’t expect any concessions just because my personal life sucks. You can treat me just like you’d treat any other colleague.”

“That’s a big ask.” His husky, rich voice is hard to ignore; it kinda reverbs in your head every time he speaks, and it would be such a pleasure if he weren’t using that gorgeous voice of his to say the most annoying things. “I’d have to consider you a colleague for us to get there.” As he swings the door open, the rest of the band start to pile in, confused expressions one after another at their bandmate walking away without another word.

“What is with him?” Levi, the drummer, breaks the silence as Han wordlessly follows after J, but not before giving me a gentle smile followed by a soft ‘excuse me’ that has a tinge of an accent to it.

Enzo loudly sighs, his expression reeking of regret and disappointment. I don’t really have it in me to reassure him because of the mental whiplash I am experiencing at the moment.

My thoughts are cut short when a tall figure appears in front of me, a friendly smile etched on his face. “Hi, I am Hannan Zaqir. I go by Zaq, though.” His hand is stretched out, an expectant expression colouring his strong South Asian features. “Rhiannon Mathews. You can call me RJ, though.”

“Nice to meet you, RJ.” Levi pops us over Zaq’s shoulder, a wide, amused smile on his face that almost makes him look a little unhinged. “And that?” He hooks a thumb over his broad shoulder, “-is Jah.” When Jah hears his name, he sends me a shy wave that I return. I’d read something about him being the legendary rock introvert who transforms mightily whenever he’s in the studio or on stage. He whispers dramatically, “He doesn’t talk much.”

“I hear much, dickhead,” Jah calls him out almost immediately that has me controlling my snort.

“Where are your manners, Jah? We have a lady in the house.”

Elijah rolls his eyes and Levi hops off to annoy his bandmate further, I’m assuming.

“You can laugh, you know?” Zaq pipes in. “We’re nice people with some crack energy, occasionally.” Something in my face must have given my inner thoughts away, because he follows up his previous statement with, “J’s a little unfriendly, but he’ll come around.” When I cock my eyebrows in challenge, he goes all sheepish on me and rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, “-I think?”

“For my sake and yours, I really hope he does.” But, even as I say it, I see this being a long, difficult, wobbly uphill.

Fuck.