Trent
Crushing my fourth lollipop in my mouth, I smoothed out the lapels of my suit as I paced in front of the tall building downtown. I had trouble sleeping after the insanity of the fundraiser and the outpour of positive comments about my idea for the gym. The negative jabs only proved that I had to try my best for people to feel safe in my future gym.
Still jittery from the three coffees I had this morning, I set thoughts of owning a business aside and let the excitement of watching77 Rotary Roadrecording today set in.
I knew jack shit about music, but I was looking forward to witnessing the magic happen at the studio.
“Whoa, a suit?” Charlie’s voice came from behind me and I pivoted on my heel, nearly dropping the newspaper and magazine in my hand.
“I can pretend I’m your manager.” Making a serious face, I straightened my back. “I wore it to my brother’s wedding last year, so I figured it’s nice enough.”
Charlie kissed me briefly and whispered in my ear: “You’re wearing that tonight, stud.”
Yes!I mentally punched the air. Charlie would make sweating in this uncomfortable outfit worth it.
“Looking professional, Pancake Boy,” Trixie said, rolling up the sleeves of her flannel.
“I have something for you.” Sabrina skipped my way and presented a bracelet with pink, yellow, and blue beads.
I gasped, recognizing the pansexual flag colors. “Wow, thank you.” I touched it to my chest, then slid around my wrist.
“You don’t have to wear it, but I was making some for myself and wanted my closest friends to have them, too.” Sabrina’s left forearm was always decked out in bracelets, leaving her right hand bare.
She’d told me that it was to not bang the bass strings with beads.
She handed an identical one to Charlie, and another with trans colors. He added them to the leather studded cuff on his left wrist.
“I have mine here.” Trixie showed off her lesbian flag-colored bracelet as she passed by us, heading towards the entrance of the building.
We took the elevator to the eighth floor and exited to a lush carpet in a long corridor.
“Trent, you should be able to stay behind the glass and listen.” Charlie touched my arm. “I’ll understand if you get bored and want to talk around or leave. We paid for eight hours and since we practiced most of the songs, we should make it in time.”
“Most? Did you write something new right before the recording?” Trixie crossed her arms.
“Last night.” Charlie repositioned his guitar case to the other hand. “We’ll vote if it’s any good. Let’s start with the set we know.”
In the bright lights of the corridor, Charlie’s eyes looked tired, with dark bags under them, as if he didn’t get any sleep. Was he that worried about today?
“Go rock the socks off this studio.” I grinned and succeeded in making Charlie smile.
“Come on, Cupcake. It may be cramped as we took the smallest studio and paid only for the recording engineer.” Charlie took my hand, and we entered a space with a huge console in front of a glass window, overseeing a space with black foam on the walls and musical equipment. A guy sitting in a rolling chair turned towards us.
“Hi, I’m Charlie and we’re77 Rotary Road,” Charlie said, shaking the guy’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, guys. I’m Dan. The room is yours.” He motioned to the space behind the glass.
For the next forty minutes, I watched the band settle and record the first song several times and redo pieces they weren’t happy with. I swiveled on the chair behind Dan but was ready to do some reconnaissance of the building.
During our late-night chats, Charlie had told me how breaking through in the music industry depended on as much luck as talent. That gave me an idea I was about to test.
I walked from one empty waiting room to another and through corridors on several floors withThe New York Timesin onehand andRolling Stonein the other. Finally, I saw a commotion in an alcove on the tenth floor.
Ah, of course—a working coffee machine in an alcove brought people in. I threw a pod into it and made a brew in a thick paper cup, then sat in an armchair, facing two smartly dressed ladies drinking the same coffee.
A gray-haired dude in chinos and a shirt with a fancy-looking watch on sat next to me and set his briefcase on the floor.
Who carried briefcases anymore?
