Anyway, nobody would be trying to force us to let this feud evolve into a romance if either of us would have let it go sooner.
Richard, one of the producers, pipes up. “We’re planning a second duet for the EP. It’s called ‘Hate to Love.’ You’ll write it together.”
Harmony and I continue to hold each other’s stare, unwilling to flinch at the onset of more tough news.
As they say, it’s time to face the music.
In this case, the music is … our own.
BRADEN:That was brutal.
STEFANIE:But it worked. Have you seen the comments on some of these videos??
BRADEN:I’ve skimmed them, yes. It’s incredible. People are already clamoring for the official recording of “Lip Sync.”
STEFANIE:Told you so!
BRADEN:Griffin’s pissed though. He stormed off and won’t return my calls or answer texts.
STEFANIE:Yeah, I’m getting the silent treatment too. It was a dick move on our part, I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t. They’ll come around, though.
BRADEN: I hope so. What’s next? Studio time, I’m guessing.
STEFANIE:Yes, but just a heads up, we’re bringing in a videographer so we can capture some of the recording process.
BRADEN:You mean so you can capture the open resentment and sexually charged banter.
STEFANIE:Braden … have you been reading up on tropes?
BRADEN:No, but Kinsleigh (one of the PR interns) tried to break it down for me the other day at lunch.
STEFANIE:I feel like it’s going to have that 10 Things I Hate About You energy. “Don't, for one minute, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties.”
BRADEN:Or in The Proposal when Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock’s characters are supposed to be telling their engagementstory but they’re really just not-so-subtly insulting each other while everyone around them visibly cringes.
STEFANIE:One can dream.
You Know We’re on Each Other’s Team
HARMONY
Awallofglasssplits the vocal booth in two—the most distance I could get between me and Riff. He’s not here yet, so I try to get comfortable on my side while I wait.
Apparently Riff was trying to get the producer to let us come into the studio separately, to record our parts on different days and not have to see each other, but … no dice. Luckily they don’t want us in the exact same booth (at least not yet) because they need the vocals isolated to balance the tracks. If we don’t get the “chemistry” just right though, Stef tells me, they might make us try again with nothing but a single condenser mic between us.
I adjust my headphones and take a deep breath.
Is it normal to feel stage fright when I’m not onstage? When there’s no real audience besides managers and sound engineers? God … it’s starting to remind me of when I didLucky Starsand I had to take propranolol an hour before performing.
As much as I hate to admit it, Charles had a point the other night about going in blind to things. With no warning, I didn’t have much time to freak out about performing “Lip Sync” withRiff; I just had to get up and do it, spur of the moment, and deal with what it meant later.
“I just act—I don’t think.”
Now that I’ve had several days to stress out about the recording, about turning my own words about kissing Riff into a thing that will live forever that people can buy and/or stream continuously, it’s putting me on edge.
I can’t believe I agreed to this. Only the thought of getting my masters back keeps me grounded. They’re the one thing from that part of my past I might actually be able to recover. I’ll never look that good or have that kind of energy again, but damn it, Icanget on the path to legally owning my early work.
A few minutes later, Riff strides in wearing a tight blue Henley tee (his arms tan from the perpetual California sun like he’s been out baling hay), distressed jeans, and a white Stetson.
