We make eye contact through the glass and I scowl as I hit the talkback. “You’re not seriously wearing a cowboy hat for this, are you?”
Riff grabs it by the top and adjusts it, then presses his own talkback button. “If I angle it just right, it covers part of my face. I figured that would be a good thing; I wouldn’t want to be too much of a distraction to you while you’re trying to work.” He winks the same way he does in the “Grind My Gears” video.
So much for him apparently telling Charles he wanted to “rebrand” himself. I still don’t understand what that meant—because Riff really doesn’t seem to be averse to this image.
I give him my most saccharine smile. “I’ll put this in country terms so you can be sure to understand: The day I let your smug face distract me from doing my job … will be the day pigs fly.”
He scoffs. “I’m in a recording booth getting ready to sing a romantic ballad withyou, of all people. I think the pigs have already flown … darlin’.”
His drawl on the last word catches me off guard, raising the hair on my forearms.
“Anyway,” he adds flatly, in his normal accent, “the hat’s for the cameras. Braden said I had to look my part.”
“Cameras?”
Stefanie presses the talkback in the control room. “Right. About that …” She looks over her shoulder as a couple of camerapeople start setting up.
My chest tightens. We’re beingfilmed, too?
I would shriek about the lack of warning, but I already know the argument for it.“Better to go in blind.”
“She didn’t tell you?” Riff asks. I want to say his tone is mocking, but it actually sounds almost … appalled. “The label wants behind-the-scenes video. You know, ‘progression of the relationship’ bullshit.”
I keep quiet but flare my nostrils. Our contracts have clauses built into them that say we agree to be filmed in the studio from time to time for documentaries and whatnot. Never did I think it would result in this type of spectacle.
Suddenly my blueberry breakfast scones are threatening to come back up my throat.
Riff gives me an almost-sympathetic look, or maybe it’s solidarity, but I don’t wanteitherfrom someone so excited to ham things up; I’m surprised he’s not wearing spurs.
I sit up straight, shoulders back, and take another deep breath.
Riff removes his hat and puts on his headphones. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to know the origin of “Lip Sync.” He probably thinks the label’s songwriters wrote it. But there’s a good chance he’ll find out it was me eventually.
All the more reason to get through this so we can move on to the next duet. New music helps people forget about old songs, even if they were once popular.
“Alright, love birds.” Kehlani the producer’s voice comes straight into our ears. “Let’s get started. Nice and easy. You guys ready?”
We both stare at her, and neither of us responds.
Kehlani sighs. “Right. Okay. In three … two … one …”
She touches the sound board and plays the instrumental intro for us.
I breathe slowly through my nose while I wait.
The pedal steel guitar. The slow drums.
Cautiously, I come in. “‘I know the music and the words … it’s nothing that I haven’t heard’ …”
I’ve barely completed the next two lines when Kehlani cuts everything and tells me, “Harmony, I’m sorry but I’m going to need it with a little more feeling.”
Morefeeling? The whole reason I didn’t officially submit this song to my team was because these are feelings I specifically didn’t want Riff or the public to know about.
If I make a fuss about it, though, someone is going to suspect something, so I have to be neutral.
I nod.
Leaning closer to my pop filter, I go again, this time louder, and adding some vocal fry. Kehlani lets me get all the way to the chorus, where Riff joins.
