“Well either way, the segue still needs fixing.” The sight of the terminal distracts me as the plane heads toward the runway.
“But…” Paul goes to speak, but I stop him.
“No, Paul. There are no buts. Get Freddy to fix it. In fact, you know what, I’ll text him myself, seeing as you’re clearly incapable of getting things sorted.” I grab my phone and fire up the message app. “Where are we staying?”
I keep typing while I lock eyes with Paul.
“Brewed has gotten us all rooms at the Essex hotel by Central Park. It’s just down the road from the shoot. The label agreed to put us up there for the remainder of the trip, so we’ll just have one base while in town.”
“Will Christopher be staying there too?”
Paul lets out a sigh and fastens his seatbelt.
“I’m not sure.” His gaze drifts to the window.
Something’s wrong and he’s clearly trying to hide it. Christopher has got to be staying there too, surely.
The G-force pushes against me as the plane takes off from the runway, and I attempt to quell the niggling doubt rising in my mind.
“Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks it’s crazy to be recording a Christmas song when it’s eighty degrees outside,” Freddy says from the mix desk while I dig into a second slice of the pepperoni pizza that Rob brought in.
“I can’t believe I’m even doing this.” I shake my head in disapproval, making myself comfortable on the green couch behind Freddy. A playback of the twelfth take of the second verse blasts out of the speakers built into the wooden wall on either side of the mixing desk.
“What do you think?” Freddy slides down the volume knob and swivels round on his chair to face me.
“Honestly?” I ask, picking at the cheese in my teeth.
Like Freddy doesn’t already know what I think.
“Of course.” A wry smile appears on his face.
“It’s fucking awful,” I laugh. “But if that’s what the label wants, then so be it.”
“But you’re okay with the recording?” he asks. His shoulders tense.
“Oh yeah. You’ve done a solid on the track,” I say. “It’s just not my cup of tequila if you know what I mean.”
Freddy’s shoulders drop and he rolls toward me on the chair, grabbing a slice of pizza.
“And anyway, I’d rather be focusing on sorting that segueissue for Tuesday’s performance.” I stop and ponder a thought. “Did Paul ever email about it, before my message earlier?”
“Not that I recall.” Freddy takes a bite of his slice.
That fucker. I knew Freddy would have worked on it if he’d been asked.
I begin to see red and it has nothing to do with the color of these walls.
“Can we take five?” I ask, already getting up. I grab a third slice of pizza and walk to the door.
If I don’t get outside right now for some fresh air, I’ll end up killing someone.
“Oh, actually, I keep forgetting to say. How come your dialect coach is in town?”
“Dialect coach?” Freddy’s words stop me as I bite into the pizza slice. I’m way too tired, too angry, to be thinking straight right now.
“The one you brought in to listen toStolen Momentswhen we recorded it back in London. He’s staying down the hall from me at the Civilian. What was his name? Christopher?”
I almost choke.
