Chapter 9

9

ELECTRA

T rey gets the wall painted in no time. Then he tidies up a bit, clearing space around the microphones. "I can leave you alone to record and come back in a few hours if you like?"

"Um…" All this time I was so sure I'd need to be totally alone while I recorded the vocals. Now, I want Trey here so I can watch his reaction and get instant feedback. I trust his opinion.

He chuckles. "Obviously I'm curious, and I'd love to stay and watch. But not if it makes you feel weird."

"Maybe we could try it?" I bite my lip. "Actually, it would actually be really helpful if you were my recording engineer."

He looks toward the control room anxiously. "You're not worried I'm going to wreck something?"

I sputter with laughter. "Dude, you already cut a hole in the wall." I wave for him to follow me into the room, and turn on the computer. "This first part is really easy. Look." I open the first song file and wait for everything to load. "The music is already done."

I create two new tracks and name them both, "Main Vocals Take One", adding "Telly" and "Shure58" to differentiate them.

Trey peers at the screen and the clearly labeled tracks. "Guitar…kick drum…keyboards. Okay, this makes sense. Each instrument has its own track. Like Photoshop layers."

"Exactly! So when you hit record"...I point to the button…"the music will play in our headphones, and it will record the vocals on those tracks from the two microphones. You'll pretty much be hitting stop and go when I signal, and creating new tracks for each take."

"That I can do."

"I figured." I take a deep breath. "I just have to walk outside to get focused, and do some last minute vocal warmups. Can you give me fifteen minutes?"

He reaches for my hand. "Electra, I'm honored that you're letting me be part of your process. Take as much time as you need." I love the gentle way he pulls me against him, the way our kiss turns immediately to fire. Our bodies fit together perfectly as I press into his chest, his hand gliding down my back to grab my ass.

It's not just the way Trey touches me, caressing my hips and tilting me against him. It's the way he notices my breathing quickening. The way he reads my responses and anticipates what I want.

I've never had anyone pay so much attention to my needs. I've always been an afterthought, or used as an example. "The daughter of star musicians" or "our darling little girl" or "the radiant young lady who is proof of stellar parenting."

Trey sees me for me . It's intoxicating.

The kiss deepens as I breathe him in, my fingers gripping his shoulders and my breasts pressing snugly against him until I hear a throaty groan in the back of his throat.

He pushes me away far too soon. "Focus. Go do your thing. I'll be your assistant now. It's your turn to work."

My glower melts into a grin. "Thanks."

I go outside and pace in slow circles around the yard, doing my breathwork, trying my best to remain calm. Recording in a real professional studio is exciting, even if I've been around them since birth. Because this time it's about my music. My voice. The things I have to say.

Once my lungs and shoulders feel loose enough, I start to wake up my face and stretch my vocal range. Normally I'd be self-conscious, worried that someone might hear me as I make my crazy trills and whoops. But not today.

My pacing brings me to the end of the yard, where I do exercises ranging from a grinding nasal tone to an impression of a French doorbell. The more I sink into the ritual of the warmup, the more grounded I feel.

At the same time, though, the back of my mind spins. Trey is so amazing to me. Will meeting my parents break the spell? They'll either dismiss him because he's not what they want for me, or, nauseatingly, they'll try to spin it for their benefit.

I can just see my mother's imagined headlines: "Daughter of rock star couple seen canoodling with local electrician". "Star musicians' daughter seeks normal life in the arms of average blue collar Joe".

Gross.

After one more lap around the backyard, I realize that I'm no longer warming up but stalling. Three more deep breaths, then I roll my shoulders back and march inside.

Trey has set up a makeshift coffee table out of two road cases beside the microphones. "I googled what people are supposed to sip when they're singing. So today for the lady we've got an amusing assortment of hot water with lemon, room temperature water with peppermint, and whiskey." His grin is positively adorable. "Apparently the alcohol clears the vocal cords or something."

"I'll go with the lemon water to start, but thank you so much for playing bartender."

We review the recording procedure again, check our headphone volume levels, then I get in position in front of the microphone.

I shake everything out, then meet Trey's eyes through the glass and nod.

He starts the track and I let the intro of the first song wash over me. Then I open my mouth and just sing .

My eyes fall shut, and I am consumed by the lyrics I wrote several months ago.

The song starts off describing a baby bird finding its way out of the nest because it needs to learn how to fly. Pretty cliché, I'll admit. But then it takes a quick turn as the bird sneaks off and learns to do intricate flying tricks that their parents could never have imagined.

The young bird swoops down to caves deep in the Earth, up to the hill tops, and everywhere in between. It's kind of nice to know that the nest is always going to be there, but they can't imagine ever wanting to come back to such a small space.

When the song ends, Trey nods. Then he presses the button on his talkback mic. "Okay, I've saved that. Another take, or the next song?"

"Another take, please." The first version was good, but now that I've felt myself sing it at top volume, I want another chance.

Sure enough, the second take is better.

I do two takes each with the next three songs, and each time the second version feels a little freer.

All the while, I can feel Trey's energy in the next room. Someone who was a perfect stranger just the other day, and now I feel so close to him. Even with the plexiglass that separates the recording booth from the studio, it feels like we're connected by a tether that runs from his heart to mine, just like the electrical wires running all through the walls of a house that you never see.

Singing in front of him is incredible, and the wildest part is that there's zero self-consciousness. It's a completely free emotional outpouring that I've never experienced before.

I feel like I've been reborn. Or maybe it's just that I'm flying from the sensation of falling in love with such a caring man, who also has the patience to be my perfect recording engineer.

If I can just get over my mental block about having a boyfriend that everyone is going to analyze, he's going to be an incredible partner for me.