Tone Deaf

Chapter Three

I mean, with Rachel, she thinks on the spot. She makes decisions for me based on what she thinks would be helpful now. But we have to think about the later too; we have to think ahead.

Powell seems to read my thought process, because his smile widens. “Why don’t you sleep on it, Kyle? Tell me your answer in the morning.”

“Yeah.” I respond, my mind still elsewhere. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Wonderful!” he exclaims, clapping his hands together and standing up. “Meanwhile, how about I give you a tour of your new label?”

Devon:

I am absolutely exhausted. It is not healthy, nor is it smart, to attempt to write an entire album in a day. I don’t know why I’m trying so hard either. I’ve got six songs done, which is a whole lot more than I had a week ago, and now I’m just stressing myself out trying to write more.

“Dude, chill.” Mike says, his eyes, as usual, trained on his screen. “I can work with this. Don’t strain yourself; the songs won’t sound as good.”

He’s right of course; you can always tell when a song was written purely for the purpose of a song being written; as strange as that sounds.

“Alright, let’s call it a day.” I say, with a sigh. “See you tomorrow?”

Mike actually turns to face me, which in itself emphasizes how serious he is about whatever he’s about to say. “No. You need to go and do something.”

“Huh?” I ask.

“If all you do is work, sleep, and eat, there isn’t going to be anything for you to write about. So go. Catch a flight to Kentucky, go see some friends, go to Disneyland, I don’t give a shit as long as you go and do something that’s not work. Come back on Friday.” He says, and then swivels his chair back around to his mixing table.

I roll my eyes at his back.

“Saw that.” He snaps, meeting my eyes in the reflection of his screen.

“Whatever.” I respond, though I can’t help smiling a little, and leave the studio, starting to head down the hallway.

“This floor is where all the big studio rooms are at,” comes a familiar echoing voice. “Studio A is mainly occupied by Hazel O’Dell, who I’m sure you’re familiar with, and Studio C is a favorite of Devon, who—”

J-Pow cuts off when he sees me standing there.

Shit.

Okay, see, this is exactly why I made such a big deal out of J-Pow signing him. Now everywhere I go, I’m going to keep running into him. He does not belong at Razor. He needs to go back to that stupid indie label he came from.

A condescending little smirk crosses his face when he sees me and I clench my fists. God, I hate him so much.

“Devon!” J-Pow says in surprise, obviously not expecting me to be here. “I thought you left.”

“Kirby’s still here, isn’t he?” I say, in a monotone.

“Well…yes,” J-Pow says, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “But what with your habit of leaving without him, I just assumed—”

“You assumed wrong.” I say.

I swear I’m not usually this mean, but it’s just a bit of a shock, and not a good one at that. After three years of successfully avoiding him at shows and press meetings and etcetera, this is where we finally meet. Right outside my studio.