“It sounds like a dance song,” I told him with a smile, shaking my head.
Placing his guitar on the couch beside him, Nick grinned up at me before standing up. “That’s the point,” he assured me, grabbing me by both hands and dragging my body towards his.
Giving a loud laugh, I allowed him to tug me to him, and wrapped my arms around his waist easily as he began to sway slightly. There was no music, but that was alright as he slipped his hands into the back pockets of my jeans. Relaxing against him, my body went almost limp as I rested my cheek against his.
After a long moment, Nick spoke up, “Well, I think it might be the point.”
Chuckling, I pressed my lips against his clean shaven cheek and pulled away so I could meet his eyes. “What do you want the song to be?”
He shrugged, his light blue eyes crinkling slightly in thought. “I’m not quite sure.”
Letting my thoughts linger back to the song he’d played for me, I moved forward and dug my fingers into his hair before pressing my lips to his. The response was immediate, he put his hands on my waist and dragged me closer and that warm feeling in the pit of my stomach grew substantially.
It was I that pulled away, and I sent him a cheeky grin before pulling away and heading away from his sitting room and into the kitchen.
Opening the fridge, I instantly began to search through for something to drink. There wasn’t much selection except water, milk and orange juice, but I knew where there was more, so I closed the fridge and opened the cupboard right beside it. Nick wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but the taste had grown on me over the years and he always kept a pack in the cupboard for me.
The warm beer always reminded me of England. I did love England, the times I’d gone there had been full of warm beer, laughter and music. Kind of like this one. And to be honest, I was liking it… I liked it a lot.
“There’s nothing wrong with a dance song,” I called out to where he was still in the living room, popping the lid into the trash and taking a sip of the yeasty drink, heading back in his direction. When he came into sight, I found Nick sitting on the armchair, his guitar back in his hands. As if to prove my point, I began to sing as I danced into the room. “Swing swing up and down. Turn turn turn around. Round round round and about and over again. Gun gun son of a gun. You are the only one. And no one else can take my place.”
Sliding in beside him in the armchair, I took another sip of the drink as our sides were pressed together in the small space. “Nirvana did a cover of that Vaselines song,” I informed him, “They put it on Insecticide.”
“Who are The Vaselines?” questioned he, looking up from the guitar.
Rolling my eyes, I tipped my head up to look at the ceiling. “They’re from Scotland, and they’re awesome,” I answered simply.
Nick gave a laugh at my pointed reply, placing a hand high up on my inner thigh in order to gain my attention and causing me to look down to him. “You’re acting really happy,” he told me, a hesitant smile on his mouth, “Why? Not that I don’t like it and that you don’t act happy most of the time, but sometimes…”
For a moment I stared at him, a frown puckering between my brows, yet then I turned my gaze away and took a long gulp of the beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied before meeting his eyes again.
The smile on his face was no longer hesitant as he asked, “You staying over tonight?”
Feeling more relaxed that the conversation had turned away from the dangerous subject; I gripped the guitar, placing it carefully on the ground before shifting our positions. “Most definitely,” I said.
To be honest, I was happier. I felt better when I woke up next to Nick every morning.
That’s not to say that I was magically better. If you looked at it in a whole, my tiny amount of happiness wasn’t anything substantial. That didn’t mean that I was able to write.
The only time I felt any different was around Nicholas, and that was why he was noticing. I’d always felt better around him, but now it was as if there was a weight off my shoulders. I didn’t have guilt plaguing my stomach every time I looked at him, knowing where my thoughts were and having a sick suspicion that I was using him for my own purposes. Now it was back to that light heartedness that had happened when he’d first asked me out on a date and we went and drank wine in a French restaurant.
But the rest of the time?
It wasn’t always that great…
“Time to join the living, Toby,” I called in a sing song voice after taking a sip of my coffee.
Chuckling, Jay ducked his head where he stood in front of the oven, stirring the scrambled eggs in sweatpants and a baggy tank.
On the other hand, Toby wasn’t as happy-go-lucky as his husband, and with his hair sticking up in random directions so opposed to his usual slicked back style to go with his harried eyes, he looked every bit a grumpy man who had woke up on the wrong side of the bed in his silk pyjamas.
“Shut up, psychotic egotistical rock stars aren’t allowed to make comments this early in the morning,” he muttered, dropping wearily in the chair beside me that made up the breakfast bar.
“Ouch,” I muttered, hiding my smirk behind my large coffee mug as I shared an amused look with Jay. Unable to stop myself from teasing, I raised my eyebrows and looked at Toby. “What were you two up to last night to make you like this?”
Without missing a moment, Toby sent me a narrowed eyed expression and replied, “Having better sex than you.”
Instantly I laughed loudly, and saw Jay send his husband an embarrassed look. It was a wonder that the guy could even feel embarrassed around me anymore, especially on the topic of sex. Hell, my sex life had been up for public discussion for years. And I’d never done anything to hide my opinions about it. To be honest, sex had always been a popular subject for song writing with me and people always liked to question me about it.
“Still sharp as a knife,” I congratulated him.
He spared me half a smile, and clapped the hand I had held up for a high five. “What are you doing here anyways?” Toby questioned, apparently getting more human like with the passing moments. I don’t think the coffee Jay provided him with hurt either.
I gave a shrug, thanking Jay as he placed a plate of scrambled eggs with toast in front of me. “I just got home to get a change of clothes and I got forced into eating some culinary disaster,” I joked sarcastically.
Toby was suddenly more focused on the food that Jay put in front of him, and didn’t bother answering me.
It was Jay who actually spoke up, in that calming deep voice as he took up a seat beside his husband with his own plate of food, though I knew he preferred simply coffee for breakfast. “You seem happy,” he told me with a frown.
Rolling my eyes, I replied, “Just give me some time.”
“Ah, optimism is so refreshing this early in the morning,” Toby said sardonically, his mouth full of eggs as he did so.
Frowning at him, he usually had impeccable manners – the mornings seemed to wash those away – I shook my head and hurriedly scooped my eggs into my mouth, looking at the time on the clock.
“I’ve got to go,” I told them apologetically, wiping my mouth with a napkin and bunching it up to toss it in the garbage can. Unsurprisingly I missed and had to walk closer to get it in the can.
Jay was sending me a concerned expression, and said, “You only ate half your eggs.”
“They were amazing,” I assured him, “But I need to be in the studio soon to set up.”
Toby seemed to have no problem with the fact I hadn’t ate my eggs, because he had already taken my plate and was piling them on his.
Pressing a kiss to both of their cheeks, I grabbed my bag and headed across the hallway just to grab my acoustic that was sitting inside the door and then hastening down to the stairs to get to the studio.
It was getting chillier with every day that breached further into fall, making me bundle up slightly with my jeans, long sleeved white shirt that had made me pull on a scarf to hide away my skin which was shown by the v-neck and a leather jacket. Still, this was nothing; I’d spent many winters in New York. It got much colder than this when the days were even shorter and darker.
I stopped on my way to grab a coffee, but that was the only thing, staring around as I made my way straight there. I used to walk these streets, hands stuffed in my pockets without seeing a thing as I began to think of lines in my head or fixing lyrics. When chaos surrounds me, I always found I liked to either be right in the thick of it or find a quiet space, even if it was just in my own head.
Letting out a breath that I was grateful to see didn’t crystalize in the air in front of me quite yet – I was going to desperately miss the summer, drinking beer in the sunshine, festivals, beaches and the sunshine.
Since it was almost noon the studio had been busy with activity for hours, and I had no need to use my key to get through the doors, just shoved it open, careful of my guitar.
The moment I stepped through the doorway, I felt the eyes train on me and my jaw tighten instantly, holding my chin up boldly. Moving through the entrance where people were either lounging about and took the time to stare or having slowed down in order to look at me. It would probably be a disconcerting feeling for everyone else, but I’d grown used to this over the years. It was like second nature.
People pretended to be on your side when you were going through something whether it was a life destroying moment or just a little down time, but they never were. It was that simple. They always were there, but they were there with the hopes that they would get a front view seat of self-destruction or a meltdown.
It was time like these I really wished I hadn’t quite smoking.
Meeting their eyes without any emotion on my part, I pushed through them, trying to get to my studio as quickly as possible without making it seem like I was running. And at the same time I wondered if this was all in my head…
What if no one really gave a shit about what I was doing or what I acted like? That they never watched me for longer than a sidelong glance, and this reaction and suspicion in my head was growing out of nothing more than my own paranoia. I probably wasn’t even relevant anymore, anyways. No one really gave a shit about me, how long had it been since my last album?
I didn’t know what scared me more.
Being important or no longer being relevant.
It made me want to rip out my hair and scream until my voice was gone.
However the moment I was in the stairway, I heard the door close behind me with a snap and I sprinted down into the large basement studio. I thought the moment I was in there, I’d let that scream out, knowing it was soundproof down there.
But I didn’t, because that terror that had clogged my throat and clouded my gaze suddenly stilled for a moment. The room was as dark as ever, the only light coming from the red lights flashing on the recording equipment, giving enough of a glare to see the instruments shining from within the recording area.
“Yeah,” I muttered slowly, placing my guitar on the ground and dropping my bag onto the table.
First thing I did was attach my laptop to the board, knowing that we were recording purely in a digital format – though I did miss recording on tape. And therefore, I successfully tapped my laptop into the speaker system.
Before beginning to set up for the recording we were supposed to do, I wanted each of the boys to record their instrumental parts for one of the songs, I brought up the music I had saved onto the computer. After a short deliberation, I clicked on an entire genre. Skimming over everything else, I turned on my jazz playlist.
Almost a whole hour later found me with the music having turned up to a volume where it was pulsating about the room around me, doing the final finishing touches on the board. I was likely to change it as inspiration hit while the guys were actually recording, but for now I had a pretty good idea what would work for the song in mind.
When a hand pressed onto my shoulder, warming through the thin fabric of my long sleeved shirt, I wasn’t surprised at all. The touch was so familiar.
Smiling, I leaned into the pressure when Nick’s lips pressed against my cheek in greeting.
“Hey,” I murmured, closing my eyes.
“Good morning,” he whispered back.
Chuckling, I opened my eyes and tipped my head back so I could see his shining blue ones. “Good afternoon, sweetheart.”
“Same thing,” Nick retorted.
Rolling my eyes, I greeted the rest of the boys who had trailed in behind him before leaning over the board. I hadn’t even thought to turn down the music while I finished setting up the board since they still needed to get themselves organized. I was thinking of calling up their old producers to be honest to see how they had dealt with these boys, they were acting like total recording virgins.
Well, I hadn’t thought about turning it down until I heard someone’s voice from behind me.
“What are you? Like ten thousand years old?” questioned Ben, making me glance in his direction. “Who even listens to this music?”
I blinked back at him, my ears instantly tuning into the Ray Charles’ song that was flooding around us, the surprise that another musician could dismiss someone like that genius made my stomach feel sick. “You could learn something from him,” I snapped, stepping up from the board.
Ben just snorted, muttering, “I bet.”
“I don’t think anyone that plays music like you,” I started, my voice nastily condescending. I wasn’t consciously thinking what I was saying, it just came out. “Has any right to talk about an artist, who pioneered soul music, you don’t even know what soul is, Benji.”
When the boy just appeared taken aback by my sudden show of emotion, I glanced around at the rest of the band, the realization I’d just had a go at all of them. They were all shifting awkwardly in their shoes, sharing confused glances. I couldn’t decide if I thought they were confused because I suddenly had stood up for something around them instead of just letting it glide by or because I’d practically told Ben that their music was crap, though in more words than that.
Closing my eyes, I rubbed the ends of my fingers over my temples. I don’t know why that always happened. Most of the time I was quite subdued when I was offstage, but something would rub me the wrong way and for some reason I didn’t even have the peace of mind to keep my mouth shut. I just had a bad habit of letting things slip from my mouth that should really stay in my mind.
I really was not a good person for crowd control.
I was more the riot inducer.
“Why don’t you guys go in and warm up?” I suggested, though we all knew there was no discussion in the matter. “Run through Here Now a few times, get a feel for how you want to do the song and we’ll start recording it.”
Agreeably the boys moved through into the studio without complaint, heading towards their positions.
And I, with a sigh, dropped down into my chair to watch them as they immediately got down to business.
When I’d first met these guys again, I’d known they’d all been a bit intimidated of me. Even Nick had been, though he’d been the best at hiding it. They’d all asked for my autograph nervously and even started questioning me about my past, which had been the first sign to me learning who their favourite band was.
In the years that had passed since then, I’d worked so hard to make them not so shy around me. And besides Nicholas and Benjamin, they all remained slightly apprehensive around me. Not necessarily scared, but at the same time they weren’t quite willing to be vocal on their own opinions of things around me, instead opting to listening and then agreeing immediately to whatever I said. It kind of got on my nerves.
Now I was afraid I might have managed to undo all that work with some sharp words.
I just didn’t like arrogance… well, that wasn’t true. I could be arrogant, and there were certain people I’d appreciated it on. But it had to be well deserved.
Four hours later, I was sitting in the sound booth with all of the band exception of Marcus who was the one in the studio doing the keyboard track. Nick was sitting to one side of me while Ben was on the other side, Jackson and Dan were sitting behind us at the table playing a game of what I believed was go fish.
If I was truthful, I thought I was the only one who was actually paying attention to Marcus. Nick was putting on a good show, but I knew him well enough to know he was bored, I could see his eyes darting about. And there was no doubt Benjamin was bored, he was making his sentiments quite known, crossing his arms with great self-suffering sighs and staring up at the ceiling.
They might have reason to, this was about the twenty-fifth take I’d forced Marcus into. But I had to keep beating them into giving me something more than they were willing, because nothing they did at the beginning was worth shit.
Half of the time the takes that I kept for them, if they’d been for my album I would have thrown them out.
“Again,” I ordered when he finished the track, looking up at me with hopeful eyes. From my side I heard Ben’s annoyed huff, but I refused to acknowledge it at all. Any friendly relationship we’d had over the past years seemed to be vanishing fast. “Try hurrying up the tempo just slightly through the hook.”
However when he started to play, I instantly knew that it wasn’t going to be the one, but I didn’t bother stopping him. Instead I held back a groan, leaning my forearms against the board as I leaned forward.
As he ran through the song, I frowned when my pocket started to vibrate, Hüsker Dü’s song Broken Home, Broken Heart ringing out loudly even over Marcus’ song, though he didn’t hear a thing on that side of the glass. Pulling my cell out of my pocket, the frown deepened when I realized that it was Mark.
For a moment I pondered just ignoring it. I mean, talking to Mark wasn’t something I enjoyed. But it was something to distract me from what was going on in my studio.
Answering the call, I pressed it to my ear and greeted with a simple, “Hey.” But when Marcus quit playing, I told him, “Again.”
I could feel both Ben and Nick’s eyes on me, I wasn’t sure for the others, but I ignored them steadfastly. “So what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked the man on the other line of the phone, crossing an arm over my stomach as I leaned back in the chair.
His voice was annoyed when he replied, “Why do I put up with you?”
“Ah, it’s the cheap hookers and cocaine,” I countered instantly.
That time I knew for a fact I had all the eyes in the sound booth on me, but I ignored it again. After all the time I’d spent around them, they should be used to it. And if they weren’t? Well, they should learn pretty damn quick.
I would have bet anything that Mark rolled his eyes on the other end of the line before he responded, “I have good news for you.”
“You’re sending the cheap hookers and cocaine to me?” I mocked.
“Keely,” he said with an exasperated sigh, “Grow up.”
“Punk rockers never grow up,” I informed him. “We just stay obnoxious, annoying, arrogant little jack asses.”
Mark returned snottily, “I can tell.”
Laughing, I shook my head, letting it roll off me easily. I’d gotten this far from being a little talented, very hard headed and one hundred percent obnoxious; that was just the truth. “Do it again,” I cut into the studio, telling Marcus even with the phone still on my ear. “So, let’s cut the bullshit, what do you want Mark?”
“I won’t wait on the ceremony for you,” Mark replied pointedly. “But I just got word from IMA that in the award show this year you’re up for female performer of the year, you’ve got the three albums you produced all going up for awards, between them it’s about nine awards or something altogether, I don’t want to list them. And they’re adding a new award this year.”
Smirking smugly, I leaned over the board, reaching across to twirl a knob. “Oh yeah,” I forced my voice to be nonchalant, though I was getting giddy that those albums I’d worked with were going up for awards at IMA, it was one of the most prestigious musical award shows.. And, not to mention, I was up for female performer of the year again. “What’s that?”
“It’s an award that they’ve got for exceptional contributions to music over the past decade.”
Frowning, I straightened in my chair. “… why do I need to know about that?” I asked him slowly.
In a pointedly ‘duh’ tone, Mark replied, “Because you’re one of the artists up for it.”
The line between my brows deepened as I argued, “But I haven’t even been making music for ten years.”
“Oh, just take the award.”
“But it doesn’t make sense.”
“Get over it.”
“I hate you,” I told him emotionlessly, “And it still doesn’t make sense. Who else is up for the award?”
Mark didn’t seem all too fussed over my proclamation, though I wouldn’t say that surprised me. I seemed to tell him that I believed him to be one of the lowest life forms on earth whenever we spoke. Anyone who knew me knew that the only reason I kept him around was the fact I was tied into a contract. Thank god it was coming to an end in the coming months or else I think we’d kill each other.
Without even a note of insult in his voice, he returned, “They’re not releasing the names yet.”
Letting out a breath of frustration, I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll see you around.”
“Wait!” Mark exclaimed, just barely gaining my attention. For a moment I pondered just hanging up anyways, but decided against it at the last minute. “You never told me which dress you wanted for the movie premiere tonight.”
Glancing to the side, I caught Nick’s eye and he sent me a short grin that crinkled the skin around his eyes. Lightly I bit the bottom of my lip, looking straight forward towards Marcus. Nick and the entire band hadn’t been invited to the premiere of whatever movie it was this week, and at the moment I really couldn’t be bothered to glam up for any of that bullshit. It made me feel like the made-up people would rub off their artifice off on me, especially when I had no one else with me.
To be honest, there was no doubt that Nick could come with me. But that didn’t make me want to go, though I’m pretty sure he’d be excited had I told him, which didn’t make me feel exactly like a good person yet at the moment I was far from caring. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and I was sure going there would hurt me so much mentally I would feel it on a physical plain.
With all those thoughts going through my head lately, I was sure if I went to a movie premiere I’d start strangling the people snapping photos and screaming out questions.
“Not going,” I told him shortly, finally hanging up.
The moment I hung up I focused my entire attention upon the pianist in the recording studio, but I only had to listen to the final bar to make up my mind about this take. “Again,” I ordered with my hand on the intercom.
Throughout the day I got multiple phone calls and a few panicked texts from Mark, but I ignored them easily. I told him my decision, and he should know that when my mind was sure, there was no convincing me otherwise, unless you gave me a bombproof explanation as to why I was wrong. And in this instance, there was no reason someone could come up with a reasonable argument as to why I should go to a movie premiere.
I’d deal with cameras another time, for a more important reason. I had to save up my camera dealings, I wasn’t sure I had patience for many more before I snapped and started throwing punches at them. There was a music festival coming up pretty fast that was being televised worldwide with the biggest names in music, the proceeds going to a humanitarian effort to help the famine through Africa. I’d been asked to headline that one, and surely I’d have many cameras on me, but that was a something I was quite willing to deal with the press and media influence for.
So instead of sucking it up and heading out to a movie premiere that was so against those punk rock principles that I couldn’t get rid of even though I didn’t fully agree with, I spent it watching movies at Nick’s apartment.
Such a normal non-rock star way to spend a Saturday night.
It was lovely.
I wasn’t half way across the country, I wasn’t being dragged along a red carpet, I wasn’t being stalked by the paparazzi, I wasn’t playing a sold out stadium or performing in a grungy club, I wasn’t inducing riots or contemplating running away. I was just watching a John Hughes marathon on television while curled against my boyfriend.
Hell, this was how most twenty-six year olds should be spending their night, well, maybe not a Saturday, but the sentiment remained.
A long time ago, someone had said something to me, a person I hadn’t seen for almost six years since he’d died of a drug overdose. “I’m twenty five, in this business that is old; it can tear you to pieces if you’re not ready for it.”Tyler Collins had told me that all those years ago, and it had torn him apart. It had torn all of us apart. He’d died just months after Marissa, another drug overdose.
I was a year older than he’d been then, and, god, did I feel fucking old. I’d been lucky enough to see things that rare other people my age – or any age for that matter – got to see, but sometimes I wasn’t sure if it was enough. Enough to have worked for so much in my life towards musical respect yet be stuck in a studio where no one was coming in with a passion anymore.
But it was moments like this when I could close my eyes, and even though I felt achy and elderly, I was still nothing more than a fucking kid.
While Molly Ringwald was living through an embarrassing not so sweet sixteen after having just found love in the bad boy in the last movie, I closed my eyes, my head leaning against Nick’s shoulder as we huddled on the couch, our hands intertwined.
“Keely?” he questioned, his voice low even as the television blared in the background.
I mumbled a response, not having the energy to actually create a true response to him. This was my first stress free night in a long time, though the day had been stressful enough, and I didn’t want to do anything at all. No deep conversations, no moving proclamations, no cuteness. Just nothing would be nice, thank you.
Apparently that wasn’t in the cards, because he shifted underneath me, finally making me open my eyes and sit up, supporting myself.
“What?” I said in an incomprehensible mumble, rubbing my eyes. It wasn’t bright in the apartment, having turned off all the lights in the place meant the only light came from the television.
He was frowning slightly at me, looking serious which sent shivers running up my spine. I didn’t like when he was serious, it always sent me into a full fledge fight or flight response. Things had been going so well over the past few weeks, well, besides the studio and I was sure I would be coming to verbal blows with Ben over the guitar track he was to record for tomorrow, but for now couldn’t things just go right?
Why couldn’t anything ever go right?
A part of me was screaming at me that I was overthinking and being way too insecure, but I couldn’t help it.
“You love me, right?” he questioned.
That wasn’t a question I’d readied myself for, I’d expected something completely different, something that I’d heard before but now refused to think about. There wasn’t even a flicker of doubt in my voice when I answered, “Yes.”
Nick nodded slowly, his eyes searching my face. “And we spend pretty much every night here when we’re both in town, right?”
Okay, cue the confused expression. “Yes…” I repeated, but this time there was a question.
I had no idea where he was going with this.
For a moment he stared at me, a nervous look coming onto his face.
“Come on,” I blurted out, smacking him lightly in the shoulder. “Just say it, whatever it is. The suspense is killing me,” I informed him dramatically, placing a hand on my forehead for effect.
Grinning, he took my hand away from my forehead; pressing a kiss against the back of it and making me smile in response. Alright, it couldn’t be that bad if he was acting like this. I knew bad, this wasn’t it.
“Move in,” he said simply.
All emotion slid from my face, leaving me gaping across at him open mouthed. “What?”
“Move in,” Nick repeated without pause, his eyes shining. “You spend all your time here, you love me, I love you, we’ve been dating for two years that’s a long time, Keely. Move in.”
Okay, I was completely wrong. This was bad.
I didn’t even know what to say as I stared at him, my entire body tensing and wanting to run out right away. Move in?
Thankfully before I could say something incredible stupid, which I was known for or sprinting out of the room, my cellphone started blaring in my pocket. With a sigh of relief, the gaze that he’d held finally broke as I dropped my eyes to grab the phone.
He put his hand out, murmuring words that I didn’t hear, but gathered were to stop me; I just pushed his hand away and answered the phone without looking at the caller.
“Hello,” I greeted, staring at the television without seeing a thing.
“Ms Staub?”
This time it was just the voice that froze me, and all thoughts from the tense studio to Nick’s words or the movie fled from my mind. That wasn’t something I’d been expecting. Why was it every time I was getting somewhere, moving on with my life, something happened to drag me back into the past?
Fuck. I shouldn’t have answered the mother fucking phone call.
Running a shaky hand through my hair, I answered in a strong voice that was so opposed from what I felt like. “You can call me Keely, Tami,” I told the elderly woman who I could clearly see sitting behind a desk with her perfect hair and toothy smile, “I’ve known you since I was eighteen.”
There was a tinge of regret in her voice that I didn’t understand when she replied, “Hey Keely.”
Not bothering to hold on ceremony for her, she’d seen some rather questionable moments over the years, I asked quite clearly, “Why the hell are you calling me? Not to be rude or anything, but when Maureen was trying to get a hold of me she didn’t go through you, and she’s out of town now. So what does UAE want with me now?”
“Jordan thought it would be appropriate if I gave you a phone call,” she began, and my blood went ice cold.
What the fuck would Jordan need with me? Yeah, Maureen had told me that he was going to run UAE Records while she was on her sabbatical, but that meant nothing to me. I wasn’t tied to that label at all.
My voice lowered substantially as I returned, “Why?”
“UAE Records,” she began in a business like voice, “Is putting The Spares catalog up for auction.”