Author's Note: Here you guys go. Yet another chapter and lead in to some upcoming drama. Let us know what you think. Smiles and hugs. Angel422 and on.the.edge.x
The next morning…
I walked into the studio the next day more than a little uneasy about the events that had transpired the night before—ecstatic because I hadn't had that much fun since…well just since, but also a little perturbed over the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about him now. It was as if some alien life form had inserted itself into my skin and taken residence. That should scare me, right? Instead it made me feel almost reborn—like I had shed inhibitions I hadn't realized I had. God, what a headache this was all giving me! I shook my head as I walked into the recording room—almost spilling the coffee I had balanced precariously in my hand as I looked up. Jesus!
"Spied!" I exclaimed as I looked first at him and then at the open door behind me. Okay, I will note that I probably shouldn't have acted so…unsure. What the hell was I doing? He was my boyfriend for God's sake—not a hit man paid to take my life. Ahhhh, and then realization hit as I came to terms with the emotion that was really predominating my actions—guilt. Pure, unadulterated guilt. Spied grinned.
"Hey there sunshine! You surprised to see me?" He asked as he patted his shirt in order to indicate himself. I smiled haltingly. Surprised didn't cover it. Tore up, unsure, maybe a little antsy…yeah, now that covered it. Spied's smile began to slip, and I shook my head while walking toward him as if to reassure him that I really was glad to see him. Until it hit me that I wasn't the one he was frowning so hard at. Oh, come on! Why couldn't my life just be a teensy weensy bit simpler? Was I addicted to conflict? I turned around slowly with my eyes almost closed in trepidation as I came face to face with Tom Quincy. He couldn't see I needed a minute? Geez!
"We have a policy about visiting artists." Tom stated almost coldly as I shook my head. Wait a minute! A what?
"He's my boyfriend, Quincy." I stated dryly as Spied gasped slightly from behind me. It took me a moment to realize why. When had I started calling my boss Quincy? Tom seemed a little taken back by it as well, but he schooled his features quickly. Smooth Harrison. Real smooth.
"Boyfriend or not, he's an artist signed under another label." Tom replied as I sighed. He was right after all, and even G Major had a policy about the competition. But wasn't I a visiting artist? I guess the rules changed when you're a loaner and when the boss of the studio wants you to sign with him. I peered over at Vincent apologetically. He was frowning.
"I just need one moment with my girlfriend." Spiederman insisted with an emphasis on 'girlfriend' as I looked between the two men warily. I was not about to allow this to come to some kind of male dominance blow out. Tom just stood there.
"Then talk." Tom said simply as Spied's eyes widened incredulously.
"You've got to be kidding me, dude!" Spied cried out as he looked at Tom. I have to admit I was a little startled too. Did Quincy actually expect us to have a conversation in front of him? I'm assuming so and, for some strange reason, I didn't argue with him about it. Spied threw his hands up into the air in aggravation as he approached us both angrily. Spied never got angry—just poutingly upset so I tensed.
"Fine!" Spied exclaimed as he threw a magazine at me. I knew from the quick flash of imagery on the front cover why he was now here, and I groaned. This wasn't happening!
"Tell me Jude. Are you interested in more than just signing with this man?" Spied asked sardonically as I turned the magazine over. Tom had grown quiet next to me as I perused it gingerly.
Music Mogul, Music Player?
Music Mogul Tom Quincy is known for his erratic ways, his tendency to throw his artists into the music business like taking a child by the hand and leading them into an amusement park. He is known for his frequent outings with interested artists—known for showing them the pros of the Toronto music scene. And he's pretty persuasive if his studio's statistics are correct. But has Tom Quincy's sudden interest in G Major artist Jude Harrison gone beyond your normal fascination?
The words jumped out at me as I stared at the gossip column as if it were a venomous snake sent to end my life like the asp that killed Cleopatra. The photo of us lying on the grass staring deeply into each other's eyes didn't help. Something like this could destroy Tom's career—could hurt my own relationships.
"It's just a gossip column, Jude. And I've had bad press before worse than this. Without validation, a publication can't back up empty words." Tom pointed out as I nodded before heading over to grab my guitar—anger finally settling into my joints as I picked it up. Spied still stood there obviously awaiting an answer that I didn't have. I finally looked over at him—reluctant to speak in front of the man in question. Besides, where was Tom's anger? If this had been Darius, he would have blown his top by now. But if it was Darius, there would have also been no dallying outside the studio either to cause such a scandal. Oh Hell!
"Can we do this later, Spied, please?" I asked softly as Vincent shook his head a moment before slamming out of the room. I guess we'd deal with this later and he needed the time to cool off first anyway. I sighed before looking up at Tom.
"You had to force a conversation like that in front of you didn't you?" I asked sourly as I paced the room a minute in agitation. Tom just leaned against the door casually—too casually as he peered at me curiously.
"Forced is such a harsh word, Harrison." He replied with an emphasis on my last name as I shook my head and considered—seriously—throwing something at his head. Why was I so angry? Was it because I was so conflicted?
"Go stick your head in a body of water and breathe deeply." I commented dryly as I began strumming on my guitar angrily. Tom watched my hands move along the strings of my guitar almost expectantly as a small smile edged along the corner of his lips.
"Ouch, Harrison. That remark deserves a nice big band-aid and something for the sting." He replied as he began to circle the room slowly with narrowed eyes. Dear God, he was trying to start an argument with me! I strummed harder as he continued to watch with fascination. What? His attitude was really beginning to irk me. I looked at him narrowly.
"You're starting to make me angry, Quincy, and you know what they say about anger; forewarned is forearmed." I remarked as Tom just cocked his head and smiled again—continuing to circle the room in that observant manner of his. He even clapped his hands together slightly, almost giddily.
"Then by all means, get angry Harrison. Hell, get friggin' pissed off." Tom demanded as I strummed harder on the strings of my guitar while listening as a simple tune settled there—soothing the tension in me with its melancholy tone and still he watched until I did the one thing that even surprised myself—I screamed—knowing that everyone in the studio probably heard through the open door, knowing that now Tom was smiling wider than ever as I continued to play. I even saw E.J. head toward the door only to have Georgia stop her with a hand upon her shoulder and a shake of her head before saying something that I couldn't hear.
"Don't go in there." Georgia whispered as E.J. looked over at the door in confusion.
"But she screa….." E.J. began as Georgia shook her head again.
"Tom just figured out what gives Jude her…Judism. He knows where her music comes from now." Georgia muttered as she pulled the still confused E.J. away, while in the studio I still strummed, forming a few words as I went—words of exhilaration, anger, happiness, and even confusion as I played. Music was my calming base—the part of me that had always existed kind of a like a second split personality always fighting to get out. Sometimes it was repressed, but it was always there. I beat harder on the strings as Tommy circled with that damn arrogant, knowing smile on his face while watching me as if I were poetry in motion. It made me shudder.
It's like raising the dead
Walking through the darkness to unknown venues
The world is an alleyway I tread
Suspiciously--painfully--its something to get used to.
I sang slowly—not caring anymore if 'he' was there. I needed release. Tom finally stopped—settling back against the wall casually as he mouthed what I could have sworn was "that's my girl." The music flowed as people edged closer to the room outside. The people at G Major were used to my erratic behavior, my sudden creation of a song when I was emotionally tangled, but the people here had never seen anything like it before, had only heard rumors about the impulsive Jude Harrison. Well, look your fill. I was on an emotional high right now, and I intended to ride it all the way down to the bottom of the chasm. I strummed—changing the chords slightly as I got more comfortable with the tune.
Chorus:
I don't belong here
My world's spinning out of control
And I can't hold on
Yesterday's gone, tomorrow's yet to come
I won't fade away
Like ghosts into the past
I'm here to stay
Like a rock and just as steadfast
These are so much more than empty words
Emotions like the fire in old movies
I pluck out the chords
Reveling in the mystery
I was unleashing the frustration at being here around people I didn't know, around the one man that had begun to confound me and yet make me feel so damn alive. Like a live wire addicted to anger and mystery. What was this madness? I strummed helplessly, knowing that I was the product of the song now—not the other way around. Sometimes words did that to me—took me down avenues as if I was possessed. I wasn't writing the song anymore. It was writing me. And I let it.
Like Sinatra on the stage
Or Bogart in Casablanca
I burn when you are near me
In undecided lust or rage
I don't belong here
My world's spinning out of control
And I can't hold on
Are you here to add to the chaos
Or to take me out of the rat race
Like comrades in arms
Fighting for first place.
The only problem with letting the song take control is that sometimes you reveal emotional secrets you never intended to reveal—secrets that burdened the heart, secrets that captivated the soul. I could see people relate to it—see the rawness in their eyes as they felt the rawness in my heart. It's what made my music…well mine. And as I looked over at Tom suddenly, I realized instantly that it was also the reason he wanted me.
Its a symphony of truth
I'm singing out loud
As the conductor takes center stage
I'm loud, I'm brutal, I'm proud
Can you cross your heart
Stick a needle in your eye
And promise me the furture
I won't stand for a lie
Look at me
I'm standing here in front of you
And I'm asking for nothing more
Than a promise
I don't belong here
My world's spinning out of control
And I can't hold on
I ended with one last strum of the strings as the entire studio imploded with applause. I just felt drained now—like I had shed an old skin for a new one as I slumped down on my stool while smiling wearily. Tom waited for everyone else to scatter before walking slowly towards me, his arms crossed across his chest.
"And that Jude is why every manager, every studio, and every producer wants to work with you. Your songs aren't written because the words sound good together, they aren't written by a songwriter, aren't written to please a certain genre of audience. No, they are created by utter, raw emotion. Congratulations, you just wrote your next hit. It's a little rough, but that's what I'm here for." Tom declared as he watched me silently. I raised a brow up at him as shock enveloped me.
"You got me angry on purpose." I stated simply as he shrugged, that same smile playing along his lips as he drew near enough his breath fanned my ears.
"The hell I did." He murmured as he pretended to pull another ace out of his sleeve, and I did the only thing I could do. I shivered.
Author's Footnote: Song written by Angel422. Please R&R.