“Wait.” Ervin held up his hands. “This is our dream, guys. I’m not sure what happened. You know I always have your back, Tru. But I’m not willing to pack it in over nothing.”
Truman kept his face straight. “She—” He couldn’t finish what he wanted to say.
What could he say? She looked incredible without a stitch of makeup on her face? Her body had his fingers tingling because he wanted to touch her? Or that he loved the idea that she stared at his lips for a while?
Ervin put his hand on Truman’s shoulder. “Like coach said, walk it off.” He smiled.
When Truman looked through the glass into the control room, he found Shauna sitting at the control board next to a large man he hadn’t seen before.
Truman’s stomach tied in a knot knowing how much valuable studio time they wasted because he couldn’t control his emotions. Shauna Stellar was just a woman. He had to treat recording their album as a job. As Ervin suggested, he did need to cool down.
“Let’s take five and regroup.” Truman’s suggestion should have been geared to himself instead of his band.
Once the guys left the studio, he went inside the control booth.
“Hey.” He approached Shauna.
“Truman Woodley,” she began, “this is Hank, the sound engineer. He’ll be here with us while we record.”
“Nice to meet you.” Truman put out his hand, but Hank kept his attention on the boards for a while before he finally acknowledged him and shook his hand with his meaty one.
“The guys and I are going to take a quick five before we start, okay?” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder.
She nodded again.
He turned but then her statement stopped him. “I like your songs.”
Truman returned his attention to her. “You looked at them already?”
Shauna spun in her seat to face him. “Did you write all of these?”
“Except for the one called ‘Beer and More Beer.’ Ervin wrote that after a hard night of partying.” He snickered, distinctly remembering when Ervin sang the hook to him after vomiting his guts out.
“I have some suggestions on changes if you don’t—”
Truman cut her off. “I do. I wrote every word for a reason. No changes are needed.”
Before the situation turned sour again, Truman walked out. He needed some space and a second to figure out how this woman got into his head so quickly.
* * * *
How could a man who managed to penetrate her soul from one look get so defensive about words? In her career, Shauna tweaked words to songs she’d been given all the time. As long as people bought the songs, what did it matter that she changed some of the lyrics?
As Shauna read the lyrics to each of Truman’s songs, she got an understanding of the man underneath the worn out baseball cap. One song talked about meeting that special woman. He had another song that detailed the perfect day, complete with an impromptu baseball game with his friends, drinking beer by a swimming hole, and ending it with his woman by his side. Then he had a song that talked about someone special to him.
After Raheem dumped her, and her public meltdown, men looked at her as damaged goods. Even Craig echoed those sentiments with his latest Instagram picture. The idea plagued her thoughts, even during her stay at Peaceful Acres. She could never get over that stigma. Truman probably thought the same thing when he bolted from her after taking the picture.
It used to offend her when she would be in the pages of men’s magazine as a woman they saw as hot and sexy. She worked hard to be more than just a pretty face. Now she would pay any money she had left to be seen as desirable.
She shuffled the songs around, arranging them into an order she thought would work for the album. She had to admit that Truman had some great music. Maybe she could convince Craig to scrap the duet idea. At least not for this album, and especially not with her.
She took a deep breath and caught the strong cigarette scent coming from the control room. She found Hank sitting in a swirl of smoke.
“There’s no smoking in here, ever.” Shauna’s breathing increased but she tried to keep that and her cool in control.
She would not be working in cigarette smoke. The scent smelled awful. Even if she never sung another note for the rest of her life, the smoke hurt her throat.
“I’ve always smoked.” Hank managed to speak while keeping the cigarette pinched between his lips on the side. “It helps me work.” The burly man with the bushy beard didn’t bother looking her way when he spoke, just like how he treated Truman.
“It doesn’t help me work and I own this business. Put it out.” She didn’t want to throw her trump card down but this man forced her to do it. If he didn’t straighten up, she would boot his behind out of the whole production.
Hank snickered at her and dropped the lit cigarette into his cup of coffee.
“Now find some fans and clear out the stench in this room.” She stood at the doorway. “It’s bad enough the place smells like pot. I guess my mother just let anyone come in to record.”
Hank walked by Shauna as he peered down at her. “You got that right.”
No one would intimidate her. At least not in her studio. She sat outside of the control booth and waited for Hank to come back with a fan. Glancing at her watch, a staggered sigh forced its way from her mouth when it hit her how much studio time they’d lost. How in the world would she have a song ready for the record label in a few hours?
Her heart pounded. She blinked several times to regain clarity on her blurred vision.
Come on. Don’t do this. Keep it together.
She exhaled, shook her head, and tried focusing on the lyrics to the song called “Reeling” she wanted the group to start working on once they finished their break. Looking at the music, it looked like a nice mid-tempo piece that would put the group on the map. She still couldn’t hear the music.
After springing from the couch, she sauntered into the recording studio where the group left their instruments. She stared at the piano in the corner of the room. It looked more daunting than when she’d taken her first step outside of Peaceful Acres.
Why did the idea of playing the piano again scare her? She started playing at the age of four. Some days touching the keys gave her more comfort than talking to her mother. Being an only child, the piano often became the sibling she wished she had.
Shortly after taking a seat, Shauna put both hands on the keys, looked at the music, and started playing. Her fingers tripped over some of the notes. She cursed under her breath and tried the song again. Each time she got better and better.
Her shoulders relaxed as her fingers moved over the instrument. The knot that had formed in her stomach before she sat down disappeared the longer she played. She’d reach nirvana without chanting.
When she opened her mouth to sing, she saw Truman standing at the doorway into the recording studio. Her hands froze over the keys as she stared at him. She swallowed as she tried getting a handle on what must have been going through his mind to hear her butchering his song.
She cleared her throat as she stood. “I think this song should be the one we work on first.” She attempted to sound professional as she handed him his original copies back. “This one has chart appeal and the right tempo.”
Truman took the sheets from her as she walked by him.
“You sounded good over there.” He spoke to her in a soothing voice as