Sweet Little Thing: A Novella (Sweet Thing) (2 page)

When I got down to the studio, Chad was waiting in the lobby with his manager.

“Thanks for waiting, guys. Follow me.”

I’d hired another producer and an assistant just out of college. Both guys were already in the control room setting up the sound board.

“Let’s record everything today,” I announced. “We need to get some layers down.”

Chad followed me into the room beyond the glass where all the instruments were sitting. I picked up my acoustic guitar, took a seat, and motioned for Chad to sit in the chair near the vocal mic. I noticed he had a notebook under his arm. Chad was the darker-haired version of Zac Efron; he even had the adorable, chummy smile and glowing blue eyes.

“Whaddya got, bro?” I said to him, dipping my head toward his arm.

He looked nervous. “Oh, these are just some lyrics I wrote. Hey, by the way, I’m totally stoked to be working with you.”

“Thanks. You know, typically we get the music down first, but let me take a look.”

He handed it over and then crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

I read the first line:
Girl, you’re my girl.

I immediately shut the notebook, tossed it aside, and said, “We’ll revisit that later.”

“Oh, okay, no problem.”

I played a few rough versions of songs while Chad sat by, looking lost. Mia came in wearing black leather pants and a tight sweater. As I strummed the Gibson, she made her way over to the piano. She smiled and threw her hand up, waving to Chad. He smiled back and then I watched him study her as she passed. Then his dipshit, googly eyes dropped to her ass while she moved the piano bench out.

When he looked back at me, I glared at him and began strumming a dreary and much louder tune. His body sank into his chair and he dropped his head down to stare at his fidgeting hands. Mia began playing a sullen little melody in an attempt to accompany the monotonous song I was forming, and then she stopped abruptly and turned toward me.

I continued playing.

“Is this going to be a ballad?” she asked.

Without taking my eyes off of dipshit, I said, “No, baby, this is what’s called a funeral march.”

Chad threw his arms up and said, “I get it. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Mia asked.

“Nothing!” Chad and I both shouted.

“Let’s move on,” I said, arching one eyebrow at him.

Chad kept his eyes trained on either the ground or me through the rest of the session. He never once looked back at Mia. We managed to get down rough versions of four songs. There was one gorgeous ballad that Mia composed on the piano that had Chad’s manager doing backflips. It was heartbreaking to think such a beautiful song, written with passion and depth by a beautiful person, was going to be performed by some dweeby kid, but that’s the other side of the coin, I guess.

Mia and I had made a decision that this was what we wanted. I’d passed on my opportunity for commercial success as a recording artist. It had been one of the toughest decisions of my life. Mia had never strived for that sort of fame; she knew it came with a price. Instead, we’d found a way to still make music but maintain normalcy. The only thing that sucked was that we had to give our songs to other people, people like Chad.

Later that night, back in our apartment, Mia came skipping into our bedroom. “All right, I’ve got an idea. I think we should have everyone meet us on the Fulton Ferry Landing at one o’clock. We’ll write super simple vows. Tyler can say whatever garbage he needs to say, then we’ll kiss and be married and everyone will be happy.”

Sitting against the wooden headboard, I propped my hands behind my head. “Gosh, that is so romantic, Mia.”

“What?” she whined.

“You know there are at least five weddings happening on the Fulton Ferry Landing every Saturday?”

“The more the merrier!” she said with a cheesy grin.

“You know what, I take it back. You’re right. We don’t have to have a wedding. Christ, do you know how much it would cost to feed every member of my family? Whoever wants to come, can come out. We’ll do the vows like you said, at the ferry landing, take some pictures, go to dinner, and then catch the first flight out of here and go to the Bahamas and blow our money there.”

“That’s a perfect idea.”

“Okay, you deal with your mom, Martha, and Sheil, and I’ll deal with Jenny and Tyler. Jenny’s going to be pissed; she was looking into permits to have a fireworks show.”

We both laughed.

Mia said, “It’s funny how Jenny didn’t want a big wedding but thinks everyone else should have one. Oh, I wanted to ask you. What kind of ring do you think you would like?”

I hadn’t thought once about my wedding ring. “Should we get tats?”

“You want me to get a tattoo?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay.” She flashed me a small, tight smile and then began gnawing on her nails.

“Are you scared of the needle?”

“No.” She watched me as I processed her reaction.

“Do you like my tattoos?”

“Yeah, I love them,” she said passionately, and then it hit me.

“Oh, baby, I love your skin too. I love that virgin skin, and I’m not letting anyone ink it.”

“Okay, thanks.” She chewed off a hefty piece of her thumbnail. Mia hated her hands and nails. Because she played the piano with so much fervor and for many years, her hands were bulky compared to the rest of her petite features. She would gnaw on her nails because she hated the way they looked, and I think it calmed her nerves too.

“Jesus, lady, go easy. Your thumb is bleeding.” She looked down at it and shrugged. “By the way, I have a bone to pick with you.” I said.

“I despise that saying on so many levels.”

“Why?”

“Think about it. Picking bones, that’s disgusting.” She said, scrunching her nose up.

“I could make that argument about chewing on your thumbs, but I’ll let it go. I have a complaint.”

She climbed up next to me and cuddled her face up to my bare chest, then she used her index finger to trace a line down my happy trail to the belt on my jeans.

“What sort of complaint, Wilbur?”
Ah, Mia’s sexy voice.

I reached down and ran my hand up her thigh. “You should not wear these pants around that horny little
High School Musical
kid.”

She popped up and looked me straight in the face. “He totally looks like Zac Efron, huh?”

“Mia, he practically shot off a load just staring at your ass.”

She punched me in the chest. “That is vulgar, Will Ryan.”

“It’s true. You can’t dress like that around him.” I tackled her back down on the bed and hovered over her.

“I thought you liked these pants.”

“I do.” I began kissing my way down her body. I lifted her shirt and kissed the swell of each breast before moving down the center of her body. “But you know what I like better than you in these pants?”

“Me out of these pants?”

“Am I that predictable?” I said as I quickly peeled them off her body.

“Yes.” She sighed.

I sat back on my heels. “You’re beautiful.”

Holding her leg from behind her knee, I kissed my way up the inside, from her calf to her thigh and all the way up to her panties. I peeled the lace from her hips with my teeth and then down to her ankles as slowly as possible. She lay there naked from the waist down, watching me gaze at her, hungry for her. Her skin was pure white and it contrasted so strikingly against her dark eyes and hair. She was an authentic beauty. I leaned over her body, putting my weight on my hands, which were placed on each side of her head. Her eyes were searching mine. She whimpered and then tried to lift her face up to kiss me.

I drew my head back. “Uh uh, I don’t think so.” I nuzzled my nose into her neck and trailed kisses to her ear. I whispered, “Stay just like this. Don’t go anywhere.” I planted a swift kiss on her lips and jumped off the bed. “I’m goin’ to play B-ball with Tyler. Be back in a few.”

As I left the room, I glanced over my shoulder and saw her lying there completely still, her mouth open in shock. I got halfway down the hallway before she finally yelled, “Asshole!”

I bent in the hallway and patted June’s head. She rolled over and then got back on her feet and trotted off toward our bedroom.

Before walking out the door, I called back to Mia, “Who’s predictable now, sweet thing?”

I
n the weeks following our introduction to Chad, we were able to get eight solid songs laid down for his album. He had a decent voice, likely attributable to the well-paid vocal coach Live Wire had hired. There wasn’t much I could do about the fact that he sounded so young. I wished for more depth behind the vocals, but Chad wasn’t physically mature or trained enough to control his voice in that way. Once we were comfortable with the music, Mia skipped most of the sessions. She liked to be a part of the creation process but often got frustrated during the long post-production sessions, so she would let the other producers and me handle that.

During one session, Chad’s manager, Michael Dolan, came to me with a concern. He was a pretty straight-laced guy from what I could tell. Chad’s parents looked to Michael as a manager but also as a babysitter for the nineteen-year-old budding superstar. Their concern was that once Chad tasted a moderate amount of fame, he would instantly become the male version of Lindsay Lohan. I didn’t see that in Chad. He was too naïve; at least, I thought he was. I really believed Chad was the puppet. I’d thought if we ever ran into a problem, it would be with the label, so it was to my absolute shock and horror when Michael came to me and said, “Chad wants to be in on all the sessions. He doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough creative control on the songs he’s written.” Michael was hovering over me as I sat at the sound board, shocked.

I swiveled my chair around to make eye contact and noticed that Chad was cowering behind him. I leaned my head around, looked Chad right in the face, and said, “What fucking songs, Mike?”

Michael took a step sideways to block the eye lasers I was shooting at Chad. “Now, Will, no need to lose your temper.”

“I totally agree. Why don’t we start with the songs that Chad thinks he’s written?”

“To begin with, ‘Lost N Found,’” Michael said.

I jumped out of my seat. “You mean the piano ballad that Mia composed, the very song you watched her write?”

“I wouldn’t say that Mia wrote that song.”

“You’re saying that he wrote it?” I shot my index finger out in Chad’s direction.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I clapped my hands once, reached around Michael, and grabbed pansy-ass Chad by the ear and proceeded to drag him from the control room to the sound room.

“Ouch,” he said and tried to pull away.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Does that hurt?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Will. This is assault.” Michael was shouting behind us.

I was fuming mad. I stopped and turned toward Chad. “You know what hurts? Wasting my time trying to help a little fuck-nut like you. Let’s go.” I pulled him over to the piano and pushed him down on the bench. “Okay. Play your song, Chad.”

He looked up at Michael like a deer in headlights.

Michael said, “Wait a minute, Will.”

“Shut up, Mike.” I turned back to Chad. “Okay, fine. I know you can’t play the super-complicated masterpiece that my sweet, darling Mia wrote and was willing to
let you perform
!” I shouted. “Instead, why don’t you just play us ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’? Go ahead. Show us your musical prowess, Chaddy Boy. How about you start on the E above middle C?”

He didn’t even put his hands on the keys; he just stared up at Michael and me and waited for someone to rescue him. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and read a text from Mia:
I’ll be at Kell’s until 5. Do u wanna stay in 2nite and have naked dinner?

I didn’t answer. Instead, I put the phone back in my pocket and took a deep breath. It was like Mia could sense when I needed her. There was this invisible string connecting our souls and it was as though we could feel each other tug on that string when we were hurting. I calmed significantly after reading her text.

I looked down and in a relaxed, smooth voice I said, “Chad, do you know where middle C is?”