Music of the Soul 1, 2, & 3 Starter Bundle

by Erik Schubach

  In a mirror of last night's exit of the building to the bus, I made my way through the corridor of security. Watching the faces of my fans as I walked past. Once in the bus, I made my way to the bathroom to clean up. My stomach growled, food was sounding good right about then.

  While I was at the kitchenette making myself a sandwich, Terry let himself in to let me know the record label was complaining that I wasn't playing any of the old songs that they'd got a cut from. I just stared at him, ignoring him until he shook his head and left, practically slamming the door of my bus. I snorted and slapped my hand to my mouth to stop a followup giggle from escaping my lips.

  Time crawled by, I finished my dinner in silence, I wanted a drink so bad. The band was out partying, but I just couldn't bring myself to go. Eventually I heard the driver enter behind the driver's partition and the bus roared to life, then we were underway.

  I grabbed my phone and went to bed, still holding the phone. I don't know why, maybe hope. It didn't make a lot of sense to me. I let myself nap.

  At exactly midnight my phone rang, my eyes snapped open and I froze. I waited as the call went to voice mail then I slowly lifted it in my hand to see the screen. What am I afraid of? Anabella West, my phone taunted.

  I just stared at the name for what seemed like ten minutes before I held my breath and pressed play. The world stood still as her melodic voice played across my heart “Thank you for not drinking M. Goodnight.” She watched me again? Moved to save folder. I exhaled the breath I forgot I was holding.

  This became the norm the next few days, a daisy in my dressing room. Delete, delete, play, concert, wait until midnight. Sometimes it was “Goodnight M.” once it was “Goodnight M, I miss you.” That one got me crying again and put me in a death spiral that almost ended in me drinking again, but I resisted.

  The few times I answered Tammy's calls, she kept trying to tell me what was happening in Vancouver, but I insisted each time to only discuss June or herself. She seemed exasperated at this but agreed to it grudgingly.

  One I was in my dressing room early, just as I was about to look for my daisy, a stagehand walked in with it and was shocked to see me on a couch as he set it on the table. I had asked where the daisies were coming from, “Your family is sending them,” he said matter-of-factly as he scurried off back out the door. I don't have a family. I don't deserve a family. Shut up me.

  I was informed by Terry that the live recording of Ocean's of Blue, that my new publicist, Nick released to the radio stations, hit number one on the charts already, and the label was bugging me to come in and do a studio recording of it. To which I invited them to kindly inspect their sphincters with their heads.

  Just because I was on tour again didn't mean I was taking them back. As my lawyer, Frank Davenport, in Seattle shared with them, my old contract, which I had already executed in full, didn't cover any new materials. Oh golly, that would be everything I'm playing on this tour! The same songs they staunchly refused to record before.

  I caved when Nick pulled in an independent label, Stars For Hope, who used some proceeds to support charities. We set up a deal for me to record the single at my next tour stop, New York City, but I had some conditions. Their standard deals were that forty percent of each record sold went to the charity of the artist's choice, twenty five percent went to the label and the rest went to the artist.

  I chose the Hearing Health Foundation, but I wanted my portion split in two, and put into two trust accounts. One for Zoey Amelia Rand and the other for Evelyn May Rand. They would get these on their eighteenth birthdays. The paperwork would be ready to sign when I got to the studio. The downside, for me at least, was that by law, their legal guardians would be informed of the trusts and their origin when they set them up. I felt good doing this. It just felt right.

  It was going to be a busy day, my publicist had me booked on a TV talk show. I didn't want that but he was adamant, people were talking about the one hundred eighty degree turn that my music and my image had taken lately, and he wanted to put the rumors to rest. I didn't see the point since I would never be touring again after this anyway.

  An argument ensued between myself, Terry and Nick. Nick had said “Your popularity is off the charts right now, Mandy Harris is THE big thing! You can't quit now.” The pleading look in his grey eyes didn't suit his boy band appearance and floppy hairstyle. I almost laughed at that thought.

  Terry's aging face was lined in determination veins bulging near his graying temples as he chimed in, “You're damn right, she can't. She couldn't stay away before.” I could feel my anger rising, starting in my core as a slow burn but then quickly rushing to the surface like a dam had broken. This is how it had happened before, when my career started, people making decisions for me, shaping who I would present to the world.

  I blew up. “I am NOT Mandy Harris! That person is a puppet, a fake, a mask that you all constructed! I'm Mandy fucking Fay Harris!” They both tried to speak but my eruption was far from over. I stood from my chair at the kitchenette and slammed both fists into the counter, supporting my weight on them as I leaned toward the men spewing the words like fire. They are NOT doing this to me again! It is that fabrication they produced that destroyed one of the only good people I have ever known! “And another thing, we are changing the billing from 'Mandy Harris Live' to 'Mandy Fay Harris – Farewell Tour', this is it, boys.”

  I sent a scorching glare at them, daring them to say something. The venom I was spitting, kept their mouths shut. That's right, I dare you! Wait. When did my inner voice come back? Shut up. Fine.

  Terry almost opened his mouth but Nick smacked his arm with the back of his hand. They both just nodded acknowledgment. Nick added “Okay, we'll make this a spectacular exit from the stage!” I almost laughed, that's right boys, and all “future” talk was best left in the Delorian or their friggin blue phone-booth.

  It was a good night as I sat by my cellphone in my bed. Midnight came. The phone rang I waited for the voice mail to start flashing and I dove on it. Lightning baby! Like a ninja! Play “Just calling to say goodnight brown eyes.” What to do. Play. What to do. Play. Rinse and repeat. Off to the save folder you go. “Goodnight Bella,” I whispered into the universe and shut off the side light and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 10 – A Busy Day

  Crap. This day is going to suck. I stood by the kitchenette on my bus, staring at my daily schedule on my phone, it just sat there, glowing, mocking me. First the studio, then interview, then concert. But then I get to wait in the bus for Bella's call! What is wrong with me, I'm acting like those calls are a lifeline. I don't know why she calls, after I destroyed her life, but I look forward to every one.

  Since I had it in my hand, I check my phone messages. Delete, delete, play. June is doing well, I miss her so much. Hang on, baby, I'm half way there. I picked out another nice dress to wear today, I don't know why, maybe I had that urge to look feminine again. I stood sideways in front of the mirrored closet door, checking my appearance. I looked tired, but not ragged like the first few days of the tour.

  I spent the time waiting for the car that the studio sent for me, snacking on an American cheese slice and thumbing through some music I was working on. There was a light knocking at the bus door. I grabbed my purse off the counter and opened the door to a huge mountain of a man with curly black locks in a driver's uniform. Without a word I walked to the waiting gleaming black sedan. The man opened the door for me as I slid into the comfortable tan leather seat. He shut the door then got in the drivers seat then the engine roared to life and we started off to the studio.

  The driver just kept glancing back at me in the mirror, flicking his eyes between the road and me, frankly it was getting annoying. I hated feeling like I was on display. “What?” I finally snapped at him. He gripped the wheel and stared at the road intently, not meeting my eyes in the mirror, “I'm sorry ma'am, you're just not what I expected is all. Want me to raise the partition?”

  “No. What
do you mean by that?” I asked, my voice more level. I couldn't help but feel curious about what he was expecting. I could see the color draining from his face in the mirror, stress creasing it, most likely knowing that he had crossed the professional driver line by speaking about me. Reading this, I added, “It's okay. I want to know.”

  He glanced back nervously as he drove tapping his fingers on the steering wheel “Well, all the old stories I've heard about you. You know, party girl, drunk, hard rocker princess playing it fast and loose. Stoned out of your gourd all the time. I caught your act last night on Pay Per View. It seems like you've got yourself together. I'm not into heavy rock so I didn’t think I'd like your stuff, but after hearing Oceans of Blue on the radio, I thought I'd give you a shot.” Yeah, that's how most people see me.

  He haltingly looked into the mirror, searching my expression to make sure he wasn't overstepping, then continued, slightly hunching to make himself look smaller “That wasn't any heavy rock I ever heard, it was more a soft rock/soul mix. It really moved me. Then I come to get you, expecting... I don't know what I was expecting, maybe a hungover, bitchy artist in torn jeans. Instead I pick up, well, you. To top it off, you are giving your proceeds of this song to charity. That's all... just sayin'.”

  Huh. Why was this type of thing so hard to do before? I hadn't even thought about the differences between the Mandy Harris facade and what I was doing now until he just pointed them out to me. I had been quiet for too long, he was looking fidgety and nervous. I found myself kind of liking this man, he speaks his mind at the risk of fallout for overstepping.

  I looked into the mirror, meeting his gaze and gave him another reassuring smile. “That person wasn't ever real, just a fabrication of the studio, and my own naivety. This is the real me.” He locked eyes with me, like he was looking for something, then nodded in apparent understanding. He seemed to visibly relax as he sat up straight again as we pulled into the studio lot. Leaving the engine running, he opened his door and slid out then I watched as he jogged around to my door.

  He quickly opened the door for me and I stepped out, I hesitated mid step and turned to him “It was nice meeting you...” I asked a question at him, my sentence hanging. “Darryl” he offered. “Darryl, it was nice meeting you. Will you be bringing me back today?” I raised an eyebrow in question. He smiled and replied “Yes ma'am, if you request me at the front.” I nodded then grinned. “Call me Mandy.” I sashayed off in a good mood. Wooo, look at me, I'm sashaying. Why am I in a good mood? Stop it!

  Terry had already been there, setting the meeting up, when I arrived in their conference room. Okay now, here is my firsthand review of the first hour at the studio. Blah blah blah, legal boring boring legal blah, sign the contract that I had already reviewed last night with my manager. Terry was a little pissed that there was no “his cut” in this deal.

  I prodded him that it was just one song. It is amazing to me that he even has a soul, as I had to invoke the “charity” and “trust fund for little girls” guilt cards more than once, before he caved.

  It went something like this. “This is your last hurrah, and I'll be high and dry after you leave, why should I forfeit my cut on one of your whims?” the evil one hissed. I had rolled my eyes “Are you really going to stand here and tell me that you'd rather feed your greed than support a charity and the futures of two children? Just think, you can use this to show that you have a goddamn heart and 'support' worthy causes. It's just one song.” He looked like he was thinking, well thinking or constipated, it is hard to tell with Terry. He crossed his arms across his chest and pouted like a little kid “Fine!”

  Once that was all sorted, and the legal mumbo jumbo concluded, I was escorted by a scrawny intern, a hyper boy with a shaved head, into the studio to meet their sound board operator, Jay. “Did you want live instruments or do you have a backing track ma'am?” This ma'am thing is getting old. My foot was tapping in annoyance that I didn't let show on my face. I'm seriously thinking about getting one of those name tags “Hello my name is:” then writing “Not ma'am!” on it! “Please Jay, call me Mandy. I just need a six string and we are good to go, this will just be an acoustic set.”

  He nodded “Alright no problem”, leading me into the recording room and motioning toward the instruments lined up in a rack off to one side. I looked at the assortment of electric, jazz and acoustic stringed instruments and selected a worn, aged looking six string, strumming it experimentally. I've always been of the opinion that the more used a guitar is, the richer the sound, like it could tell its story through its tones. I nodded satisfactorily and turned back to Jay.

  He set a wooden stool in front of the mic and motioned to it as I sat tuning the guitar while he fiddled with the microphone before turning to me “Isolation headphones?” he quirked an eyebrow. I shook my head “No, we're going raw on this.” He gave a quick nod and tight smile then turned and exited the room, shutting the door and I watched him take his seat at the board through the observation window. My chest felt a little tight, and I was a little fidgety, which was odd, I usually never got nervous like that in the studio. But then I realized it was because this would be the first song that I ever “wanted” to record.

  I waited for his cue in the observation window, he counted me down with his fingers, then I closed my eyes and started on the twisting and turning ride. I felt more powerful today, my head was clear in my visualization of the lyrics. I got lost in it, feeling the words and their subject which made me realize that I was already waiting for midnight. The thought making my heart soar. I just felt, alive.

  I came down from the clouds, rolled to a stop, then opened my eyes. I glanced up to see that Jay was just staring at me wide eyed. I just sat there for a few seconds wondering if it was that terrible, before he realized the song was long over and jumping to the board, stopping the recording. He hit the mic, “Ummm, okay, that's a wrap.” he said, looking flushed.

  I was a little confused at that, after a second I spoke into the mic “Wait, don't you want to try a couple more takes for A-B? Do some tweaking?” He was shaking his head as he laughed a little. “Ah, Mandy, trust me on this, you nailed it first take, that track is solid. No way you could improve on it, that was kind of... emotional. Lightning does not strike twice, it really sounded like you truly loved someone.” I stood and set the guitar on top of the stool. Haltingly walking to the door, looking between him and the guitar.

  Of course I loved someone, then I killed their chance at a happy life, that's what I do. Doesn't anyone understand? My Bella was my world. Get out of your head Mandy! Make me!

  I entered the room, and walked over to him while he was fiddling a bit with the sound board and the computer next to it. Jay looked up “This will hit online sales in a couple days, our techs are pretty efficient. We are probably a month out on CDs.” He glanced over at his computer screen and shook his head, muttering “Wait, the boneheads at the office screwed up the artist field, let me fix this.” I reached out, stopping him by placing my hand on his arm, “Wait, what do they have?”

  He glanced at me apologetically and replied, “It's nothing, they just put your full name instead of Mandy Harris, I'll have it fixed in a jiffy.” I stopped him again. “It should read Mandy Fay Harris, is that what you got?” He glanced at me then the screen then back “Ummm... yeah, okay then, all good, my bad.” I released his arm and stepped back looking through the window to the guitar on the stool. This had to have been the easiest recording session I had ever done.

  He stepped toward the door, motioning with his arm for me to proceed him “We're good to go. I can get you a ride, if you need one.” I smiled. “That would be awesome, Jay. Could you please have them send Darryl for me? Nobody else.” He offered his hand and I took it in a firm shake “It was a pleasure working with you Mandy.” I beamed back “Likewise Jay.” He smiled and walked to the front desk to have them call my ride. I lazily scanned the gold albums that adorned the walls as I waited near the door, slowly rocking back
and forth on my heels, not really thinking about anything.

  I looked through the glass door when I saw Darryl pull up, then I walked out to the curb. He jumped out of the sedan then jogged around and opened my door with a grin. I smiled as I slid in, giving him a playful wink. Bella would like this guy, he's always smiling when I'm not scaring the crap out of him.

  I smiled, saying “Thank you Darryl.” He smiled back and chimed out, “You're welcome Mandy. Uh, was that sign language?” Huh? Wha? “Huh? Wha?” Echo much me? I was a little confused and I guess it showed on my face.

  He grinned and clarified, “That hand motion.” Oh. I just can't get her out of my head, she's still in here, influencing me. “Oh, yes, that was 'thank you', sorry my mind was just drifting, I was thinking about an old friend.”

  “No, that's pretty cool.” He shut my door and I lazily traced my finger along the window, just gazing through the glass at nothing in particular as he walked around and got in the driver seat. He turned back to me “Where to?”. I dropped my hand to my lap and looked over to him. “Well I still have a couple hours before I have an interview, so back to my tour bus please, I could go for some lunch.”

  He raised his eyebrows in excitement “I could recommend a few good restaurants if you'd like.” Darryl offered helpfully. I thought about it a second. “No, but thank you Darryl. I've developed a taste for home cooking, and the kitchen on my bus is fully stocked.” He nodded his head in understanding and turned his attention to the road as we pulled away from the studio.

  He dropped me off at the bus and we said our goodbyes as he stood holding the door for me. He handed me his card. I looked at it as I walked to the tour bus, fans were already starting to gather near it behind the barriers. I stepped into my bus just to find Terry already waiting there, looking impatient, wait, that's how he always looks, “Why do you never answer your phone?” I smirk at him, “Force of habit.”