“Then you showed up out of nowhere,” she said. “I had the pills. I would have taken more, but you were there and you helped me. No one else would have.”
I felt bad for her, and at the same time I felt like a total liar.
“I know who you really are,” she said, and I froze, suspended, unable to breathe, waiting for what might come next. “You’re an angel. Someone somewhere wanted me to survive, and I know with you here now, I will.”
I let out an audible sigh, exhaling sharply despite my desire to be unobtrusive.
“I don’t understand,” I said, trying to take the focus off me. “Why did you feel you needed to do such a thing to yourself? You have everything,” I added quietly, “to live for.” Tabitha rolled her eyes, annoyed, like it was the dumbest thing to say.
“Because I hate every single thing about my life,” she said, her eyes tearing up, trying to hold it back. She turned and stared out the window again. “You probably can’t understand because you don’t live your life pretending to be someone you’re not.”
My brain felt like a piece of paper that someone had ripped in half. If anybody in this car was a phony, we all know who would get the prize. The contradictions were too great. Galileo licked the tears off Tabitha’s face.
“I feel like such a fake,” she said.
“Your fans don’t seem to feel that way,” I remarked. Including me, I wanted to add.
Tabitha shook her head and practically snorted in disgust. “I was counting on Mother to put a stop to this, but now I have to go back into the studio to record another album. They won’t let me stop, even though I told them I wouldn’t tour. I totally freaked out on stage last time.”
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
Tabitha made a sad laugh. “I wanted to go to veterinarian school and work in an animal shelter.” I worried she might burst into tears again. “I like animals.” No way.
I squeezed her hand. “So why didn’t you?”
“Are you kidding? They weren’t about to let me become an unglamorous vet in this family. They’d have to get Donna Karan to design my veterinarian scrubs.”
She was so grim that I wasn’t sure if she was kidding. “Tabitha Eden: celebrity veterinarian,” I said. Tabitha laughed. “Well, why can’t you do what you want now?”
“You’d be surprised what I can’t do. Too many people decide what I get to do. I feel awful. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always felt awful. I know one second I’m fine, smiling, and then I can barely say hello. Like I’m not even a person, and everyone in the room knows. One minute, I can see myself in the mirror, and the next, the mirror shatters and I’m gone, and there’s no way to get myself back. And I think, maybe everyone is that way, but I know they’re not. You’re the only one I know who doesn’t seem to be weirded out around me.”
I tried to think of what I could say, but we heard Mocha over the intercom. “Excuse me, Miss Eden, we’re here.”
Tabitha nodded and turned to face me.
“Lisbeth, you’re my angel. You appeared out of nowhere to rescue me. You have to help me.” Her eyes said everything—sadness, desperation, and the tiniest hope that I could change her life. Boy, did she have the wrong girl.
“I’ll do whatever I can,” I answered.
33
Max, Tabitha’s guitarist, stood outside the studio entrance smoking a cigarette, bored as usual.
“Are they pissed?” Tabitha asked, wiping away the last of her tears as we made our way inside.
“Why? Because you’ve kept them waiting two and a half hours? Nah, they have their toys to play with.”
As we entered together, Galileo leapt from Tabitha’s arms and ran ahead. The receptionist, bookish in black-rimmed glasses with multicolored tattoos on her arms and neck, introduced herself as Brit.
“Hello, Miss Eden, you’re in studio A today,” she said. “Can I get you a Pellegrino, cappuccino, lemonade, or…?”
“I’ll take a lemonade with tequila,” Tabitha answered without stopping as she pushed open the studio door. I guess when life gave Tabitha lemons, she couldn’t help grabbing the tequila and salt.
Upon entering studio A, we were met by a massive wall of sound—bright, bubbly pop with a driving shake-your-body bottom beat. I knew the patented Tabitha Eden signature sound, and it felt like entering a club. I wanted to dance, but the music stopped abruptly as Tabitha entered.
“The Princess of Pop has arrived!” said a guy, younger than me, as we walked in. He seemed like an intern but wasn’t acting like one. He had dark curly hair and the kind of beard a guy grows when he can’t grow one. He seemed to be a mix of Latino and Jewish. His warm welcome put me instantly at ease. Galileo barked at him.
“Hey Bennie, this is my friend Lisbeth,” Tabitha said. “Bennie and his partner, Dr. K, are the geniuses behind every hit song I’ve ever made. The best producers money can buy. Hard to believe for a twerp, right?”
“You’re too kind, Tabby,” Bennie said, mildly amused. “Nice to meet you, Lisbeth. Welcome to the madness.”
Brit entered with Tabitha’s drink and placed it on the table in front of her. She grabbed it and took a long draw.
“Kind of early for the tequila gargle?” Bennie chided.
“It’s for my voice,” she said and gave him a defensive scowl. “Don’t give me shit just because you’re too young to buy alcohol legally.” She noticed me watching and became a little self-conscious.
“You don’t want to let her drink alone, do you?” Bennie asked. “Hey, Brit, get my girlfriend Lisbeth a drink, too.”
“No thanks,” I said, grabbing a bottle of water off the bar for myself. “I’m good.”
“Cool, then come on. While Tabitha warms up, I’ll introduce you to da crew,” Bennie said, crossing his arms in a mock rapper’s pose. I couldn’t help laughing.
Designed like a small amphitheater, the studio had a massive soundboard in the middle with automated sliders, buttons, and blinking LEDs, and at the bottom was a big glass room for musicians and singers. As we descended the levels to the main area, I noticed the framed gold and platinum CDs on the wall, four of them Tabitha’s.
“This is where we make the hits,” Bennie chuckled. “Straight-up hits and nothing but hits.” He walked me right up to the enclosed glass room. Inside, there was a piano, guitars, and microphones. Three backup singers sat around music stands in the corner. There was a big black girl; a skinny white girl with lots of tats, angel bites, and other piercings; and a short Latina with her hair beaded and braided. They were laughing and singing, but we couldn’t hear them.
“Those girls inside the fishbowl are our secret weapon—the backup babes, especially Oleta; she’s our gospel diva,” Bennie said. “They make us all look good. They give us white folks soul.” Bennie tapped the window, and the three girls waved back. Oleta threw him a kiss.
The main room was strewn with lots of coffee cups and Chinese food containers. It was pretty clear that everyone had been working for quite some time while waiting for the Princess of Pop. There were laptops plugged into the main board and mini keyboards everywhere. Every few minutes, we would hear a bouncy beat or a mean riff being played, but everything was on a computer or prerecorded in some way. As far as I could tell, no one was playing an actual instrument. I guessed Max was only there for emergencies.
Tuning and adjusting the sliders and knobs on the enormous soundboard in the middle of the room was this superserious guy, tall and thin, wearing red Converse sneakers, light-gray jeans, a gray shirt, and a pencil-thin black tie.
“Come on, guys, let’s finalize your kicks and synths so I can run the premix,” he demanded. “I’ve got another session after this.” The three engineers working with him scuttled about.
“And this is my partner, Dr. K,” Bennie said. “He’s not as nice as I am. Or as talented or as handsome.”
“I can see that,” I said and giggled. Dr. K rolled his eyes and managed a tepid smile.
“Come on
, Bennie,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
“Thanks for the tour,” I said. “I don’t want to get in the way. I’ll find my way back up to the couches and chairs at the top.” He did a funny bow as I left.
Tabitha was walking down as I made my way up. I stopped and gave her a hug, but she was already in her tough-ass mode and didn’t seem to need it. She joined Dr. K at the big soundboard. He gave her a set of headphones and seemed to be teaching her the song that they had already written and produced the tracks for.
“It won’t work,” I overheard her say. And then a few moments later, “That’s not what I want to do.”
They seemed to be arguing over the song. Dr. K would try to convince her, and although there was a give-and-take, from my vantage point, she seemed to always get her way. Bennie occasionally joined in to mediate and keep everyone cool.
Up top near the entrance, I sat down next to Max, who appeared to be nodding off. Right behind us was a craft-services table on the back wall, loaded down with fresh fruit, sandwiches, cookies, a full bar, and enough sweets to stock Dylan’s Candy Bar for a week. Seriously, there was more food than at my house and almost as much alcohol.
“Okay, this is what I’ll do,” I heard Tabitha say as they seemed finally to have reached an agreement. Tabitha stood up, and Bennie escorted her to a booth inside the glass room separate from the backup girls. As the mics were turned on, I could hear Tabitha say hi to the girls. They were all very accommodating and sweet, treating her as if she was part of their sorority.
On Dr. K’s cue, Tabitha sidled up to the microphone, the way I’ve seen her do in a dozen music videos, and started to sing. But her voice was thin, even slightly off-key. Not the full-throttle vocals that I’ve listened to. I mean, I knew kids in my high school choir and had seen many others on YouTube who could sing better. Dr. K stopped her and asked her to try it again.
I peeled the label off my water bottle bit by bit as Dr. K asked her to try again and again, my image of Tabitha Eden, the big-voiced power singer who hit the money notes with phrasing and emotion, crumbling before my eyes.
“So you’ve never actually had the pleasure of hearing Tabitha sing?” Max asked behind me. He wasn’t asleep after all and must have seen how taken aback I was. I didn’t know what to say.
“It’s not really any worse than the others … Katy or Kesha,” he said. “Or Fergie, for that matter. Ever watched those YouTube vids of Britney with her onstage mic turned on? I was her lead guitarist on that tour.”
“So how does it … get better?” I asked, glad that we were outside Tabitha’s earshot.
“Auto-Tune—it’s like plastic surgery for music, and Bennie usually has some magic synths he comes up with that make it better. But even the good singers would never be able to dance in concert without Auto-Tune.”
Tabitha glanced back at me, and I smiled as if everything was great.
“But then if everyone does it, why does she feel so bad about it?” I asked him.
“She shouldn’t. Auto-Tune is like an effect that enables her to sing. She just hates the biz. I mean, they drive her hard, but I think they’re worried if she stops she’ll go off the deep end. And then she’s a brand, everyone’s making so much money, why stop?”
“Hold on, Tabitha,” said Bennie. “I’ve got a new synth I want you to try.” Bennie patched his laptop into the main console, and Dr. K pushed a few buttons. Tabitha nodded and began to sing, but this time it had an even richer texture and was much closer to the voice that I knew from her recordings.
Dr. K brought in the backup singers on the following take. Seemingly out of nowhere, Oleta burst into a rising gospel countermelody and the music came alive with soul, giving the song a feeling it didn’t have otherwise. She provided the emotional force that drove the melody, and she knew just exactly how to rock it with her voice, even cracking on the beat. The room was awash in sound—bubbly, infectious, maddeningly danceable, and suddenly soulful. Even Max couldn’t help tapping his feet. Then it stopped and started all over again.
Dr. K seemed like the crazy perfectionist, and Bennie, the wild creative genius. He had a new idea every second. It was as if they were all playing chess with riffs, beats, and synths—no real instruments, no real voices beside the backup. In the end, the song would have Tabitha’s name all over it. People like me would assume it was all her.
As Tabitha removed her headset and came back into the main room, Brit, the receptionist, left Tabitha another tequila.
“Hey guys, don’t you have enough from me?” she asked after a long swallow.
“We need another double,” Dr. K said. Tabitha gave him her saddest pout. “Come on, Tabby, we want a hit, baby. Whatcha gotta do today that’s more important?” Bennie pleaded. Tabitha threw back the rest of her tequila lemonade.
“Lisbeth and I are supposed to go shopping,” she said, as if it was the most serious thing in the world. Bennie laughed. “She’s spending the money before we’ve even made it!”
“Oh, cut it out, you little twerp. If you had any balls, you would come with us and I’d buy you some real clothes, instead of that Old Navy shit you wear. But we’d have to spend some of your vast royalty income, and we all know you’re too cheap for that.”
“Owned,” Dr. K said and laughed for the first time all day.
“Okay, okay, I know when I’ve met my match. We’ll double it with Alieya,” Bennie said and the short Latina backup girl waved. Tabitha seemed to have no problem having someone else ghost perform her vocals. “But I’ll make a deal with you. If Lisbeth is here next time, I will shop with you,” Bennie added, giving a smile that I knew was just for me.
“So, can we go?” she asked, on the verge of annoyance. Bennie and the Doc traded glances.
“Sure,” Bennie said, “get out of here.”
“Ka-ching,” Max said. “Another shiny pop performance, a supercool song, and surefire hit.” That seemed perfectly true as far as I was concerned.
“I’ll be sure to let the boss know,” Doc said, returning to his soundboard.
“Yeah? Well be sure to let him know this, too…” Tabitha said, holding her middle finger up. Everyone nodded knowingly.
As Tabitha prepared to leave, Bennie bounded up the stairs and handed me his card.
“Hey Lisbeth, here’s my number. I know you’ll dig me,” Bennie added.
I couldn’t help being a little embarrassed.
Tabitha was motioning me from the studio exit to hurry up.
“Shopping time!” she screamed in the fullest voice she had used all session.
34
“La Perla first, the one in SoHo,” Tabitha instructed Mocha as soon as we jumped into the limo. “I always seem to be losing my underwear.” She giggled. Mocha turned the limo into the traffic and headed toward SoHo.
“The key, darling,” I said, “is to keep them on until you get home.”
“Yeah, I really should try that, or maybe stuff them in my purse. But sometimes I just don’t have time.” She shrugged as though she were talking about losing a pair of gloves, a scarf, or sunglasses. Mocha cracked a grin in the rearview mirror. So chauffeurs do hear everything.
“So, you don’t hate me?” Tabitha asked, stretching out into the corner of the limo.
“Why on earth would I?” I wondered how much of Tabitha’s insecurity I could take, considering there was my own insecurity to deal with. “That was impressive and wonderful.”
“Britney’s no different, believe me. I sang with her once, and she can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
“Ah, yes, that’s what Max said.”
“Oh. Really?” she said, eyebrows raised. “Well, I guess he should know.”
I hoped I hadn’t put Max in a bad spot.
“Dear, I’m impressed that you can work with those very talented musicians. The process is mind-boggling,” I said, worried that my Audrey sounded a tad old-fashioned.
Tabitha shrugged. The dark cloud that had made her so anxious had l
ifted now that the studio recording was behind us.
Taking La Perla by storm, Tabitha dropped six thousand dollars on underwear as if she was buying breath mints at the drugstore. I couldn’t help but wonder how many mortgage payments my mom would have made with her underwear money.
Walking the aisles, I found a pair of boy shorts that were stretch tulle for $140. I assumed that these magic panties, in addition to conveying visible benefits on the wearer, bestowed confidence, romance, and sensuality, something that I could probably use.
“When was the last time you bought lingerie?” Tabitha asked. I hadn’t noticed her step behind me.
“Me? I don’t really keep track,” I said. Yeah, once at T.J.Maxx, and once Jess and I went to a sample sale—did those count?
“Well, why don’t you buy some?”
“I keep my underwear,” I said, giving her a disdainful glance and hoping that would put the discussion to rest.
“Tell me the truth, Lisbeth, are you a prude?”
“What? No!” Stunned, it took me a moment to realize that I had become a puzzle for Tabitha to unravel. Being scrutinized, I knew, wouldn’t be good for my inner Audrey.
“Well, you live with your grandmother and a nurse. That’s kind of old-lady-like,” she said.
“Nan is such a dear. It’s not like that. She…,” I began and trailed off, flustered.
“And you don’t seem to get out much,” she added. Hey, I’d gone out more times in the last three weeks than I had in my entire life. That did in fact sound kind of spinsterish. Think Audrey, think Audrey. At that moment, I saw the two salespeople talking to each other and looking our way. I wondered if we weren’t lingering in the lingerie a bit too long. I prayed they would interrupt us.
“I just believe that one should be private and discrete when one is promiscuous,” I said finally. “Unlike some people we know.”
“Oh, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Tabitha laughed. “But you know, I don’t just buy them for some guy … I mean, a little sexy underwear makes me feel confident and alive. Hey aren’t you going to that art opening with ZK? So…?” I wouldn’t have thought that everyone knew that little piece of information.
Being Audrey Hepburn Page 18
