“What did you do?” she asked.
“Nothing. Let’s hit it, pretty lady.”
We got to Rosetta’s, a small American bistro in Brooklyn that we’d rented out for the evening. When we arrived, everyone had taken good advantage of the open bar and appetizer rounds. Tyler was already slurring and Jenny looked pissed. We greeted the guests and mingled with everyone until dinner was served. Mia stood up and addressed the crowd, something extremely out of character for her. I thought for sure she expected me to make the announcement. She took my hand in hers before she started her speech.
“Thank you, everyone, for being here. Will and I feel extremely grateful for having family and friends to share this day with.” She picked up her glass, raised it, and very quickly said, “I’m drinking apple cider because I’m pregnant! So cheers to family and making it bigger!”
“Cheers!” I said with the crowd and clanked my glass with Mia’s.
“How was that?” she said.
“Great, honey.” It may very well have been the worst wedding speech ever.
Two people immediately rushed our table—Mia’s mom and Tyler. Tyler arrived first, but Liz, who only came up to Tyler’s waist, stomped on his foot and then cut in front of him. She glared at us from the other side of the table.
“Mom, I was going to tell you.”
Liz didn’t speak; she just glared at Mia before turning to me. “You better take good care of them.”
I stood up and walked around the table to hug Liz. She started to cry but tried desperately to contain it. I brought her into my chest. “I love Mia and that baby more than anything. I feel like they’re a part of me. It’s the boundless, from the depth of our souls kind of love, can’t you see that?”
She sniffled. “The two of you remind me of her father and me when we were just starting out.”
“You’ve got that wrong, Liz.” I knew she was paranoid Mia would be like her and quickly grow tired of the musician way of life. “The reason you’ve got that wrong is because you assume Mia is like you.” Liz was one of the most pragmatic people I knew. She was a lawyer and she handled everything in life the way she handled her cases, and although Mia had a trait like that, Mia was much more spontaneous and artistic and adventurous than Liz. Plus Mia was a musician herself. “She’s like her dad too.”
She stared blankly at me for several moments until I finally saw the sparkle in her eye. It was a realization. She cupped my face and nodded. “You might be right, Will. I just want her to be happy.”
“We jammed for thirty minutes in the studio before we came here and it was the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”
“Okay, I’ll have to trust you.”
“Trust her too. Trust her judgment. She put me through a year of torturous hell, and she trampled on my heart at least fourteen times just to make sure we were right for each other.”
She laughed and I smiled—I knew that got to her. She was proud of her little girl for doing her homework. When I turned back to look at Mia, she was hugging Tyler. I had taken care of the angry mother of the bride and she was taking care of the piss-drunk and peeved best man. What a team. Mia’s mom kissed both of us and tried not to cry while Mia’s step-dad patted me a little too hard on the back, saying “Congratulations!” over and over again.
I found Jenny and Tyler talking quietly to each other in the corner, so I dragged Mia over to them.
“You guys okay?”
“I thought I was gonna give the speech?” Tyler slurred while sloppily hanging on Jenny’s shoulder.
“I told you Tyler, you can give us your speech now. It will be more personal that way,” Mia said, hoping to keep the drunk guy away from the microphone.
“I was just gonna say I love you guys.”
“We love you too,” Mia and I both replied
“We have some news,” Jenny said quietly.
No one said a word for several moments. I glanced at the champagne glass Jenny was holding.
“I’m drinking apple cider too,” she said.
“Oh my God, you’re pregnant?” Mia shouted.
“Yes,” she cried.
They were both blubbering messes.
“I know this one will stick, Jenny, I just know it.”
For everyone’s sake, I hoped Mia was right.
We left our wedding before most of the guests. We took a cab to the Ritz, where I insisted on carrying Mia through the main door into the lobby and then again into our suite. We spent the whole night naked and tangled up in each other. Sometime before sunrise, when the delicate blue light became visible through the window, Mia whispered to me, “Why do you think people do it?”
Based on what she and I had spent the last hours doing, my answer was easy. “Because it feels good.” I didn’t realize she was talking about something else.
“Why do you think people get married and have children is what I mean?”
“Because it feels good.” I pulled her naked little body toward me under the covers and threw my leg over her. “Doesn’t this feel good?”
“Yes, but we don’t have to be married to do this.”
“We’re married now, Mia, so I have no idea where this conversation is going, but to answer your question seriously, I think people get married because they want to share their lives with someone, because they want someone to experience life with.”
“What does that mean?”
I kissed her nose and tucked her into my chest. “It means the beauty and wonder that I see in you every day colors each page of my life and makes it more vibrant. You make my experiences more meaningful.”
She nuzzled her face into my neck and murmured, “You’re such a cheese ball, Will, but you’re going to be the best husband and dad.”
And then she sank down under the covers and delivered on her promise.
The next few months flew by, each week dictated by a new chapter in the pregnancy encyclopedia. The holidays were a blur of chaos in the studio and at the café. We took a few days off in December and traveled to Detroit and Ann Arbor to visit family. I learned very painfully that my fear of flying hadn’t improved. Naturally, I was even more of a maniac on the plane than usual. It wasn’t enough that I had to worry about myself plummeting to earth in a fiery ball of wreckage, now I had to worry about my wife and unborn child doing the same. Mia had little patience for my antics, I think because I refused to get help for it.
Mia and Jenny had become obsessed with all things baby. Jenny’s pregnancy did stick and they found out they were having a girl right at the sixteen-week mark. We chose not to find out even though everyone we knew, Jenny being the worst of them all, berated us about it. She complained that our little boy or girl would only ever be dressed in green and yellow and people wouldn’t know what to buy us. That was the one and only thing Mia wasn’t being a total control freak about, so we stuck to our plan to not find out.
Martha would come over every week and check on Mia and work with her on relaxation and breathing exercises to prepare for the natural labor. Jenny was on board with the natural thing too, so of course she and Mia dragged Tyler and me to the Bradley Birthing Method classes.
It was hysterical; we had to get in all kinds of weird poses with the girls while they mimicked being in labor. We would massage their backs while they were perched on all fours, moaning. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done is contain my laughter during those classes. Mia was the freakin’ teacher’s pet because she was taking it so seriously.
Right around the third class, they showed us a video of a live birth. I had nightmares for a week after that. Tyler and I agreed that we had to find a way to get out of going to the classes.
We hadn’t mutually agreed on a plan, so during the fifth class, Tyler took it upon himself and used his own bodily gifts to get us into a heap of trouble. Tyler is lactose intolerant, and he has to take these little white tablets every time he eats cheese. The morning of the class, he stopped by the studio with a half-eaten pizza. I didn’t even t
hink twice about it until that night in class during our visualization exercises when this god-awful, horrendous odor overtook our senses.
At first everyone kept quiet and just looked around for the source. There wasn’t a sound to accompany the lethal attack, so everyone went into investigation mode, staring each other down. Mia began to gag. I heard Jenny cry a little behind us. Finally when I turned toward Tyler, I noticed he had the most triumphant glimmer in his eyes. I completely lost my shit. I was rolling around, laughing hysterically.
Mia grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and pulled me to my feet. “Outside, now!” She was scowling as she dragged me along. When we passed Tyler, she pointed to him angrily. “You too, joker.”
Mia and Jenny pressed us up against the brick wall outside and then gave us the death stare, both of them with their arms crossed over their blooming bellies. They whispered something to each other and then turned and walked off, arm in arm.
We followed. “Come on, you guys, it was funny.”
Jenny stopped dead in her tracks and turned. She jabbed her index finger into my chest and said, “Yes, it is funny. When you’re five! Not when you’re in a room full of pregnant women. Do you know how sensitive our noses are?”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t me.”
“Oh, I know he’s a child,” she said but wouldn’t even look at Tyler. “And you are too, Will, for encouraging it.”
Mia was glaring at me with a disappointed look, and then she shook her head and turned to continue down the street. Jenny caught up and walked away with her.
“God, they’re so sensitive,” I whispered to Tyler.
“Yeah, I kinda feel bad.”
Without turning around, Mia yelled to us, “You guys don’t have to come anymore. Jenny and I can be each other’s partners.”
I turned to Tyler and mouthed, “It worked!” I had a huge smile on my face.
Tyler and I high-fived.
“Why don’t you guys go celebrate? I know that’s what you wanted,” Jenny yelled back as they made a sharp turn down the sidewalk and down the stairs to the subway.
“Nothing gets past them,” Tyler said.
When Tyler and I finally made it to the platform, Mia was gone.
“Where’s Mia?” I said to Jenny, who was trying to ignore me.
She stared straight forward but still answered me. “She caught the subway going that way.” She pointed. “To Brooklyn, to your home. It was just about to go—the doors were closing when we got down here.”
“And you let her get on by herself? She’s fucking pregnant, Jenny.”
“I’m well aware. She’s a big girl; she can ride the subway alone once in a while.”
I started pacing, my heart pounding. Tyler just looked like a clueless oaf standing there, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Jenny leaned against a pole and played on her phone. I took off and ran to the other side of the station to catch the train I needed to be on. Tyler yelled at me to wait, but I ignored him. I rode the subway back to Brooklyn and ran into a liquor store, bought a pack of cigarettes, and then continued the block and half back to my building. I skipped every other stair up to our loft and flew through the door. Mia wasn’t home. Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.
I called her from my cell but she didn’t pick up. I texted her and then left a voice mail. I was almost in tears. “Please, baby, tell me you guys are okay.” Weeks before, I had started referring to Mia and the baby as you guys. “I’m a nervous wreck.”
Standing in front of our building, I lit a cigarette and nervously sucked and puffed it. I was down to the filter in one minute flat. I pulled another cigarette out and did the same. Finally, I spotted her, strolling down the street toward me, accompanied by Tyler.
“What the fuck?” I yelled when they were still a block away.
Tyler walked Mia to the end of the block and then threw his hand up, waving good-bye. I didn’t wave back. When Mia reached me, I was shaking my head. “What, you were hiding behind a fucking pole, waiting for me to lose it and go running after you?”
Never breaking a smile, she stood there with her arms crossed. “We didn’t think you would take off.”
“I was going after you, my wife, my pregnant wife. Did you think that was funny?”
“I thought it was about as funny as a grown man intentionally farting in a birthing-method class.”
“That wasn’t me!” I shouted.
“But you laughed.”
“Why is everyone mad at me and Tyler just gets off scot-free?”
“Oh, he’ll get his turn, trust me. There’s nothing quite like the wrath of Jenny—you know that.”
I looked down at Mia’s waist. Her tiny belly was poking through her coat. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you inside. I’m sorry about tonight, okay?”
“I just want you to take this natural-birth thing seriously with me, Will. It’s going to be a big deal. I need to be prepared and I need you on my team. Jenny’s due date is a month and half after mine. I’m going to have to do this first. I want this so bad, but I’m already doubting myself.”
“Okay, I need to get you guys inside.” I wrapped my arm around her waist and rubbed her belly as we climbed the stairs.
Most of our time was occupied with the scouring of baby magazines, books, and stores for all the right items. Martha had a small baby shower for Mia and Jenny at the café. We got boppies and bottles and booms and bam bams and bassinets and boo boos and bonnets and binkies and all that fucking crap we probably didn’t need.
The studio efforts had been running smoothly until one evening when I got a phone call from Charlie. She said Chad was having some problems with the label. She asked if I could get Frank and have a sit-down with Michael and Chad. Apparently the label was going to request a meeting to discuss the album in its current state, and Michael and Chad wanted us to be prepared.
Our meeting was scheduled early on a Saturday morning in February. I let Mia sleep in, but I left her a note on her teakettle like I always did. That morning I wrote: YOU ROCK ME LIKE A HURRICANE.
Mia had a hefty collection of notes that I had left her; she kept them in a jar on the counter. I told her I didn’t want to be one of those couples who texted each other from the other room. Each morning that I got up before her, which was many once she became pregnant, I would leave her a sticky note. I tried to keep it original. Sometimes the note would just say HI or MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU or I LOVE YOUR BUNS. WINK. She always found a creative way to thank me.
When I got to the studio, I opened the conference room and put some coffee on. Frank, Michael, and Chad arrived shortly after. We greeted each other and took our seats. When Chad smiled at me, I noticed that he looked older, more mature. There was something tired about his expression; he almost looked defeated.
“All right, what’s up, guys?”
Michael came right out and said it. “They’re not happy with the album in its current state and they want to postpone the release.”
“Are you guys happy with the album?” I asked.
Before they could answer, Frank interjected. “Wait a minute. What aspect of the album are they not happy with?”
“They said they want a ballad, a love song, and a hit with a hook. Apparently you guys haven’t delivered on that.”
“‘Lost N Found’ is your ballad and ‘Soldier’ is your hit,” I said.
“It’s not commercial enough, that’s what they’re saying. You know this Bieber kid is writing songs directly to the audience. He’s a superstar and that’s what they want for Chad,” Michael said.
I could feel the anger boiling behind my eyes. “First of all, Chad is not thirteen years old. I was trying to produce an album that would get him some attention as a singer, not as a teen heartthrob.” I turned to address Chad directly. “I mean, is this what you want, man?” When he just shrugged, I said, “Well, you better polish your dance moves because that’s what you’ll be doing on stage, dancing and lip-syncing.”
Frank sa
t quietly until finally he reminded me of why I had hired him back in the days when I was starting out. “Let me talk to you all for a second.” He took off his fedora and set it on the table, clasped his hands together, and leaned in. “I’ve been at this game for a while. We’re witnessing a huge shift occur in the music industry. The record labels are dying because the record is dying. When someone likes a song, they can download it for a dollar or steal a bootlegged copy for free online. You don’t even have to buy the rest of the album—that’s why there is so much pressure for an artist to have multiple hits on one album. Look around; record stores are closing because it’s all going digital. Think of it like this: when was last time you bought a roll of film? See any photo labs around? It’s happening very quickly with music and books too. No more record stores and no more bookstores means what? It means no more labels and no more publishers. Do you think those companies will let that happen without putting up a fight? No, they’ll find a way to tap into this digital market. They’ve given you a nice advance, but you’ll never see any royalties, trust me. Ninety-nine percent of your sales will be digital, but they’ll still charge you twelve pennies on every dollar for packaging. What packaging? They’ll find a way to keep you under their thumb, kid. You could sell five million albums, pay your three-hundred-thousand-dollar advance back, and you still won’t see another dollar. They will nickel-and-dime you on everything, including this studio time. They’re sending you back to us and saying they’re unhappy? That means they can take out twice as much money in studio costs. They’re going to spend an inordinate amount of money to make you sound like the male version of Katy Perry. Your pride will be nonexistent. You’ll owe them after everything is said and done, and then you’ll get finagled into another deal. They’ll probably even insist that you get veneers for that crooked tooth, and then they’ll make you pay for it.”
He chuckled, but the room was completely silent. His laugh echoed off the walls in a terrifying way before he took a deep breath and continued. “In the beginning, they wanted you to feel like your talent was real so you’d agree to sign your life away for the prestige of being signed with a major label. Now that they have you, they’ll try to make you feel like crap until you give them what they want. These days, people need to see the musician on TV. No one listens to the radio anymore, and the people that do will buy albums from independents and small labels. So they need the whole package, and they only make money on the artists who reach celebrity status. I think they agreed to let you come to Will, knowing he wouldn’t produce the crap they want, that way they could put the responsibility back on you. They didn’t know who you were as an artist. They just knew you were good-looking with a good voice.”
Sweet Little Thing: A Novella (Sweet Thing) Page 8
