Perfect Distraction | James Hetfield

Chapter 9

"I don't care who is fucking who, we've got a shit-tonne of work left and it's 3 in the fucking morning!" Bob's voice cut through the arguing.

I couldn't believe it had come to this. I'd messed everything up, all because I let myself get too close. I wanted to be the best person for this job but instead I'd turned myself into a thing to fight over.

The day had started peacefully, if not a bit later than usual. Jason was taking his time going over tapes from a session the other day, looking for a specific riff he'd been jamming whilst Bob had chatted with James.

He didn't talk much as he seemed hellbent on remembering this rhythm, even if it was going to turn him mad, so I was sat taking timer notes for filing later. It was a tedious job, but crucial to keeping track of every single box and tape in here. My mind went back to thinking how much the last guy would've struggled, if he'd stuck around, as my view wandered across the room and counted over 45 boxes in total.

I felt proud of what I'd managed to accomplish in the few short months of my employment. I was really doing it. I was making my own path and sticking to it.

The ringing of the landline cut through the recording and Jason cursed the phone before picking up.

"Fi's Torture Chamber, how may I help?" Jason sighed out.

He hands me the phone and gets back to searching his tape, silently letting me know whoever it was wanted to speak to me.

"Fi, can you come to the control room please?" Bob forgot to say hello.

"Hello to you too Bob, yes I'll be there shortly." I replied sweetly.

As I walked into the control room the atmosphere was hostile, like they were all stewing from a sour argument.

Bob was sat closest to the soundboard acting as the barrier between Lars and James. There was something buzzing between those two that felt a lot like it was going to blow up at the slightest touch.

It was dead silence, except the creaking of the floorboards as I moved into the room and sat down in the spare chair next to Bob by the soundboard. Now I understood why he was so short on the phone.

"I need you to help mix these bass parts in please, Fi." Bob was sat awkwardly in his chair, one knee up and held there with linked fingers. His hair was frazzled like he'd been pulling at it in frustration.

I hesitated before speaking, "I'm just a technician Bob. I don't know how to mix on a scale like this."

"Okay," he rubbed his eyes roughly with a fist, "then just side with one of these idiots so we can go home."

I turned in the chair to face James first, he wouldn't look me in the eye. He'd been cold to me for the last three days. Even now he was hunched over the back of his chair, having turned it around to have something to create a physical barrier between us. Lars was lounging in his chair behind me, and he shrugged as I looked to him for an explanation.

Neither of them spoke. It was almost a game, the winner being the last one to speak.

"If I'm going off the last album, I think the bass should be higher in the mix." I broke the silence hoping someone would follow.

"No, it'll cover the hi-hat in the chorus." Lars spoke quickly and shot a wary look over to James.

His eyes registered the comment, but he refused to turn to look at him.

"What? That sound of little girls dancing in tap shoes?" James scoffed, "No thanks. The bass needs to be louder for the chorus."

Lars nervously laughed, a short giggle, before he gave up trying. His eyes flitted around the room looking everywhere but at me. He didn't seem as angry as James; it was almost like a kid who'd just got caught throwing something across the room.