Kind of a Bad Time

Chapter 2

"Is she hot?"

"What? No. I mean, she's okay. I mean, I don't know. Fucking hands off, man, what do you think?" Anton hit Brad squarely in the back of his head. Brad was Anton's American, the one who helped him with the English lyrics. He was big and unshaven and wore glasses and looked a bit like Jonah Hill, but he was a mastermind of poetry. And of writing and literature and the English language and of  the German language, which he had taken up to AP in High school and wasn't too bad at accept for his dreadful Amy accent.

Anton was rummaging around his music room, trying to quickly scrounge everything up to where it could be used most efficiently for the recording session that was going to take place in minutes, while Brad lazed on the couch watching TV. Other for the fact that he wasn't appealing to the eye, the fact that Brad hadn't been very successful with other managers was because he was the laziest person Anton had ever met.

"Can you get off your ass and do something?" And when the doorbell rang, Anton looked pointedly at Brad, who looked pointedly back at Anton, who sighed and then answered the door for Erica. Her hair was down in natural waves, no makeup.

"Hey, you showed up. Super. Come in. I'll introduce you to Brad. He's a real life Amy, so don't be too...I don't know, surprised by him?"

"Fine." Erica took off her jacket, and she had a t shirt and sweatpants on again. Not the same pair...but still.

"Yep," Anton said, trying not to stare at her clothes. "So I see you didn't bring your guitar. I half assumed you kept a change of clothes in there and then that's all you owned. How old are you anyway?"

"I'm 18."

"Are you still staying with your parents? Taking a gap year or...?"

"No. This way?" But she just walked ahead without his confirmation since she remembered from a few days ago where he kept his sound system. She could hardly believe that he was the guy who created those songs...because those songs were extraordinary. She could hardly believe that behind his eyes there was something else brewing entirely--music notes and beats and talent, while his mouth just yapped out meaningless, rediculous things that were the first thing on his mind. Since a few days ago, they'd talked on the phone a couple of times, and Erica quickly realized he talked to the point where there were no silences, purely because he liked hearing himself talk—because she surely did not encourage him.

In the music room she ran into Brad, who was in his early twenties, with greasy hair and glasses and frumpy clothes, lounging on the couch in front of a TV. There was a tv in almost every room in this apartment, which was more like a high, flat 4,000-square foot mansion looking over the top of one of the classiest cities in the world. When Erica had noticed that Anton had looked slightly high-class, she had been totally wrong. He--or his parents--must be completely and utterly rich.

“Hallo,” Brad said, checking her out and then returning to the TV. Definitely American with that thick accent.

“That’s Brad,” Anton explained. “Brad, this is Erica Miller.”

“Muller.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Alright, so shall we get started?” With a nod, Erica was whisked away by Anton and placed on a stool inside the sound booth and then handed sheet music, and then Anton brought a second stool in with his own papers. He played the song for her over and over again, and slowly Erica sang along, tasting the words.

She had been a great score. She was a phenomenal singer, even just singing along with his voice in the recording. He went over every note with her, walking through the lyrics and explaining them in German, they discussed different possibilities with the song and her voice. They were both quite intelligent and she was a quick learner and everything went smoothly even all the way through the first recordings. During the first recordings Brad came and sat with Anton on the outside of the sound booth, where they played around with the settings while Erica sang.