I almost moved on to something else, but then he said, “Because I dive pretty deep when I’m on a project. That level of focus… it’s hard to break.”
“So, it’s pretty intense for you when you’re working on an album?”
“Yes.”
“Does it get any easier, now that you’ve done it for so long?”
“It’s never easy.”
“Do you work long hours in a typical day?”
“Yes.”
“Are you looking forward to this project?”
He took a moment to answer that one. “I haven’t worked with Xander in a while, so that should be interesting.”
“Do you enjoy what you do?”
“Most of the time.”
“How long will the album take?”
“Maybe six months. That’s the timeline outlined in the contract, but that can always change. Could take a week. Could take the rest of my life.”
Huh. Interesting. “So what happens when it’s done? You move on to the next one right away?”
“Yes.”
“Do you do interviews or anything to promote the album?”
“I usually issue a statement.”
“Do you work with a publicist on that?”
“Yeah. The band manager will hook me up with that.”
“Brody Mason?”
“That’s him.”
“I know Brody, a little,” I told him. “I know everyone in the band, too. I should probably mention that my best friend is Ashley Player’s wife.”
“That’s what Courteney said.”
Right. I wondered what else his sister might have told him about me, if anything.
“So… then the band goes on tour? And as the album producer, do you have anything else to do with the promotion of the album or the tour?”
“There’s usually some kind of launch party for the album, maybe a listening party. There might even be a few in different cities. It varies. A producer would probably be a part of that. And then yeah, they’ll be touring. But none of that’s got anything to do with me.”
“You don’t go to those parties, or to the shows?”
“No.”
“Never?”
He tapped the fingers of his left hand a few times on the arm of his chair. I glanced at his hand. But then he gripped the chair and his fingers stopped moving. “There was a party for the album I just finished producing. An early listening party. I thought about going.”
“But you didn’t go?”
“It was down in L.A., and I’m here.”
“Will the Players have a party here when their album comes out? The record company is here too, right?”
He didn’t answer that right away. Maybe because he knew that I could ask Ash these things and get answers, so he couldn’t bullshit me.
I wondered if he was considering bullshitting me.
“That’s definitely Brody’s style,” he said.
“Will you go to that party?”
His fingers started tapping on the arm of his chair again. And this time, they didn’t stop.
“I don’t know.”
I glanced at his fingers. They weren’t just tapping. There was a rhythm to it. A repetitive rhythm.
He seemed uncomfortable sitting here, in his living room. He’d seemed uncomfortable the entire time we spoke. Or maybe he was uncomfortable with me in his home. His social cues, though perhaps a little rusty, were incredibly clear. I could feel that he wanted this to be over with.
“Would you like to have an assistant?” I asked him.
“I’ve never had one for long, or one that worked out.”
“Having a good one could provide you with a lot of support. Take care of the things you don’t want to do, to free you up to focus on the things you most want to spend your time on. Like music.”
“Then I guess that could be good.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem all that interested in the idea.”
“Then why are you in my living room right now.”
He said that like a statement, rather than a question. Like my presence here was evidence that he was at least marginally interested.
Maybe it was. He definitely didn’t have to let me in here, or even come to the door.
Either way, he wanted this conversation to be over with, I was pretty sure.
It was pretty clear that he needed assistance of some kind. But I really wasn’t sure what that should entail.
If he really spent all his time alone in this giant house, when he should’ve been going to album release parties… more than anything, he probably needed a therapist.
Did he have a therapist?
I tried to find out without directly asking.
“Do you have anyone else you work with regularly?” I asked him. “A co-worker? A mentor?”
“I like to be alone.”
Right. And that was my clear-as-hell cue to get the fuck out.