informed me, “one of the long-suffering studio assistants here at Little Black Hole. Isaac, this is Cary’s assistant, Taylor.”
“Hey, nice to meet you,” Isaac said, shaking my hand.
“Likewise.”
“Come, I’ll show you the way,” Merritt said. “Isaac will bring the goodies.”
I followed Merritt into the hall, holding the door open for Isaac and the basket, and we headed deeper into the studio. As we passed beneath the simple, black Little Black Hole logo painted on the hall wall, I asked her, “So, what does Little Black Hole mean, anyway?”
“I really don’t know. It has something to do with Gabe Romanko.” Merritt glanced at me. “Cary’s old bandmate.”
“Right.”
“Other than that, I’m not sure,” she said. “Issac?”
“No idea,” Isaac said.
Merritt pointed at a door as we passed. “There’s another musician working in Studio B, the smaller one, through there. A country artist.”
“Huh. I didn’t know we had country artists in Vancouver.”
“We have a few. But she’s from Alabama.”
“Cool.” I was trying to act cool, but this was getting exciting. I’d never felt this way walking into the offices I’d worked in, in oil and gas, tech, even once when I worked in a video gaming studio. That place was way fancier than this, and fun. There was a snack lady who came around with a cart loaded with candy and treats every day, and beer on tap in the office kitchen, but this was way more interesting. I swore I could feel the lingering energy of the bands who’d made music here.
And back here, the walls weren’t so bare. They were lined with framed, autographed photos of musicians who’d presumably recorded here. I tried not to gawk at them as we passed.
“Various other artists will be using that studio while the Players are camped out in the illustrious Studio A,” Merritt explained. She pushed through a door into another hallway with several doors off of it and a big, open room on our right. The Players were there, sprawled across the furniture, with the remnants of takeout pizza laid out on a big table. Music equipment was strewn everywhere.
And I could immediately see my best friend’s touch. There were cushy pillows all over the place, some giant pouf ottomans on the floor, a hammock in one corner. Danica had been sending me pics of the stuff she’d been picking out for this room. When her husband’s band asked her to come decorate the studio, she’d been so excited. I was pretty sure this was her favorite project she’d ever worked on.
I was pretty sure it was Summer, actually—the only female member of the band—who’d begged her to come down and class the place up.
“Taylor!” Danica jumped to her feet from the cuddle puddle on the floor where she’d been lounging with Ash, and came to greet me. I gave her a hug as Isaac set the giant basket on the table next to the pizza boxes.
“It looks incredible in here,” I told her.
“Thanks.” She looked around thoughtfully. “It was kind of a barren box before. Like the inside of an old garage. I warmed it up a little.”
“A lot,” Merritt said.
As I looked around, the band members waved at me languidly from where they were lounging. And Merritt had called it. The guys were indeed smoking up. Ash, sprawled in a pile of cushions on the floor, puffed and passed to Matt, who was talking on his phone to someone.
“You guys look like royalty,” I said. “You don’t even have to smoke your weed outside?”
“They’re supposed to,” Merritt said, giving Matt a look.
Matt flashed us a charming, don’t-be-mad-at-me-I’m-just-a-handsome-rock-star smile, tucked the joint into his mouth, and vanished out the back door with the Exit sign over it.
“Come on,” Merritt said to me. “I’ll introduce you around.”
She took me up the hall, introducing me briefly to the two other staff members she could find. When we came back into the big room, she introduced me to the engineer who was working on the Players’ album. He’d materialized from somewhere, possibly drawn by the gift basket Isaac was now poring over; he was dangling in the hammock, and like the band, looked like he was in a pizza-induced coma.
I brushed the pizza boxes aside and started unwrapping the giant gift basket; it was filled with gourmet snacks. Danica helped me start laying everything out across the table.
“Hungry?” I asked Isaac, who was still hovering, practically salivating as he perused the offerings.
“I missed the pizza.”
“Well, there’s lots here. What does a studio assistant do, anyway?” I