Save the Day

“Where have you two been? Neither of you answered your phones and Miley got here an hour ago and refuses to sing unless you were here Nick. And why are you two wearing wigs?” Uncle John bombarded us as soon as we walked into the room.

“Long story,” Nick said to him glancing at me quickly, a small smile on his face. “Where is Miley?”

“In the bathroom; she’ll be back soon though. So, you may want to get rid of the wigs. Though, you should think of going blonde Nick, you look good.” Uncle John said laughing before turning his attention to me. “Would you mind running to Starbucks to get everyone coffee? It’s going to be a long afternoon.”

“Sure,” I said sighing, pulling off my burnt orange pixie cut wig. “What do you want?” I asked. I pulled my hair out of the tight bun Wanda had to put it in to get it under the wig cap and shook it letting it fall naturally. Uncle John handed me a small piece of paper with the drink orders and I left the studio.

I came back about twenty minutes later with seven orders of coffee, including my own, and walked quietly into the studio, noticing the lit red light above the door.

‘Hey’ my uncle mouthed to me from his position behind the control panel.

Suddenly, an over-exaggerated, off key sound filled the room making me flinch. My attention immediately turned to the booths to see where the obnoxious sound came from. Nick was alone in the band booth, trying to get his voice to overpower Miley’s but it wasn’t working. Miley was in the solo booth, almost screaming the words. Thankfully, the song was ending so it would stop.

“Good take guys,” My uncle said into the microphone, clearly forced. “The coffee is here so let’s take five.” He walked over to me sighing and grabbed his coffee.

“OhmyGod, what was that?” I whispered to him, placing the trays on the table and grabbed my caramel frappachino.

“That was the fourth take in row; the first time we got all the way through it.” He answered.

“You’re serious?” I asked, my eyes widening.

He shook his head just as a shrill yell rang through the air, “Where is my venti chocolate macchiato?”

My uncle sighed before placing a forced smile on his face, “Right here Miley.”

“Thank you,” She said, a slight southern drawl present in her voice. As she walked over, I noticed her clothes (or lack of is a better explanation). She had these black cowboy boots on that rose to her mid-calf, ripped daisy duke shorts on with a gray screen tank top. It wasn’t bad (trust me, I’ve seen worse) but it was just slightly… slutty, I guess. “Who are you?” She asked, finally noticing my presence.

“Miley, this is my intern/niece Morgan. Morgan, this is Miley Cyrus.” My uncle said before walking back to the control panel with Ed’s, Michael’s, and Steve’s drinks.

“Nice to meet you,” I said smiling, taking a sip of my drink. Noticing Nick was walking towards us, I picked up his drink and handed it to him.

“Sugar free?” He asked, smiling as he took it from me.

“Of course.”

Miley narrowed her eyes at me, “How old are you Morgan?”

I eyed her carefully but answered, “Seventeen.”

“Oh, so you probably want my autograph, right. Do you have a pen or something ‘cause –”

“Miley, it’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t really want an autograph.” I said honestly.

She looked stunned, “Seriously? You know who I am right?”

I laughed, “Yeah, but I’m not a big fan. Sorry.” I said shrugging.

“Miles, don’t feel bad. She acted the same towards my brothers and me.”

“Really?” She said and looked at me like I was crazy. “What planet do you live on?”

My eyebrows shot up in offense and before I could answer, Uncle John told Nick and Miley to get back in the booth. “Thank God I don’t live on yours.” I mumbled to myself as she and Nick walked away. I thought I heard a soft snicker come from Nick, but he didn’t show any indication that he did.

I just turned and sat in my usually seat, sipping my coffee patiently. “How long do you think this is going to take?” I asked.

Uncle John turned to me, “A lot longer than if it were you in there.” I looked at him with a confused expression. He just smiled and turned towards Nick and Miley. “We’re ready whenever you two are.” He said into the microphone.

Three hours and nine takes later, there was still nothing Uncle John could use.

“Can she ever hit just one note right?” I asked Ed. Uncle John was in the booth with Miley trying to walk her through the song.

“Not without help, if you know what I mean.” He answered shaking his head. “The first time I helped John to record her for her album; I thought she was just screwing with us. But after the fifteenth try at one song, I realized that I was dead wrong.”

“Eek, should I order some dinner for us? Seeing as I assume we’ll be here longer.”

“That’s a question for your uncle.” He said sighing. “This would be so much easier if you were doing this. We would’ve been done before lunch and be doing another song already.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I just did it to help and make some extra cash. It’s not like I was any good.”

“That is where you are wrong. “Michael said. “I’ve been in this business since I got out of high school. You’ve got some amazing popes. Best I’ve heard without any production over it in a while.” Steve and Ed nodded in agreement.

I turned my attention towards Nick and Miley, crossing my arms across my chest. My uncle came out of the booth sighing and ran a hand over his face. “Morgan, could you go in there and play the guitar? Miley says she can’t hear herself over the entire band.” He asked.

“Sure,” I said, getting up. “Anything to make this torture stop.” I mumbled, walking into the band booth. The more I listened to Miley ‘sing’, the more I remembered why I don’t listen to the radio.

“Hey,” Nick said to me as I walked in. “Playing the guitar for us?”

I faked a smile and said as nicely as I could. “Anything to help.” He smiled meekly and mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to me. I just shrugged and picked up the guitar.

Eventually, Miley did squeeze some form of a decent track out of her and left quickly after.

“Thanks a lot Morgan. See you tomorrow.” Ed said to me as he was leaving. As usual, I was the last to leave because of Uncle John’s computer. Today’s tracks took especially long because of the amount (about double the norm).

“Hello there,”

“Hello Joe,” I said, not even bothering to look up.

“How did you know it was me?” He pouted and walked into the room.

“Because you’ve done that every night since I’ve started.” I said laughing. “Where were you today anyway?”

“Ooo, missed me huh? I knew you would.” He said cockily as he sat next to me.

“No, it was just very quiet in the studio – with the exception of some singing. It was nice.” I rebutted, smirking.

“Ouch, that hurt. Kiss it and make it better.” He said and held out his finger in front of my face.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, pushing his hand away. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

Joe laughed, “I was at home, doing some things for tour. I wasn’t needed here, so why would I come?”

“What happens if they finished early and could’ve recorded another song?”

He just laughed again, “You met Miley, right? I knew I was safe.”

“Touché,” I said, he did have a good point.

“So, how did Miss Morgan save the day this time?” He asked, spinning my chair so I’d face him.

I started laughing, “What? Who do you think I am? A superhero?”

“You have to be,” He answered smiling. “That’s the only logical explanation to why Nick is this happy this far into making an album. At this point, he is usually locked in his room from the time we get home until we leave in the morning, trying to make everything perfect.”

I shrugged but smiled at the visual, “I just played the guitar acoustically when Miley said she couldn’t hear herself over the band track.”

“Track? Nick never lets the band leave when he’s recording. It’s like his unwritten rule for this album.”

“Um… the band left because we recorded Nick’s part in the morning. Miley was late and we couldn’t waste any time.”

“How did you record Nick when half the song was missing?” Joe kept questioning me, never letting me drop my gaze.

“I sang Miley’s part.” I answered softly.

“You sing!?” He asked.

“Everyone sings Joe. Some just don’t sing well.” I answered, turning my attention towards the, now finished, files on Uncle John’s computer.

He rolled his eyes, “Can I hear it?”

“No!” I practically yelled. “I mean,” I said realizing he was looking at me strangely. “They didn’t record it.”

“Sing something for me then. I mean you can’t be that bad.” He said and elbowed me in the side.

I smiled at him partially, “Maybe some other time. I have to go though. Night Joe,” I told him and ran out of the room.