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What's the Point of Being in Love?
Four;
It’s been a year and a half since our first gig.
We had built a huge fan base. People drove in from far places to come see us. It was truly incredible.
We had just played at a local club and were sitting at the bar (not drinking, seeing as we were still a year underage) talking to some fans, when a lady stepped up to us. She had chest length blonde hair and brown eyes. She looked around 30 to 40 years old. She wore a tight tan dress with a black over and a tan and black belt.
“Excuse me,” she said in a kind voice to the girl that we were currently talking to. I gave Emmie a confused look, who shrugged in return. “Hello.”
“Uh, hi,” I replied.
She smiled kindly, “My name is Deena Yeller. I’m a Decaydance Records representative.” She showed us a card.
My insides absolutely burst at that moment. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and my eyes widened.
“Uhhhh…” I shut my mouth so I wouldn’t keep on sounding stupid.
She then chuckled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rest of my band looking just as I probably did. Dumbfounded.
Finally, Erix cleared his throat and stepped up. “Nice to meet you. I’m Erix Henshaw, and this is – “
The lady cut him off, “Cayne Wright, Abner Henshaw, Emelda Jenkins, and Brynn Bon. I know.” She smiled and handed the card to Erix.
He took it and stared at it for who knows how long, sliding it along his fingers as if trying to convince himself this was a dream.
The lady chuckled again, “A niece of mine suggested your band to me.”
I saw Brynn quirk an eyebrow, “And who was your niece?”
“Her name is Sarah. She’s been a fan of yours for a while now.” She nodded matter-of-factly. “Anyway, I’d be honored to be the woman to suggest your band to Pete Wentz.”
I all but died at that moment. Emmie rested her hand on my shoulder, whispering assurities to me, though her eyes were wide as hell.
I did mention Fall Out Boy is my favorite band right? So on top of the fact that we might get fucking signed, it was by the bassist of my favorite band’s record company.
I was having a panic attack.
After my breathing was settled, I glanced at Erix, who was rattling off any form of business contact to the woman and rubbing his palms, no doubt to rub sweat off.
“Uh, check on Abner, Em,” I instructed, gazing at Abner who looked like he was jizzing his pants at the moment. Emmie then turned, rubbing Abner’s back and trying to get him to calm down.
“Great!” Deena Yeller said eventually after talk with Erix. “We’ll be in contact.”
*
It’s been a month since we’ve met Deena.
For two weeks, we were pacing, glubbering, worried messes. Then we got used of the idea that, “Pete Wentz didn’t like our music” and just continued doing what we were doing.
Then one day, I got a phone call on my phone from Erix while I watching TV with my dad. I raised an eyebrow because I had just gotten home from band practice.
“Yeah?” I said into the receiver, holding up a finger to my dad to signal I’d be a minute.
“What the fuck is going on, Erix?” Brynn’s voice appeared. I guessed that Erix three or four or five-wayed the call.
“PETE WENTZ CALLED ME PERSONALLY!” Erix yelled into the phone. “HE WANTS A MEETING WITH US.”
I all but dropped the phone.
*
“Are you sure I look okay?”
This time, it wasn’t my lips those words flowed from.
“Yes, Brynn, you look positively dashing,” Erix muttered from his seat.
We had to be flown from Portland, Oregon to New York, where Decaydance Records was placed. We now walking from a nearby hotel – all expenses paid – to the building.
It wasn’t the most expensive and impressive buildings ever, but it was still pretty intimidating. We stepped into the brick clad structure and over to the counter. Behind it sat a woman that looked about our age, with gauges in her ears and tattoos littering her arms. She was tall with long limbs, short pin-straight strawberry blond hair, and a pointed face.
“Yeah?” she asked in a bored tone.
“We’re, uh, Friday With Two Meanings,” Erix stepped up. She then looked down at her computer and typed a few things, then looked back up.
“Audition with Mr. Wentz for 4’clock?” she asked. Erix nodded. “Follow me.”
She led us from the lobby and down a hall, then into a room.
It was a pretty ordinary conference room. The walls were white, except for the one that held the door, which was glass. A conference table sat at one end, with chairs surrounding it.
The only thing that signaled that this was a Pete Wentz-y place was the single wall sticking out of the ground with white and black splats of paint all over it.
“Mr. Wentz will be here momentarily,” she said, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. We all made our way to the round table, taking seats.
Usually we’d be joking around, but we were all too nervous to speak.
About 10 minutes later, the door opened again, causing us to snap up. My eyes were practically baseballs when I saw Pete fucking Wentz, standing there in the flesh.
He walked in, a coffee in a hand.
“Hey, Friday,” he said in a tired voice as he plopped himself in a seat. He gave a coy grin as he gazed out at us. “I’m Pete.”
We were all silent.
Pete then leaned forward, chuckling. “Don’t worry, no need for introductions. I’d already done my studying. Cayne Wright, lead vocalist. Brynn Bon, lead guitar. Abner Henshaw, bass. Emelda Jenkins, keyboardist. Erix Henshaw, drummer. Am I correct?”
We all nodded, surprised he had memorized it.
“Alright,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s get this thing started then.” He then took a long sip of his coffee. “Ready to be stuck in a box for the next 10 minutes?”
After we all stood up, Pete took one last sip of his coffee before throwing it in a trash can and leading us from the room.
He then led us down the hall and into another room. Sound controls were in the wall and on a counter connected to another wall, facing a window. Through the window I could see a microphone sticking from the ceiling. Guitars and basses lined one wall, both electric and acoustic. A keyboard sat on one end, next to a grand piano that I saw Emmie gaping at. In the back was a drum set.
“This is the studio,” Pete said, holding out his arms. “That is the sound booth. If this all works out, you’re going to be spending a whole lotta time in there. So, I suggest you get a feel for it.” He bit his lip. “Uh…yeah. Okay. So what’s going to happen is you’re going to say the song name, then jump right into it. Once you are finished with it, just name the next song and go into it. No pause.” We all nodded. “Alright. And you picked your three songs just like I told Erix to?” After we nodded, he grinned. “Alright! Now, into the box you go! Don’t go insane…last I need is a bunch of blubbering idiots messin’ with my instruments…”
After we laughed, we entered the sound booth and grabbed instruments.
Abner, Brynn, and I all went for the selection of guitars and basses cluttered in the corner. My eyes widened when they trailed over a beautiful black and gray-ish tinge Gibson SG standard. I grabbed it immediately. It was the most beautiful electric guitar I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
After I had those huge headphones on my ears and I was standing in front of the microphone with the guitar strapped on my body, I checked to make sure everybody was ready.
They were.
It’s now or never.
“This song is called Won’t Be Me,” I said into the microphone, struggling to keep my voice calm.
We had chosen Won’t Be Me, and song I’d written after I’d had a brief fling with a guy. It was talking about taking control of the situation. And we thought it would be a good song to play first.
Emmie started up with her piano riffs, quickly joined by the beat of the drum. Not so long after bass and guitar were added.
And then it was time for me to sing.
“Damage is done
Dangerous game
I think I’m going insane
He don’t know what love is
I tell myself to let it off
Let it go]”
I forced myself to not look at Pete. I was worried enough as it was. I didn’t really want to see his expression.
I listened to the beat change to a slower, more thrilling tone as we approached the pre-chorus.
“You’re only affectionate in the dark
But I’m too caught up in your skin
To notice the sin
Love me, fuck me
Do you really want me?
I wear your heart on my sleeve
And I lie through my teeth
Someone’s going to get hurt
And it won’t be me”
I stopped singing, allowing my band to play the quick instrumental before opening my lungs and singing again.
“I think I’m finally done
But you keep me coming back for more
You bore angel wings
But you’re a demon at the core
I don’t even know right from wrong anymore
I tell myself this is innocent
It’s deliberate
I apologize for mistaking lust from love
I admit it’s my fault, but
You’re only affectionate in the dark
But I’m too caught up in your skin
To notice the sin
Love me, fuck me
Do you really want me?
I wear your heart on my sleeve
And I lie through my teeth
Someone’s going to get hurt
But it won’t be me”
This instrumental was longer. I focused solely on the little bar in between my eyes.
Don’t look at Pete. Don’t look at Pete. Don’t look at Pete. Dammit, Cayne, don’t look at-
“Ignoring the stop signs
Pushing the rush
I’m a prisoner in your sticky touch
We’re too deep in this grave I’ve been digging
My senses are tingling
My heart is sinking
There’s a look in your eye
It’s saying we’ll be alright
Are we alright?”
I prepared myself for the last lines.
“L-l-love me
L-l-love me
L-l-love me
L-l-love”
My voice faded out, along with the instruments.
I immediately went into action to name the next song.
“This is D an A.”
D an A is a dancing song. That’s why it begins to spell it out, obviously.
After D an A, I pulled the guitar off my body and set it aside. I could see Brynn in the corner of my eye, rushing to switch to an acoustic.
We chose our last song, Cautious, because it was slow and sad. I wrote it sometime after Peyton and I broke up…after I got over my depression and refusal to write.
In no time, I was naming the song and singing softly into the microphone, my eyes closed as I poured my whole damn heart into the song. The acoustic guitar hummed softly throughout the room, Emmie’s slow strokes of the keyboard lulling. I allowed my voice to strain to reach the point where you could feel the pain I was feeling.
And then it was over.
Brynn strummed his last chords. My eyes snapped open and moved to Pete in the next instant.
His arms were crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face.
OhgodohgodohgodohgodjustbreathCayneyoucandothisthereisplentyotherrecordcompaniesoutthereohgodohgodohgod.
We all set the instruments to where they were neatly back as if we hadn’t touched them and left the box, placing our headphones on a table pushed to the wall.
“Well,” Pete said, once we were all standing in front of him again, “I’m going to take you back to the conference room then make a quick run to my office to grab some things. That sound okay to you?”
We all nodded numbly.
We all left the studio, our shoes padding against the dark carpet of the hall.
And then, just like that, we were back in our seats in the conference room. Alone. Silent.
I bounced my leg over and over, chewing on my nails. Emmie’s own nails were drumming against the table, and with my nervousness it sounded 10x more loud than it really was.
And it was really fucking bugging me.
A whole 20 minutes passed before Pete returned, a manila folder in hand.
He was grinning ear to ear as he walked up to us, hand held out.
“Welcome to Decaydance Records, Friday With Two Meanings.”
We had built a huge fan base. People drove in from far places to come see us. It was truly incredible.
We had just played at a local club and were sitting at the bar (not drinking, seeing as we were still a year underage) talking to some fans, when a lady stepped up to us. She had chest length blonde hair and brown eyes. She looked around 30 to 40 years old. She wore a tight tan dress with a black over and a tan and black belt.
“Excuse me,” she said in a kind voice to the girl that we were currently talking to. I gave Emmie a confused look, who shrugged in return. “Hello.”
“Uh, hi,” I replied.
She smiled kindly, “My name is Deena Yeller. I’m a Decaydance Records representative.” She showed us a card.
My insides absolutely burst at that moment. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and my eyes widened.
“Uhhhh…” I shut my mouth so I wouldn’t keep on sounding stupid.
She then chuckled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rest of my band looking just as I probably did. Dumbfounded.
Finally, Erix cleared his throat and stepped up. “Nice to meet you. I’m Erix Henshaw, and this is – “
The lady cut him off, “Cayne Wright, Abner Henshaw, Emelda Jenkins, and Brynn Bon. I know.” She smiled and handed the card to Erix.
He took it and stared at it for who knows how long, sliding it along his fingers as if trying to convince himself this was a dream.
The lady chuckled again, “A niece of mine suggested your band to me.”
I saw Brynn quirk an eyebrow, “And who was your niece?”
“Her name is Sarah. She’s been a fan of yours for a while now.” She nodded matter-of-factly. “Anyway, I’d be honored to be the woman to suggest your band to Pete Wentz.”
I all but died at that moment. Emmie rested her hand on my shoulder, whispering assurities to me, though her eyes were wide as hell.
I did mention Fall Out Boy is my favorite band right? So on top of the fact that we might get fucking signed, it was by the bassist of my favorite band’s record company.
I was having a panic attack.
After my breathing was settled, I glanced at Erix, who was rattling off any form of business contact to the woman and rubbing his palms, no doubt to rub sweat off.
“Uh, check on Abner, Em,” I instructed, gazing at Abner who looked like he was jizzing his pants at the moment. Emmie then turned, rubbing Abner’s back and trying to get him to calm down.
“Great!” Deena Yeller said eventually after talk with Erix. “We’ll be in contact.”
*
It’s been a month since we’ve met Deena.
For two weeks, we were pacing, glubbering, worried messes. Then we got used of the idea that, “Pete Wentz didn’t like our music” and just continued doing what we were doing.
Then one day, I got a phone call on my phone from Erix while I watching TV with my dad. I raised an eyebrow because I had just gotten home from band practice.
“Yeah?” I said into the receiver, holding up a finger to my dad to signal I’d be a minute.
“What the fuck is going on, Erix?” Brynn’s voice appeared. I guessed that Erix three or four or five-wayed the call.
“PETE WENTZ CALLED ME PERSONALLY!” Erix yelled into the phone. “HE WANTS A MEETING WITH US.”
I all but dropped the phone.
*
“Are you sure I look okay?”
This time, it wasn’t my lips those words flowed from.
“Yes, Brynn, you look positively dashing,” Erix muttered from his seat.
We had to be flown from Portland, Oregon to New York, where Decaydance Records was placed. We now walking from a nearby hotel – all expenses paid – to the building.
It wasn’t the most expensive and impressive buildings ever, but it was still pretty intimidating. We stepped into the brick clad structure and over to the counter. Behind it sat a woman that looked about our age, with gauges in her ears and tattoos littering her arms. She was tall with long limbs, short pin-straight strawberry blond hair, and a pointed face.
“Yeah?” she asked in a bored tone.
“We’re, uh, Friday With Two Meanings,” Erix stepped up. She then looked down at her computer and typed a few things, then looked back up.
“Audition with Mr. Wentz for 4’clock?” she asked. Erix nodded. “Follow me.”
She led us from the lobby and down a hall, then into a room.
It was a pretty ordinary conference room. The walls were white, except for the one that held the door, which was glass. A conference table sat at one end, with chairs surrounding it.
The only thing that signaled that this was a Pete Wentz-y place was the single wall sticking out of the ground with white and black splats of paint all over it.
“Mr. Wentz will be here momentarily,” she said, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. We all made our way to the round table, taking seats.
Usually we’d be joking around, but we were all too nervous to speak.
About 10 minutes later, the door opened again, causing us to snap up. My eyes were practically baseballs when I saw Pete fucking Wentz, standing there in the flesh.
He walked in, a coffee in a hand.
“Hey, Friday,” he said in a tired voice as he plopped himself in a seat. He gave a coy grin as he gazed out at us. “I’m Pete.”
We were all silent.
Pete then leaned forward, chuckling. “Don’t worry, no need for introductions. I’d already done my studying. Cayne Wright, lead vocalist. Brynn Bon, lead guitar. Abner Henshaw, bass. Emelda Jenkins, keyboardist. Erix Henshaw, drummer. Am I correct?”
We all nodded, surprised he had memorized it.
“Alright,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s get this thing started then.” He then took a long sip of his coffee. “Ready to be stuck in a box for the next 10 minutes?”
After we all stood up, Pete took one last sip of his coffee before throwing it in a trash can and leading us from the room.
He then led us down the hall and into another room. Sound controls were in the wall and on a counter connected to another wall, facing a window. Through the window I could see a microphone sticking from the ceiling. Guitars and basses lined one wall, both electric and acoustic. A keyboard sat on one end, next to a grand piano that I saw Emmie gaping at. In the back was a drum set.
“This is the studio,” Pete said, holding out his arms. “That is the sound booth. If this all works out, you’re going to be spending a whole lotta time in there. So, I suggest you get a feel for it.” He bit his lip. “Uh…yeah. Okay. So what’s going to happen is you’re going to say the song name, then jump right into it. Once you are finished with it, just name the next song and go into it. No pause.” We all nodded. “Alright. And you picked your three songs just like I told Erix to?” After we nodded, he grinned. “Alright! Now, into the box you go! Don’t go insane…last I need is a bunch of blubbering idiots messin’ with my instruments…”
After we laughed, we entered the sound booth and grabbed instruments.
Abner, Brynn, and I all went for the selection of guitars and basses cluttered in the corner. My eyes widened when they trailed over a beautiful black and gray-ish tinge Gibson SG standard. I grabbed it immediately. It was the most beautiful electric guitar I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
After I had those huge headphones on my ears and I was standing in front of the microphone with the guitar strapped on my body, I checked to make sure everybody was ready.
They were.
It’s now or never.
“This song is called Won’t Be Me,” I said into the microphone, struggling to keep my voice calm.
We had chosen Won’t Be Me, and song I’d written after I’d had a brief fling with a guy. It was talking about taking control of the situation. And we thought it would be a good song to play first.
Emmie started up with her piano riffs, quickly joined by the beat of the drum. Not so long after bass and guitar were added.
And then it was time for me to sing.
“Damage is done
Dangerous game
I think I’m going insane
He don’t know what love is
I tell myself to let it off
Let it go]”
I forced myself to not look at Pete. I was worried enough as it was. I didn’t really want to see his expression.
I listened to the beat change to a slower, more thrilling tone as we approached the pre-chorus.
“You’re only affectionate in the dark
But I’m too caught up in your skin
To notice the sin
Love me, fuck me
Do you really want me?
I wear your heart on my sleeve
And I lie through my teeth
Someone’s going to get hurt
And it won’t be me”
I stopped singing, allowing my band to play the quick instrumental before opening my lungs and singing again.
“I think I’m finally done
But you keep me coming back for more
You bore angel wings
But you’re a demon at the core
I don’t even know right from wrong anymore
I tell myself this is innocent
It’s deliberate
I apologize for mistaking lust from love
I admit it’s my fault, but
You’re only affectionate in the dark
But I’m too caught up in your skin
To notice the sin
Love me, fuck me
Do you really want me?
I wear your heart on my sleeve
And I lie through my teeth
Someone’s going to get hurt
But it won’t be me”
This instrumental was longer. I focused solely on the little bar in between my eyes.
Don’t look at Pete. Don’t look at Pete. Don’t look at Pete. Dammit, Cayne, don’t look at-
“Ignoring the stop signs
Pushing the rush
I’m a prisoner in your sticky touch
We’re too deep in this grave I’ve been digging
My senses are tingling
My heart is sinking
There’s a look in your eye
It’s saying we’ll be alright
Are we alright?”
I prepared myself for the last lines.
“L-l-love me
L-l-love me
L-l-love me
L-l-love”
My voice faded out, along with the instruments.
I immediately went into action to name the next song.
“This is D an A.”
D an A is a dancing song. That’s why it begins to spell it out, obviously.
After D an A, I pulled the guitar off my body and set it aside. I could see Brynn in the corner of my eye, rushing to switch to an acoustic.
We chose our last song, Cautious, because it was slow and sad. I wrote it sometime after Peyton and I broke up…after I got over my depression and refusal to write.
In no time, I was naming the song and singing softly into the microphone, my eyes closed as I poured my whole damn heart into the song. The acoustic guitar hummed softly throughout the room, Emmie’s slow strokes of the keyboard lulling. I allowed my voice to strain to reach the point where you could feel the pain I was feeling.
And then it was over.
Brynn strummed his last chords. My eyes snapped open and moved to Pete in the next instant.
His arms were crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face.
OhgodohgodohgodohgodjustbreathCayneyoucandothisthereisplentyotherrecordcompaniesoutthereohgodohgodohgod.
We all set the instruments to where they were neatly back as if we hadn’t touched them and left the box, placing our headphones on a table pushed to the wall.
“Well,” Pete said, once we were all standing in front of him again, “I’m going to take you back to the conference room then make a quick run to my office to grab some things. That sound okay to you?”
We all nodded numbly.
We all left the studio, our shoes padding against the dark carpet of the hall.
And then, just like that, we were back in our seats in the conference room. Alone. Silent.
I bounced my leg over and over, chewing on my nails. Emmie’s own nails were drumming against the table, and with my nervousness it sounded 10x more loud than it really was.
And it was really fucking bugging me.
A whole 20 minutes passed before Pete returned, a manila folder in hand.
He was grinning ear to ear as he walked up to us, hand held out.
“Welcome to Decaydance Records, Friday With Two Meanings.”