Unforgotten

Chapter Two

Joshua had no idea what he was expecting once he got to the recording engineer’s mixing room but it certainly wasn’t what he found. With all the racing thoughts running through his mind, his first objective was getting back there without passing out from the anxiety attack threatening. One step after another, J, and get a grip on yourself for Christ’s sake!

Glancing into a sound booth as he passed it, he saw a multi-colored satchel on the stool in front of the mic. A Styrofoam cup perched precariously on the lip of the music stand below the microphone. A number of books on the floor, and a quick glance at one worn cover made Joshua pause. Witchcraft from the Inside, by someone named Raymond Buckland.

As he pondered this, raised voices caught Joshua’s attention. Male and female, coming from the direction of the mixing room. Joshua turned his attention from the sound booth and made his way down the hall. He turned the corner into the room and found the man from Columbia Records, Paul Landry, seated at the soundboard and arguing with a very angry Sirena Welsh. Her large dark eyes were ablaze with indignation and her cheeks were flushed. Her arms were crossed and she was tapping one foot impatiently.

Joshua took that moment to drink in the vision of Sirena, live and in the flesh, just feet away. He’d seen her in countless photos, on album covers, on television interviews. Nearly always she was wearing gothic style clothing with flowing sleeves and long skirts, her hair falling over her shoulders and down her back, framing delicate, perfect features. And her low voice with the slightest bit of rasp that sent delicious chills down his spine.

The woman before him bore little resemblance to the goddess he’d seen, other than her mane of dark blonde hair in curly disarray. Clad in jeans and an off-the-shoulder white peasant blouse, makeup-less, she somehow seemed even more beautiful, certainly more real to him. And her voice was anything but low and modulated when she yelled “Lavender is my project, Paul! Mine! I cannot and will not do some shit haphazard job in three fucking weeks on my solo album!” Her hands began to gesticulate wildly around the studio. “I’m gonna do this and I’m gonna do this right, but I need more time than that!”

Paul Landry rose lazily from the stool he was sitting on by Edward Sweet, head recording engineer and owner of Sweetfire Studios. He stepped in front of Sirena, blocking Joshua’s view. Neither of them had noticed him come into the room and stand there uncertainly, but Edward did and he caught Joshua’s eye, shaking his head imperceptivity and waving him out. Give it a few minutes, he mouthed, while Sirena yelled, “I can’t believe you expect me to cut this album in three goddamned weeks!”

Joshua backed out of the room as quietly as he’d entered it. Out in the hallway he leaned against the wall and listened to Landry speak tersely.

“I know how badly you’ve wanted to do this album, but I also know you’re used to being this midnight cat, this queen, who thinks she can just show up at the studio whenever she feels like it. You bring that satchel of…”Landry paused…”whatever it is you do, your books and rocks and candles and whatever other crazy voodoo witch garbage, you bring in your friends and your friends’ friends and completely wreck the studio.”

Sirena began to say something and Landry cut her off. “That’s not how we’re doing this album, Sirena. In the first place you’ve only got three weeks –“

“Goddammit, I said –“

“And in the second place, I have no desire to waste my time with a cartoon.”

“A cartoon!” There was pure outrage in Sirena’s voice.

“Yes. A cartoon. This is business and you’d better get that through your head. For all these years you’ve had a band behind you. A built-in support system. You’ve been coddled and protected. Now, all you have is me, and you better listen up and get some discipline or you’re going to get buried alive and you’ll be on your own. You’re not in any way, shape, or form a proven solo artist and we both know that. This is not Tramp. This is not big-time rock and roll. This is you being self-indulgent and me doing you a favor. If you want to do this, fine, we’ll do it but we’ll do it my way. Otherwise I can walk out of this project and I will. Now, go on and get ready. Time’s ticking.”

Joshua now understood why Susan Bright didn’t like Landry. He felt his own anger rising on Sirena’s behalf and he didn’t even know the woman. Paul Landry came off as a cold unfeeling asshole without a shred of interest in the hopes and dreams of artists like Sirena – or like himself. He represented every door that had slammed in his face these past several months, every “sorry, kid” he’d heard. Joshua felt his excitement at working with Sirena waning. Because working with Sirena Welsh meant working with Paul Landry.

He sighed as silence descended in the mixing room. Well, may as well introduce myself, he thought. He straightened and started for the mixing room. Just then a whirlwind of blonde hair flew around the corner and ran right into Joshua, knocking him off his feet.

“Oh, my God! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?”

He lay there sprawled out in the hall, his Gibson in its case half under him. He looked up directly into a pair of deep brown eyes, full of concern. For him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joshua muttered, deeply embarrassed at his undignified position. He sat up and untangled himself from his guitar case strap. Sirena knelt beside him and he felt her touch the back of his head where it had struck the floor. His ears were ringing a little bit and his head hurt, but the sensation of Sirena’s fingers gently touching him made none of that matter. Her touch was heaven.

“I am so sorry,” she repeated urgently. “God, I’m so stupid sometimes! Oh, no, I think you have a bit of a bump here. Let me look at it.” He felt her parting his hair and shivered. The sensation of her touch stopped immediately. “Sorrysorrysorry, I'm sure that hurt! Thank God you're not bleeding.”

“No..I mean, yeah…but…no. I’m okay, really,” Joshua stammered. This was crazy. He'd envisioned meeting Sirena Welsh in person a million times - dreamed of it, in fact. He thought of every scenario in which he'd fantasized meeting her. And the last several minutes it was all he could think of, what he would say, what she would say, how they would come face to face for the first time. This absolutely was not it. He started to rise and Sirena took his hand and helped him up. He felt a little woozy, then it was gone.

“Okay?” she asked, her face still etched with worry.

“Uh-huh, I’m fine, thanks,” Joshua replied and gave her a smile. She returned it and he felt his heart skip several beats.

“God I’m so stupid!” Sirena exclaimed again. “I didn’t see you there. I wasn’t watching where I was going at all, and bam, I knock you over and could have given you a concussion!” She slapped her forehead with her palm for emphasis. “I’m still not sure I didn’t, actually.”

“No, you didn’t. I’ve had a concussion before, when I was a kid. Really, I’m fine.”

“When you were a kid?” Sirena inquired. “You’re still a kid, aren’t you?”

“I'll be twenty-one on April nineteenth,” Joshua told her with an edge of defensiveness, feeling the color rise in his face. “So I guess to you, maybe I am,” he shrugged. He knew Sirena was older than him by a good four years. He had a very youthful face and he knew it. He’d hoped the sparse amount of facial hair he’d been growing had made him look older. So much for that. His dream woman thought he was just some kid.

“Oh. I had you pegged for maybe sixteen,” Sirena replied as Joshua picked up his guitar case and they began to walk down the hall in the direction of the sound booth with the books inside it. "No offense."

"None taken." Sixteen? Jesus! Not just a kid but a child!

“Can I see your guitar?” she asked, nodding at it.

“Sure,” Joshua said, grateful for the change of subject. They went into the sound booth and she took the satchel from the stool, telling him to sit. Joshua handed her his guitar and obeyed, watching Sirena take his Gibson from its case. She looked it over and nodded approvingly.

“Nice axe.” She smiled and slipped the strap over her head. Softly she played a few chords, then ran over some riffs. “Real nice.” She looked up at him, those gypsy eyes locking onto his, her gaze measuring and hypnotic. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“J-Joshua,” he stammered, mesmerized by that intense look. “I already know yours,” he finished lamely and looked away, embarrassed by his own discomfiture, the effect she had on him.

Sirena laughed and it was like music to him. “Yes, I suppose you do.” She played a few more chords and then handed it to him. “So, J-Joshua,” she gently teased without a trace of mockery, “are you the J-Joshua that’s sessioning with me?”

“The very same,” he said, somehow regaining his composure. He even reached out his hand and she shook it with a grin.

“Right on,” her grin broadened into a brilliant smile. “So if I didn’t do any permanent damage to you out there, let’s make some music.”