Chapter 67: Bad Girls Leave You Three Inches Shorter

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Mac

I sing the last note, wait for the record light to go off, slide the headphones down around my neck, and wait for direction.

No one even acknowledges me, except the sound engineer giving me the thumbs up that the take was clean. The control booth is full of people no one bothered to introduce me to—D-Thrill's posse, I guess. All smoking weed and laughing. Not unusual...not like the guys and I haven't partied in the control room after the tracks were down for the day, but it's not even noon and that was my first take.

It's only a four line hook, not that big of a deal, and I nailed it technically, so I guess no one is stressin' this. I could do it all kinds of ways—but I have no idea what D-Thrills and his producer are really looking for in my performance. I've only heard the rap three times and all I had to go on for the hook was a hastily played melody and D-Thrills', vague encouragement. "Something like that, ya know? Old school. Bring your bad-ass vibe."

"Guys?" I ask pleasantly in my mic, and D-Thrills' producer gives me a hazy leer  gesturing to D.  I can't hear their conversation. I probably don't want to, if I want to keep my cool.

Finally, D-Thrills leans down to and flips on the mic. "That's ghouda, Baby. Let's try a few things, though. Can you do it again but sound like Camila?"

I go again, dialing back the funk and bringing the sex-kitten. Then they tell me do it like Lourdes, and I go for intensity. Then Katy—sunny and whimsical—then Lily Allen—understated and bitchy—then Sia—all out club style. The whole time, my new "team" stands in a corner and watches me with hawk eyes.

I'm not sure I like my team...I feel like they see nothing but my abdomen, and they are really giving me a complex. I still felt sexy until one of the video guys suggested that we could always go high-tech and digitize me some abs for close ups while using a body double for wide dance shots. I'm trying not to constantly check my reflection in the sound booth glass.

After my Gaga, Bebe, and Halsey approximations, I claim a break for myself. D-Thrills throws an arm around me when I enter the control room and offers me his blunt. I just laugh and slide out of his grasp.

"Bad for the cords," I remind him, sliding my hand down my throat. "I'm not done."

"You right," he croaks out, as he exhales. He pursues another grasp, sliding a hand around my waist, his fingers splaying across my hip and toward my lower belly. "'Preciate you keeping it tight, Shawty."

It takes everything in me not to shudder. I don't know if it's the way he's touching us—both me and Babycakes—or if it's the way he's claiming the name Adam always calls me, but I have a strong desire to elbow him in the face.

I don't. He's really not that bad, not any worse than most guys in the game. It's me that's changed. I don't want to play anymore. I want my husband here. I want him not to be two thousand miles away, angry with me and trying like hell not to be. I wonder if it's just for the sake of Babycakes that he's trying to calm his anger. I'm not sure.

Our goodbyes after the show were very strained. He said nice things—that he understood why it needed to be this way, that he would respect my decision without fighting me on it— but I could feel the hurt and anger he was trying desperately to keep closeted inside. The two conversations I've had with him today have been no better—short, and distracted. He's asked me only if I got any rest, if I've eaten, if Dawes is treating me right, only the practical stuff. I assured him everything was okay, and then there was nothing but silence after, until I asked him how things were going with Arabella.

He and Bodie and Arabella are riding on one of the crew buses. He had the crew set up two synthesizers for her. Bodie has a couple of drums and Adam has his base and they are pre-rehearsing to make sure she can actually swing subbing for me. To Adam's tremendous surprise and relief, she's a good keyboardist and she already had a grasp on the songs, so he thinks it will be okay, although she seems less interested in improvising than flirting with Bodie.

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