“I’m sure we’ll run into each other. We live in the same village.”
She shook her head. “You’re fucking nuts. I mean, what have you got to fear?”
I shrugged. “I hate how I’ve lost part of myself to him already. And it’s only been twice. Two nights spent together, and I can’t think straight.” My voice choked up.Oh no. Not tears. I’m stronger than this.
“That’s called love.”
“I don’t think so.” I turned away before I lost the plot. Having developed a habit of denial, I put on a brave face and suppressed further thoughts about Ethan. “I’ve got to go and change. I have a recording session this afternoon.”
Orson opened the red door to this two-storey Chelsea home and greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.
I followed him down the long hallway, where framed 70s record albums of Bowie, T Rex, Lou Reed, and others hung on the walls.
“Are your family here?” I asked after his two children, who normally ran wildly throughout the house.
“No. They’re with their mother.”
I studied him. “You’re really separated?”
He nodded slowly. “I told you that.”
I followed him into his kitchen, which looked out to an overgrown garden.
“Tea?” he asked.
“Sure.” I set down my guitar and backpack.
“You performed well last night.” He poured the tea from a pot.
“Thanks.” I smiled.
After a bit more small talk, we headed into his studio, our cups of tea in hand.
Orson lived and breathed music in all its many aspects. A gifted musician himself, he was more into nurturing talent by working as a producer and manager, as well as running the Green Room.
“Ethan Lovechilde?” He looked up from his console behind a glass window.
“We grew up together.” I tried to keep it cool while tuning my guitar.
He adjusted some of the dials on his sound desk. “He seemed pretty hot for you. Can’t say I blame him.”
Looking up at me, he shot me a suggestive smile. Orson was a charmer who attracted lots of women. I couldn’t even believe he’d stayed married for as long as he had.
“So I was thinking we should lead in with the vocal line first,” he said, getting down to business.
I liked that about him. Professional first, sleaze second.
We worked solidly for two hours. Time just slid away when I was engrossed in music. And after three takes, I nailed my favourite tune titled “Song of the Sea.”
He nodded. “That’s the one. What do you think of the ambient ocean sound washing over the vocal fade?”
We listened again. “I like it. You don’t think it’s too ‘Riders on the Storm’?”
“Maybe a little.” He opened his hands. “But hey, why not? Nice to have that atmospheric vibe. Don’t you think?”
I had to agree. Having the howl of wind and roar of the ocean did add a certain depth to the song.
He stretched his arms, stood up, and pulled out a joint. “Feel like a smoke?”