Jesse's Girl
Page 17
“She’s not a guest. Maya’s job shadowing me today.”
“Ah. That’s nice of you.” Holly looks confused.
“Maya’s a pretty good singer. No training.”
Right then, Mr. Logan strolls in wearing a fancy navy suit, blue tie, and shoes so shiny they temporarily blind me. Two young women in crisp black suits carrying portfolios, iPads, and cell phones rush in behind him. Whoever they are, they need more hands.
“I told you, no press,” Jesse says to the ladies. “It’s my day off.”
“At least let us put out a statement that you’re mentoring a fan today,” one woman says.
Jesse shakes his head. “This is a private favor for my uncle, not a stunt.”
The other lady says, “We’ll frame it that you’re visiting important Nashville landmarks with a talented fan—”
Jesse responds by shooing the two ladies out of the studio, shutting the door with a click behind them. It’s like watching a circus.
“Jess, I told you I was coming to pick you up,” the manager scolds.
“We got sick of waiting on you.”
“Did you really drive Maya here on your motorcycle? Your uncle is going to kill me.”
“Maybe you should’ve been on time then.”
I’d be flipping out at Jesse, but Mr. Logan stays cool and calm, adjusting his watch before shaking my hand. “Nice to see you again, Maya.”
“You too, sir.”
Jesse snorts. “Sir,” he mutters, and Mr. Logan gives Jesse a noogie, then pats his back.
“You know you’re not supposed to leave home alone without your security,” Mr. Logan says.
“I didn’t need it. Maya provided security.”
“Is Jesse already driving you crazy?” Mr. Logan asks me.
“He’s not too bad,” I say.
“Hear that?” Jesse gives Mr. Logan and Holly a look. “I’m not too bad.”
“Finally some good press,” Mr. Logan says with a laugh, and Jesse scowls. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Just wanted to see how things are going.”
“It’s been, like, twenty minutes, Mark.” Jesse begins to play the Charlie Brown theme song on piano. It’s really cute.
“I’m going to make some calls,” Mr. Logan says. He gives me another smile and goes to sit in the isolation booth where Jesse must do his singing. Through the glass, I watch Mr. Logan put a cell phone to his ear and pull a little book out of his jacket pocket.
Holly sits on a stool and arranges her billowing skirt around her legs. “So, Maya, sing something for me.”
She’s the voice coach to the biggest country singer there is. What if she thinks I’m terrible? “Um, I don’t do solos.”
The Charlie Brown music abruptly stops. “That’s getting old real quick,” Jesse growls. “You’ve got a world-class voice coach standing in front of you on my dime. So sing. Or I’m leaving, and you can tell my uncle why you didn’t complete shadow day.”
Crickets.
Holly says, “Okaayy.”
“Fine. I’ll sing,” I tell Holly. “Thank you for the opportunity.” I take a deep breath and try to relax as I belt out the first few lines of “Carolina in My Mind.”
Like Jesse, her face gives away nothing. She taps her lips with two fingers as I sing and nods when I’m finished. “No one’s ever taught you how to sing from your diaphragm?”
“Huh?”
She clucks her tongue. “Schools these days…”
Jesse stands up from the bench. “Sing like you normally would.”
I sing a line from the song, and then he puts his hand on my stomach.
“What the?” I smack his fingers away.
Holly chuckles. “It’s okay, Maya.”
Avoiding my eyes, Jesse moves close to me again and lays his palm on my stomach, his long fingers splayed across the red lace and black leather of my corset. Wow, that feels intense.
“This time when you sing the measure,” Jesse says, “try to push my hand off your stomach using only your breathing.”
“While I’m singing?”
“Yup. You’re going to sing from your stomach instead of your throat. It’ll make the sound fuller.”
I take a deep breath, and he waves a hand again. “No, no. Fill your stomach with air, not your chest.”
I glance at Holly, who is staring at Jesse like she’s seen a ghost. Inside the booth, Mr. Logan stands up, looks from me to Jesse, and pockets his cell phone. He rushes back out into the main room.
“Ah. That’s nice of you.” Holly looks confused.
“Maya’s a pretty good singer. No training.”
Right then, Mr. Logan strolls in wearing a fancy navy suit, blue tie, and shoes so shiny they temporarily blind me. Two young women in crisp black suits carrying portfolios, iPads, and cell phones rush in behind him. Whoever they are, they need more hands.
“I told you, no press,” Jesse says to the ladies. “It’s my day off.”
“At least let us put out a statement that you’re mentoring a fan today,” one woman says.
Jesse shakes his head. “This is a private favor for my uncle, not a stunt.”
The other lady says, “We’ll frame it that you’re visiting important Nashville landmarks with a talented fan—”
Jesse responds by shooing the two ladies out of the studio, shutting the door with a click behind them. It’s like watching a circus.
“Jess, I told you I was coming to pick you up,” the manager scolds.
“We got sick of waiting on you.”
“Did you really drive Maya here on your motorcycle? Your uncle is going to kill me.”
“Maybe you should’ve been on time then.”
I’d be flipping out at Jesse, but Mr. Logan stays cool and calm, adjusting his watch before shaking my hand. “Nice to see you again, Maya.”
“You too, sir.”
Jesse snorts. “Sir,” he mutters, and Mr. Logan gives Jesse a noogie, then pats his back.
“You know you’re not supposed to leave home alone without your security,” Mr. Logan says.
“I didn’t need it. Maya provided security.”
“Is Jesse already driving you crazy?” Mr. Logan asks me.
“He’s not too bad,” I say.
“Hear that?” Jesse gives Mr. Logan and Holly a look. “I’m not too bad.”
“Finally some good press,” Mr. Logan says with a laugh, and Jesse scowls. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. Just wanted to see how things are going.”
“It’s been, like, twenty minutes, Mark.” Jesse begins to play the Charlie Brown theme song on piano. It’s really cute.
“I’m going to make some calls,” Mr. Logan says. He gives me another smile and goes to sit in the isolation booth where Jesse must do his singing. Through the glass, I watch Mr. Logan put a cell phone to his ear and pull a little book out of his jacket pocket.
Holly sits on a stool and arranges her billowing skirt around her legs. “So, Maya, sing something for me.”
She’s the voice coach to the biggest country singer there is. What if she thinks I’m terrible? “Um, I don’t do solos.”
The Charlie Brown music abruptly stops. “That’s getting old real quick,” Jesse growls. “You’ve got a world-class voice coach standing in front of you on my dime. So sing. Or I’m leaving, and you can tell my uncle why you didn’t complete shadow day.”
Crickets.
Holly says, “Okaayy.”
“Fine. I’ll sing,” I tell Holly. “Thank you for the opportunity.” I take a deep breath and try to relax as I belt out the first few lines of “Carolina in My Mind.”
Like Jesse, her face gives away nothing. She taps her lips with two fingers as I sing and nods when I’m finished. “No one’s ever taught you how to sing from your diaphragm?”
“Huh?”
She clucks her tongue. “Schools these days…”
Jesse stands up from the bench. “Sing like you normally would.”
I sing a line from the song, and then he puts his hand on my stomach.
“What the?” I smack his fingers away.
Holly chuckles. “It’s okay, Maya.”
Avoiding my eyes, Jesse moves close to me again and lays his palm on my stomach, his long fingers splayed across the red lace and black leather of my corset. Wow, that feels intense.
“This time when you sing the measure,” Jesse says, “try to push my hand off your stomach using only your breathing.”
“While I’m singing?”
“Yup. You’re going to sing from your stomach instead of your throat. It’ll make the sound fuller.”
I take a deep breath, and he waves a hand again. “No, no. Fill your stomach with air, not your chest.”
I glance at Holly, who is staring at Jesse like she’s seen a ghost. Inside the booth, Mr. Logan stands up, looks from me to Jesse, and pockets his cell phone. He rushes back out into the main room.
