Youssef
RADIO EDIT: A version of a song that has been adjusted to be suitable for radio play
“You seem unusually buoyant today.”
I chuckle, and the coffee mug in my hand shakes a little. I set it down on the makeshift counter in the Schenkman Studios break room and turn to face Jacob.
“Buoyant?” I repeat.
“You’re bobbing around like a rave kid on E. You sure you need that caffeine?”
He comes over and grabs his own mug to pour the remnants of what’s left in the coffeepot inside.
“Nobody calls it E anymore.” I raise my mug to him. “You better watch it. Your age is showing.”
“Youbetter watch it,” he grumbles as he grabs the cream carton out of the mini fridge, “or I’ll put you out on the street.”
Normally I wouldn’t push his buttons any further than this, but he’s right—Iambuoyant. One might even call me jubilant. A week has passed since that day with Paige in my apartment, and I still haven’t come down from the high. It’s been years since I’ve done Molly, but Jacob’s comparison isn’t too far off: everything feels softer, smoother, like there’s a steady trickle of dopamine in my veins rounding out the rough edges of the world.
Even the rough edges of Jacob Schenkman aren’t as sharp—and the dude has a lot of those.
“Speaking of old,” I say, making my way over to the battered leather couch and dropping onto one of the cushions, “when are you going to let me pimp this place out? If we moved things around, we could turn this room into a rehearsal space and then use the—”
“When areyougoing to give me an answer about my offer?” he interrupts. “I told you I wouldthinkabout some of your propositions once you’re co-owner.”
I smirk to myself as I sip my coffee. He’s always complaining about this room too; he just likes to be a hardass about everything.
I gulp down the dark roast as he pulls something out of the fridge to microwave. It’s past 6PM, but I was up late last night and early this morning to finish mastering an album on time, and I’ll need the caffeine to get me through tonight. Nabil wants me to formally meet the waitress from the night of my ‘headlining Luxe party.’ They’ve been seeing each other ever since, and he told me I should bring Paige along too.
I figured it was way too early for any kind of double date, but when I brought it up as a joke, Paige shocked me by saying we should do it.
There’s been a certain caution to how we’re handling things, like we’ve glued a shattered vase back together and we’re scared to fill it up just yet. Most of the time we just hang around her apartment or mine and talk about anything and everything. Just sitting beside her on the couch and listening to the way she sees the world has been more fulfilling than the entirety of some of my past relationships. We haven’t slept together yet, but we’ve gotten as far as we did that first day a few more times. I don’t know how I’m going to handle sex if it’s any more incredible than just the feeling of her skin on mine, her hands in my hair, her lips on my neck...
“Youssef! You gonna answer me or just stare into space like an idiot?”
I blink myself out of my daze and find Jacob leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his faded Pixies t-shirt as he glowers at me.
“Huh?”
He shakes his head. “Maybe you do need the caffeine. I asked if you’d given the offer any more thought.”
“Oh.” I finish my coffee and dangle the mug off one of my fingers. “You know what? I have.”
He raises his bushy eyebrows when I don’t go on. Jacob has serious eyebrow game.
I swallow before I continue. It’s true that I’ve been thinking about the offer—more and more every day. Whenever I’m here, I can’t stop myself from looking around and imagining this place asmine. I think about what it would look like, what kind of people would walk in the doors, what kind of sounds would be produced here before making their way out into the world. Whenever I’m holding Paige and getting way ahead of myself picturing a life with her, I end up imagining coming home from the studio with takeout for the two of us, or calling her from work while she’s off being a badass and touring the continent.
I hardly ever picture touring myself.
“If I did it...” I begin. “I’d have to stop touring, right? For a while at least? It’s not like I’d be one of those DJs who owns all these businesses and then pays someone else to run them.”
I’d have to give it all up: the shows, the publicity gigs, the record deals that would take me out of town for weeks on end. Even something like the single Mohammad is trying to arrange with Nautilus Records down in LA might be too much.
“You want to pay someone else to run it?” Jacob deadpans, calling my bluff.
I exhale and admit the truth. “No. I don’t. That wouldn’t really be the point.”
The microwave dings, and Jacob brings his plate of reheated shawarma over so he can sit in the chair across from me.
