After Hours Temptation
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Kianna Alexander
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Leaning her ergonomic work chair as far back as it would go, Teagan Woodson turned the page in the manual she was reading. The LED lights overhead chased away the darkness in the sound booth, allowing her to read the words with ease despite the late hour. The manual, filled with all the details about the Harcroft Diamond Edition Digital Audio Workstation, wasn’t exactly light reading, especially when she was this tired. Still, it had to be done. She was known for her adeptness with the sound equipment and she wasn’t about to be caught lacking now.
She’d developed a certain fondness for the machine, and even gave it a nickname: Fancy.
Earlier in the week, a cloud-based update had been automatically installed on the system, adding several new features to the already impressive list of what the machine could do. That update, which was extensive enough to leave the system unavailable for an entire day, was her focus now. When the next artist came in to record, she’d be ready, because she knew this machine inside and out.
That artist would be the Bronx-based rapper Sherman “Lil Swagg” Washburn. Known for his recent hits with both new school artists like Paige the Princess, and legendary pioneers like Rakim, Swagg was making major moves in the hip-hop game. He’d come to 404 Sound seeking a full-service, boutique approach, and as the lead sound engineer, it was her job to provide him with the high-quality experience he expected.
She flipped a page, coming to the section on file backups and security. The manual had originally been a PDF file, loaded on to the system itself, but she’d had it printed and bound at the local office-supplies store. She found it easier to read on paper and figured it would be simpler to reference should the time ever come. She’d rather leaf through this 200-page, comb-bound book than scroll through as many pages on the workstation’s screen looking for whatever small detail she needed.
She’d spent the better part of the last few months testing out the new equipment, ever since it had been installed. And while part of her felt nostalgic for Old Reliable, the original soundboard that had been in continuous use since the studio opened its doors in the early nineties, that nostalgia did little to dampen her excitement. Old Reliable was now carefully packaged in the storage room, pending physical refurbishment to her original glory. After that, the old board would be placed on display, as a cherished relic of 404’s storied past.
The new workstation was top-of-the-line, and she knew she’d oversee the creation of countless hit songs and albums while operating it. She’d been slowly reading through the manual, trying out each feature as she came to it in the text.
She yawned, the breath escaping before she could free a hand to stifle it. She closed the manual and set it on the counter. Scooting her chair just outside the booth’s door to the little side table in the hall, she took a sip of her now watered-down iced coffee before replacing it and scooting back inside again. She remembered her brother Gage calling her “extra” for her rule about not having any food or drinks within five feet of the counter, and chuckled. A red tape outline on the carpeted floor clearly marked out the “consumables exclusion zone,” and she explained this policy to every single new person who entered the booth.
It might be extra, but I’m not having some slippery-fingered producer or artist manager spilling anything on my equipment. Because at the end of the day, this was Teagan’s sound booth. She might be the baby of the storied Woodson family—and only because her impatient-ass twin brother had beat her into the world by three-and-a-half minutes—but she was still chief tech officer and master of this studio. In here, her word was law, and everyone knew it.
She stood, stretched. The workstation’s on-screen clock showed the time: 8:32. Everyone else in the building was long gone by now, except maybe security and janitorial staff. She rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the bleariness, but to no avail. I’ve only got ten pages left in the manual. I’m just gonna push through. She reopened the comb-bound book, flipping the pages back to where she’d left off.
A few lines in, she heard the telltale click-clack generated only by a pair of heels on the tile floor in the hallway.
She stopped reading, turning her chair around to see her big sister, Nia, coming into the room, pausing in the door frame. Dressed in her typical attire of black cigarette pants and a matching blazer with a soft pink blouse, she looked professional and stylish.
Teagan swept her eyes over her sister, then glanced down at her own gray tunic, black leggings and ballet flats, once again realizing that the two daughters of the Woodson family resided on opposite ends of the fashion spectrum. Nia was all about polish and panache, while she craved comfort and quirk above all else; Nia stuck to 1-carat studs, while Teagan preferred long, flashy dangling earrings that caught the light just right.
Nia eyed her questioningly as she leaned against the door frame. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Teagan quipped.
“Touché, I guess.” Nia chuckled. “But you know a CEO’s work is never finished.”
“You’re the literal boss, sis. You could go home anytime you want. You’re just too much of a control freak to delegate anything.”
Nia rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Get your stuff. I’m going home, and you should, too.”
She glanced at the manual lying open on her lap. Knowing her sister wouldn’t take no for an answer, she closed it and set it on the counter. She took a few moments to shut down the equipment, then gathered her purse and keys. Turning the lights off inside the recording suite, she locked the door behind her as she left.
Moments later, she was following Nia as her fast-walking elder sister strode down the corridor. Nia’s giant, long-legged steps had always been a thorn in Teagan’s side; even fully grown, she was still two inches shorter than her Amazonian sister. She’d always been like that; Teagan’s first memories of her sister were of her striding across the house and the yard, and of her barking orders at all the other siblings. Teagan knew her sister loved them all, but she also knew her sister was way too serious.
“Slow down, Nia. You walking or skating?”
Nia laughed but didn’t slow down as she breezed through the studio’s front door.
Outside in the parking lot, they stood by Nia’s car. “Any plans tonight?”
Teagan chuckled. “You ask that as if I have a social life.”
Her lips pursed momentarily before she spoke again. “Look, Teagan. I’m the oldest and the highest-ranking among all the siblings. Every day, I feel the weight of the responsibility for the success of this company bearing down on my shoulders, and that’s why I work as hard as I do.” She paused. “You, on the other hand, are young and carefree. You should be dating. Or at least attempting to.”
She sighed. “You sound just like Mom. Did she put you up to this?”
Nia shook her head. “No, of course not. I haven’t even talked to her today.”
She didn’t know if she believed that. “Interesting, because Mom said basically the same thing to me a couple of weeks ago.”
“That’s probably because she sees it, too. I know it isn’t easy, but try not to shut yourself off from the rest of the world too much.”
“Gee, you’re laying it on thick, aren’t you? You make it seem like what I do isn’t important. Without a sound engineer and tech officer, this place wouldn’t last a week.”
“I know, sis. I’m not trying to discount your importance around here. We definitely need you. Nobody understands the sound equipment as well as you.” Nia opened the driver’s-side door of her black luxury sedan. “But you can work hard here and still have a personal life.”
“And you?” Teagan raised a brow as she waited for her sister’s response.
Nia shrugged. “One day. It’s not a priority for me right now... Maybe after the anniversary celebration.”
“What a cop-out.” Teagan shook her head. “I think I’ll wait, too, then.”
“Look around, sis. Blaine and Gage are already happily married, and nobody saw that coming.” She winked as she got into her car and shut the door. She started the engine and called through the open window, “You never know when love will come around.”
“Neither do you,” Teagan shot back as her sister backed out of her parking space.
Heading down a few spaces, she got into her own car, a white coupe, and fired up the engine, pulling out onto the road behind her sister. At the next light, they parted ways as Nia took a left, headed for her house in the Westview neighborhood Teagan took a right, toward Shimmering Lakes, the quiet, well-established housing area she lived in.
Driving through the brightly lit streets of Atlanta, she thought about her sister’s words. It was so funny that everyone thought she could just...go out. As if exploring the city and the world, beyond the safety of the places and people she knew, came easy to her. She might seem like she could conquer anything, but no one had any idea how much work it took to appear that way.
Shaking her head, she pulled into her driveway, pushing her mother and sister’s well-meaning but annoying admonishments out of her mind.
Jogging through the front door of his second-story studio apartment, Maxton McCoy locked it behind him. Hanging the keys on the hook mounted nearby, he swiped his hand over his head, knocking down the hood of his jacket as he ran his hand over his sweat-dampened hair. The endorphin high from his four-mile run around the neighborhood still lingered, making him smile as he shuffled his feet, shifting weight from one foot to the other.
The thumping bass and fast-paced lyrics of legendary Cali rapper E-40 filled his ears as the workout playlist saved to his phone continued to resonate. The Vallejo-born lyricist, known for tongue-twisting rhymes, was often credited with helping solidify the Bay area’s importance in hip-hop culture. E-40’s unique style, along with his contributions, placed him at the top of Maxton’s list of favorite artists.
Walking over to the area just beyond his sofa, he sat down on the throw rug. He could feel the sweat running down his body beneath his clothing and was beyond ready for a shower, but he knew if he didn’t do his push-ups and sit-ups now, they wouldn’t get done.
He got into position, and with the music still blasting in his ears, did his customary one hundred pushups. That done, he flipped over and lay on his back, beginning his one hundred sit-ups.
Suddenly, E-40’s rapping ceased, and the sound of his phone’s ringer filled his ears, accompanied by strong vibrations in the hip pocket of his sweatpants. Lying on his back, he tapped the button on the side of his headphones to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
He smiled, recognizing his friend’s voice right away. “Hey, Sharrod. Nothing going on here but them post-run sit-ups. What’s going on with you, my dude?”
Sharrod chuckled. “Still going out for those three-mile runs, even though nobody chasing your ass?”
“Nah, today I ran four miles, smart-ass. That bass is heavier than most people think it is. Gotta keep my upper-body strength intact.”
“I guess you don’t wanna be caught lacking onstage, huh?”
“Hell, nah, dude.” He laughed. “Where are you?”
“I’m still in Atlanta. I’m staying at Aunt Judy’s place over in Greenbriar.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m still here, too. I took a three-month lease on a studio over here near Virginia Highlands.”
Sharrod paused. “Really? You mean you decided to stick around instead of taking off?” His tone of voice conveyed his surprise.
“Yeah, I stayed.” Maxton would be the first to admit that he’d lived a life on the go, constantly in motion, from one city to the next. All that had changed eight months ago, when one astronomical loss had rocked his entire world.
“Didn’t see that coming. You usually up and disappear as soon as we finish a tour, either to set up for the next one or to visit some faraway place.”
Maxton held back a sigh. “Nah, man. I just...don’t feel like chasing anything right now, you know?”
“You getting old on me, man.” He paused as if realizing. “Oh, shit. Man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”
“It’s okay, dude. No worries.” Though he and Sharrod had been friends since their college days, he didn’t expect him to be able to read his mind. He kept the pain of that day well hidden, and though Sharrod was aware of it, they rarely spoke of the incident.
Sharrod’s nervous chuckle broke the silence. ”How did you find a place that’d let you lease for only three months?”
“Paying it all up-front in cash probably worked in my favor,” Maxton quipped, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head, relieved by his friend’s desire to change the direction of their conversation to a lighter topic. “I figured, since we just finished up with Naiya B’s first major tour, that I’d just hang here for a bit and see what gig comes my way.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Aunt Judy’s rarely ever home. Right now she’s up in Jersey with her sorority sisters. So I knew she wouldn’t mind me crashing here until somebody needs a drummer.”
“Plenty of artists down here, so it’s bound to be some work for us soon.” Maxton climbed to his feet and crossed the apartment to the kitchen area. There, he pulled down his single-serve mixer and the container of protein powder from his upper cabinets, then grabbed the almond milk from his stainless steel refrigerator, setting everything on the black granite countertop.
“I thought you’d have to haul ass back down here, but this is perfect,” Sharrod said. “We’ve already got a potential gig.”
Adding the milk and powder to the mixer, Maxton felt his brow scrunch in confusion. “It’s Tuesday, bruh, and our last gig just ended Saturday night. What do you mean we already have something lined up?”
“I was on the Gram yesterday, and I saw a post by Lil Swagg.”
Maxton put the lid on the mixer and pressed the button, searching his memory bank for that name as the motor whirred quietly. “Is he the kid that did the song with Cambria and Paige the Princess? The one about sex in a limo?”
“‘Freeway Threeway.’ Yeah, that’s him. Anyway, he’s holding open auditions for musicians to be on his upcoming album, and he posted a link to a sign-up form.”
Turning off the mixer, he disconnected the cup from the base and took a sip. The thick concoction didn’t taste nearly as chocolaty as the commercial promised, but protein shakes rarely did. “Let me guess. You signed us both up, right?”
“Yep. And it’s a good thing, because the sign-ups were full within ten minutes of him posting the link.” Sharrod cleared his throat. “Bet you’re glad I’m always lurking on social media right about now, huh?”
He shook his head, thinking back on the times he’d chastised his friend for being too plugged into the newsfeeds and timelines of various social sites, obsessively following the lives of the wealthy and well-connected. “I mean, a broken clock is right twice a day, so...”
“Whatever. Stop hating. The auditions are Thursday morning at nine.” He paused. “Swagg says he’s looking for a unique sound that he can only get from a full band. If we want this gig, we gotta bring our A-game.”
“Understood.” Max took another long sip of the shake, hoping his muscles would appreciate it more than his taste buds did. “So, where are these auditions happening?”
Sharrod sounded as if he were reading when he answered, “At 404 Sound Recording Studios. Place up near Collier Heights.”
Scratching his chin, Maxton nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard great things about that place. I know where it is.”
“I’ve still got my rental car. Do you want me to pick you up?”
“That’s fine.” Finishing the shake, he set the cup in the sink. “I would just take the MARTA, but if you come get me, I won’t have to haul my bass on public transport.”
“Cool. I’ll be there around eight, then.” Sharrod yawned. “Let me let you go. After all, you only got a day to get that bass sounding like something.”
“Whatever, Sharrod. Do you even know where your sticks are right now?”
“Dude, you know they always in my hand.” He tapped them together to prove his point.
“Well, the shower is calling my name so I’ll holla at you later.”
After disconnecting the call, Maxton took off his headphones, turned off the wireless link to his phone, and left them on the coffee table.
Walking across the apartment and past the dividing wall that separated his bedroom from the rest of the space, he went to the closet to grab clean clothes and a towel. On the way from the closet to the bathroom, he paused at his nightstand and looked at the framed photo displayed there.
He never bothered with decorating, because his work meant never staying in one place too long. If a lucrative touring gig came up, he needed to be ready to pack up and leave, sometimes with very little advance notice. He’d never even purchased a set of curtains or a houseplant. But this picture made wherever he was, no matter how short the duration of his stay, feel like home.
Inside the polished walnut frame was an old photo of him and his family. It was taken when he was about seventeen. The four of them were dressed in white button-down shirts and blue jeans. His parents, archaeologist Dr. Stephen McCoy and anthropologist Dr. Wanda McCoy, smiled at him from the photo, as did his younger sister, Whitney. Lingering on her face made the sadness rise in his chest once again.
Right now, his parents were home in Calabasas, having recently returned from exploring the ruins at Pompeii. In the past, they’d have invited him along on the excursion; but they knew things were different now. Since they’d lost Whitney, the entire family dynamic had changed. His parents continued on with their travels in the name of science, and he threw himself into his work.
There’d been a time when he chased adventures, just like his parents had raised him to do. Now he played it safe, colored inside the lines. One event had changed him, made him flee from the risks he once took so freely.
