For all intents and purposes, despite how early he was into his career, Marcus Greene was lucky enough that he could call himself an Independent Producer, not having to rely on some higher power to write off on all of his decisions. That being said, to get a head start in the game he still had to rub elbows with others in the industry, ranging from Artists, Producers, Agents, Lawyers, Composers, all the way up to the very top of the food chain; Label Executives. Across the board Marcus had encountered nice people as well as some more unsavory characters – such is life – and his road to success had been a bumpy one. Though he had an illustrious career under his belt already, and a studio that he could call his own, he still crossed paths with figures that he wished he could avoid.
Working with artists such as Henry Bly and Maggie Chance came easily to Marcus. Though vastly different in character, he found that both were dedicated to their craft in varying ways. Moreover, both were respectful of Marcus and his space. Henry, soft-spoken and patient, always allowed him whatever room he needed to focus and put his head down. Maggie, though crass in her own way, seemed to understand the importance of quiet time – which is to say, she stayed out of his way, and he stayed out of hers. Today was different, though. With Alex Knight gracing the studio for the afternoon, Marcus had made him scarce long before her arrival in his space. While the woman in question had never done anything to offend Marcus – he found himself quite impressed by her work ethic and, overall, a huge fan of her music – he didn’t share those same positive feelings for her label.
Serenade – who were a subsidiary of Atlantic Records – had full creative control over the work that Knight created, meaning they tended to be territorial about studio time, even when they didn’t own the studio in question. Marcus had worked with Serenade early into his career, an experience that had left him with an ache in his chest that he’d never been able to fully get a handle on, meaning he had no interest sticking around for the day to see what they got up to. He knew that once their session was finished, Alex would loop him in and set a time for the two of them to sit down and get to work, so he decided to leave them to it.
The initial plan had been to head home to the safety of his own apartment, tune out the rest of the world, and work on isolating some of the vocals on Noah’s latest track. Those plans had fallen through almost instantly when he’d been harshly reminded of the construction work taking place across the street from his flat, and so instead he’d set his sights on A Novel Idea instead. The Bookshop-cum-Café wasn’t an ideal setting for the work that he needed to get done, but he knew there were a few quiet booths that he could tuck himself away in, safe from the bustle of customers and the cacophony of whistling coffee machines.
Like clockwork, the Universe worked hard and fast against him as he found that every booth was full, and the only vacant table stood squarely in the middle of the room. With a sigh, Marcus turned up the volume on his music, letting the dulcet tones of Tracy Chapman fill his ears, drowning out the mindless chatter and laughter that carried across the room. Setting his laptop down on the table, he began laying out various sheets of music across the hardwood tables with delicate precision, placing them within reach of his bluetooth keypad. Careful as he was, his eyes roamed the pages in front of him as he took a seat, already noting chord progressions that would surely need adjusting, as well as lyric sheets of Noah’s that he would be mindful to amend – they were good, but they weren’t yet perfect.
Lost in his own world, Marcus hardly accounted for the commotion happening around him until he felt lukewarm liquid spill down the bare expanse of his tattooed arm, the sleeve of his shirt now drenched in what smelled like too-sweet coffee. Jumping to his feet abruptly, Marcus tugged his headphones down, leaving them to hang loose around his neck as the harsh noise of the world around him seemed to come roaring to life. His knee collided with the underside of the table and he hissed, eyes widening as he watched the clumsy stranger tumble forward, the final remnants of their coffee spilling all over the work that Marcus had been so meticulous in setting.
“Are you stupid?” The words spilled from his lips seemingly without the consent of his brain, directed at the wide-eyed, timid stranger as she uttered fast and rapid apologies in a thick New York accent. Marcus merely blinked, words failing him as it dawned on him just how disappointed his Mum would be – she hadn’t raised him to be so ill-mannered, neither of them had.
His heart hammered in his chest as he surveyed the wreckage, the young girl seeming to have been pulled in another direction. Papers spilled out onto the sticky floor, some covered in coffee and syrups, the others simply making a getaway as they attached themselves to the bottom of shoes, wedged themselves under the legs of chairs.
“No... no,” Marcus muttered under his breath, his hands trembling as he lurched forward to see what he could still save. His voice was low and frantic, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to regain control of his breathing. “This is bad. This is very bad. Noah is going to kill me.”