CAN WE HAPPEN?

OBLIXX

Neha dropped her brush, "what time is it?"

"7 pm."

The woman took off her gloves, "oh, I need to go."

"I thought you did your shift earlier?" Dominque said.

"I did, but I'm recording today. Julien got me a three-hour slot I can't miss."

"Where is it?" Dominque asked.

"In the 16th arrondissement," Neha replied as she headed to the bath to wash her hands.

Dominque waited while the woman changed. When she came back, she wore a black hoody with Oblixx written on it.

"They have merch?"

"Oblixx is not a small fry on the French music scene, you know."

"Sorry, perhaps I'm too old school."

Neha grimaced and mimicked, "I'm too old school. Well, the label has a good reputation."

Dominque could tell he vexed her. He decided to rectify by offering his service, "I can drop you off if you want."

Neha pondered a second. It rained heavily; the bus stop was seven minutes away. Dominque's offer seemed okay.

"So, how long have you been it them?" Dominque asked once in the car.

"Two years officially," Neha lowered the sun visor and applied some lip gloss.

Dominque gave her a side glance. Why was she doing herself up? While he pondered, Neha pursued.

"For the first years, I just hung around and went there during my free time. I wrote for a few artists. I also got rejected by a few, but Wes told me to persevere."

"Wes?"

"Yeah, he owns de label. He's like a big brother."

The tone, the smile, everything indicated Wes wasn't an individual amongst many.

"I see," Dominque replied.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived.

The studio was in the 10th-floor building that sheltered other businesses. A desk clerk greeted them as soon as they entered.

"Hey, Shiri, how of you been? We thought you left."

"I had a lot of work."

Winter was always complicated. More people came to the hospital, but also, a lot of transplants were scheduled. One particular patient swallowed all her time in December, and he seemed to consume it still.

"Where am I?" Neha inquired.

"Studio 2."

"Really?"

"Yes, Wes wants to hear your voice in there."

Of course, the label's top artists had the primacy. The others, like Neha, were parked in cramped tiny sound booths. Studio 2 was the most recent, it had the best tables, and the acoustic was great.

"Who's?" The clerk leaned to the side to get a glance at Dominque, who stood back.

"He's accompanying me."

The clerk nodded and let them carry on down the hall.

"What's special about the studio you're recording in?" Dominque asked.

"Wait and see," Neha pushed the door to the live room that Dominque considered as an auditorium. He whistled, "wow."

"See, I told you," Neha said with a corner smile the man never saw.

"Hey, bae, where were you?" a massive guy in a Hawaiian shirt said when he noticed them.

"Kilian, aww," Neha hugged the colossal guy who looked like a Dj Khaled lookalike. Same haircut, exact mimics; Dominque figured the man cultivated the style.

The other guy in the room was as slim as a toothpick; he looked like the last time his head hit a pillow to sleep was somewhere why back in 2008, "Rachid, hey."

"Yo."

On the other hand, he didn't get up to greet Neha, nor did he show any enthusiasm. His eyes focused on the Dominque that Neha began to introduce. "This is Dominque; he's accompanying me."

It was the second time the woman avoided defining their ties. What surprised Dominque was that no one dug for details. They all accepted the fact he tagged along.

"Shiri, let's get started. Time is my money."

Rachid seemed strict, the type of guy who made artists cry and want to give up. The impression wasn't wrong as Dominque was about to witness.

Neha went to the other side and made herself comfortable on the stool set for her.

In this environment, the woman was different. She smiled more. Where most would think she was relaxed, Dominque believed she fronted.

"Eh, I rearranged the intro; it was too long. People don't have the patience anymore, for long blurry beginnings," Rachid said from the control room.

On the other side, Neha nodded; she tried to keep a neutral face, but the woman was disappointed inside. Rachid hated diva tantrums. Thus the woman took upon herself. The intro was necessary for her opinion, but Rachid was the talented beatmaker and producer who knew the trends. He knew every lyric, sample, or bootleg. The man was a beat Nazi who didn't hesitate to break a contract if the artist was lazy, had a swollen head, or plagiarized anyone's sound.

The track began, Dominque didn't expect the psychedelic sound which flowed from the speakers, but he understood better when Jashiri started to sing.

-I said it's over, but you keep coming around.

-Blowing up my phone, tellin' me I'm yours.

-Psycho.

-I don't want to waste time. Why are you wasting my lines? Why are you wasting my rhymes?

-You had me in your arms,

-You had my love, I gave my all,

But I wasn't enough; we weren't enough for your greedy love.

You sucked on me, gobbled me, swallowed me.

-Changed the verses of our story,

rewrote the chorus without consulting me.

- Now you want a relationship featuring me.

-Fuck off.

It didn't resemble the songs she covered or the songs Dominque heard her hum. Until now, she sang melancholic ballades. It was aggressive, and the man remembered that songstresses no longer sang songs where they wallowed over men.

The song left a strange imprint. Dominque almost felt attacked by the first verse, which he imagined told by Kaede. He, too, stalked and wished to impose his love, not listening to her.

Neha's Song LL (Love Leech) made the man want to crawl under a rock.

Rachid asked her to sing a few sentences again, each time adding, "Jashiri, pronounce. Don't drink the letters. That's good for lives, but on albums, people have to hear the lyrics. Why don't you sing in French, huh? You're barely audible. Please, don't waste our time."

Yep, Rachid was strict. He did not give a damn about pretty faces or booties. If the sound he desired did not bounce off the walls, the person could bounce out the door to be banished and blocklisted. The door opened for other men to enter, but what caught Dominque's eye was how Neha changed her posture when the last person came to stand behind Killian and Rachid.

"Wes, you made it," Killian said.

So this was the infamous Wes; while Dominque waited, he googled the music label. The feeds were massive, but Wes's story was the American dream Eiffel Tower style.