A year ago, I would’ve been sitting in this chair with my mouth hung open and my palms sweaty from excitement and awe.  A year ago, I wouldn’t have dared open my mouth to say anything to the man in the room with me unless he spoke first.

But that was a year ago.

Now, I’m bored as hell and I’ve been listening to him go over and over the same damn section of track for the past half hour.

“Justin, stop.”  He lifts his head from its position over the sound board and gives me a look.  “You’ve been fiddling with the levels on that chorus for the past half hour.  No normal person is going to hear anything wrong with it.  It’s only you and your crazy bionic ears.”

He smirks at me but says nothing.  He’s like a machine when he gets into the studio, and most of the time I appreciate it.  This is not one of those times.

“Seriously, we’re supposed to be recording.  I’m bored!”  I am totally blaming Justin for my regression into childhood tantrums.

“You’re a pain in my ass, have I ever told you that?”  He’s grinning when he says it.

“At least twice a day, love.  But really, can I get back in the booth?  And can I actually sing this time?  None of that ‘Sure, sit in the booth and sing’ when you’re really just going to fiddle with levels more.”

“Fine, fine.  I’ll work on levels later.  Get in there and sing the rest of this track, then we’ll call it a day.”

“THANK YOU!”  I jump from my reclined position on the couch and race into the booth before he can change his mind.  He’s been known to do that.

I’ve been on Justin’s label for a year now.  I was one of those lucky people that posted some stuff on youtube and Justin caught wind of it.  Apparently he was looking for some new artists to sign to his label and I fit the bill.

It was incredible, especially since I was a huge fan of Justin before we met.  Yeah, I meant to say ‘was.’  Don’t get me wrong, I still like the guy, but when you seen someone shit faced enough to puke on your shoes, or you’ve smelled their body odor after working out…they lose their appeal.  They also start to lose their appeal when they take it upon themselves to make fun of you…constantly.

Justin Timberlake thinks he a funny dude, but take it from me, he’s not.

My name is Abbey Rhodes.  Go ahead, ask me if it’s because of the Beatles song.  My parents thought they were funny too.  My boyfriend’s name is John, and the first thing Justin asked me was “is his last name Lennon?”  Hardy-har-har.

Justin’s lovingly given me the nickname Hey Jude because of my namesake.  I’m honored, really…I mean…it’s not like everyone and their brother hasn’t made reference to the Beatles when they hear my name…

Jackass.  That song isn’t even on the Abbey Rode album and Jude is a man.

We’re currently working on my debut album, which is slated to come out in two weeks.  Yup, you heard it.  Two weeks.  We’re almost done, we really only have one more full track to record, but I’m a little nervous about it all.  There is a lot of expectation with this album, especially because Justin pimps it any chance he gets.

After the release date we’re set to go on a tour of the states, and yes, I’m opening for Justin Timberlake.  Can you say pressure?  He tells me that I’ll be fine and there’s nothing to worry about, but that’s little reassurance from someone that’s been performing for millions for the majority of his life.  I’m just hoping we can get the album done on time.  We’ll start rehearsals soon and it’ll look pretty bad if I’m not even finished with my music.

“Hey Jude, can you sing that last line over again?  You’re off pitch on the second up beat and you’re going flat on the last eighth note.  Do you need the reference?”

Here he goes, all his musical jargon.  I understand what he’s asking, but sometimes I think he likes to throw big musical terms around to make himself feel more important.  It’s worse when there are other people in the studio with us, especially other producers.

“No, no reference.  I’m going flat because I’m tired.  I’ll get it this time.”

He plays back the track one more time and I finish it on key this time.  Thank God.  I’m not sure I could’ve spent another minute in this booth, or this studio for that matter.  It’s a beautiful day outside and I’ve been wasting it away with the Music Nazi. 

“Good work, kid.  We’re almost there.”

“We better be.”  I grin at him and grab my bag off the couch.  “So, want to grab some chow with me?  I’m starving.”

He pats down his pockets in search of his cell phone and looks confused for a second.  I grab it off the counter and hand it to him.  He can be such a space case sometimes.

“Uh, sure, let me call Jill first.”  Jill: the girlfriend.  I’ve only met her a handful of times but she seems nice enough.  She’s a little preoccupied with trying to get her acting career going, so I’m a little wary of her.  Sometimes I think she’s only with Justin to further her career, but then again, so am I.

“OK.”  I plop back down on the couch and tap my foot on the carpet.  Their phone conversations often tend to get lengthy and mushy, so I’m prepping myself for a wait.  Surprisingly enough he hangs up without talking to her.

“No answer.  Where do you want to eat?”

“Seafood, I don’t care where.  I’m craving some shell fish and scallops.”  He gives me a look like he’s about to go green in the face.  Justin hates scallops and he’s a big baby when it comes to most other kinds of sea food.  It must be because he was brought up in the South.  That boy puts away fried chicken like it’s nobody’s business.

“There’s that diner down town that sells seafood and burgers and stuff.  Let’s go there.”

“Good with me.”  We trudge out the door and head towards the parking lot.  We’ve started recording in a whole in the wall studio because the paparazzi was getting to be too much at our normal studio.  Justin can’t go anywhere without being hounded.  It’s a little pathetic.  I mean, he’s just a guy, and he’s not at cool as everyone likes to think he is.  He burps the alphabet and calls it talent.  Men.

“My car or yours?”  He asks, and I’m not sure why because we both know he hates driving with me and he’d never leave his precious Cadillac unattended.  I give him a ‘don’t be stupid look’ and he laughs at me.

“Yours.  John has mine anyway; he dropped me off this morning.”

“He’s still driving your car?  When is he going to get his back?”

“The body shop said next week.  There was more damage to the frame then they expected, so it’s taking a little bit longer.”

John (his last name is Woods, by the way, not Lennon) was rear-ended a few weeks ago.  Some bitch was on her cell phone and not paying any attention and she slammed into his car going about 40 mph.  Needless to say there was a ton of damage and he’s been without a car for a while now.  I let him take mine because I spend all my time in the studio and rarely have to drive anywhere else.

“I think he’s shittin’ ya and he just wants to drive your car around for a little bit longer.”  Justin grins at me like he just said something hilarious.  Sometimes I seriously question his sanity.

“Right, because he really wants to be seen in a pink and white Beetle.”  Yeah, I know, my name is Abbey Rhodes and I drive a Beetle.  The irony is not lost on me.  My parents thought it would be a cute ‘congratulations’ present for landing this record deal.  Apparently I get my creativity from somewhere else, because my parents don’t have any.

“Hey…you know I’ve always thought John was a little fruity,” again with this not-funny commentary.

“You would know, JT, you would know.”  He pretends to look offended.  We climb into his Escalade and I immediately start to fiddle with the stereo.  I get the death glare but chose to ignore it.  He often listens to some shitty rap music and if I don’t change it right away I’ll have to endure it for the entire car ride.

“You’re not supposed to touch my radio.”

“And you’re supposed to have impeccable musical taste, but obviously you don’t.”  50 Cent comes blaring out of the speakers and I cringe.  I am not a fan of music that discusses shooting each other and getting pussy.  I change it to a popular music station and sit back when I hear something a little less violent.

“You should be a comedian, Jude, really.  Your wit astounds me.”

“And the fact that you just said ‘wit astounds me’ astounds me.  Was that the word of the day?”  I can’t help but laugh at the look he’s got on his face right now.  He really hates being made fun of, which is why I enjoy it so much.  Normally I’m around people that are kissing his ass all day, it’s necessary to take him down a few pegs if you want his head to fit through the door later.

“Sometimes I question my decision to take you on as an artist.  I should have known that the shy streak wasn’t going to last forever.”  Some guy cuts us off and Justin lays on the horn and flips him the bird.  His road rage scares me.  He gets this look on his face and his brows come together…he gets ugly.

“Hey, calm down there, feisty.”

“That fucking asshole, cut me the fuck off…”  He starts grumbling so I lean over and turn up the music.  I get another death stare and start to wonder if someone’s PMSing.

“You need to do yoga or something.  You’re way too tense.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  He whips into the parking lot and we both automatically scan for photogs before getting out of the car.  I’m not even famous and I still worry about my picture being taken.  Comes along with the territory, I suppose.  Or it comes along with his territory and I just happen to be standing in it.  Luckily, there haven’t been any rumors about a romantic link between the two of us.  Thank God.

The diner is mostly empty, but that’s probably because it’s only three in the afternoon and a little too early for the dinner rush.  I have no specific eating schedule other than I eat when I’m hungry.  This means I’m usually eating all the time.  It’s is one of the reasons that Justin and I get along so well; that boy eats all the time too.  We take turns bringing food into the studio or going out to grab it.  It works out well and there’s never a shortage of things to snack on.

The older gentleman that serves us gives no sign of recognition, a thing for which we’re both grateful.  Justin loves signing autographs for his fans, but not when he’s eating.  That’s just a little much.  I can’t understand why people approach him when he’s eating, either, because he looks crazed and possessed and he shovels food into his mouth.  It’s not pretty, let me tell you.

“So, boss man, what’s this tour going to be like?  You haven’t given me any details.”  He scans the menu before placing it back on the table and looking up at me.

“It’s going to be big, I can tell you that.  I’ve just picked out the dancers and put together the band, we’re going to start rehearsals as soon as your album is finished.”

I nod my head and play with the creamers that are on the table, flipping them over by flicking the tops.

“I don’t have to dance, do I?”  He looks at me like I’m crazy.  Sometimes I think I just might be.

“Of course you do.  It’s a huge arena tour, you can’t just sit there and expect people to be engaged by the music alone.  You’re new, Jude, you need to interest them in any way possible.”

“By shaking my ass and showing my tits?”  He gives me another dirty look.  I’m tempted to tell him to stop looking at me like that or his face will freeze that way.  “Maybe I forgot to put it on my resume, but I can’t dance.”

He shakes his head at me but our conversation stops when the waiter comes back and takes our order.  Bring on the scallops, baby!

“Abbey,”  Uh oh, use of the real name.  This conversation is about to get serious.  “You don’t have to shake your ass or show your tits, you just have to dance.  I’ll have Marty listen to your upbeat songs and pull some simple moves together for you.”  He has this little twitch that he does when he’s done talking about something.  It’s almost like a head nod, but a little more spastic.  But I’m afraid that this subject isn’t closed for me.

“I don’t have dancers.  I don’t even have a band yet.  When the hell are we supposed to do all of this stuff, anyway?”  Now I’m starting to freak out.

“I’ll talk to Trish about it and make sure she knows to set auditions up.  I know some people too that I think will be perfect for your band.  Don’t worry, Jude, you’ll be fine.”

“Says the man that’s guaranteed to sell out an arena based upon name alone.  You could sit up there in your sweats and strum your guitar and people would still go crazy.  I don’t know why either, you’re pretty goofy if you ask me.”

“Good thing no one asks you, Jude.”  He quips back.  Our drinks have been placed on the table and I flick a little bit of water at him with my straw.

“They should start.”

My phone rings and I smile when I hear the ring tone I picked out for John.  And no, it has nothing to do with the Beatles.  Although, Justin changes my ring tone to ‘Hey Jude’ every chance he gets, jerk.

“Hey you, what’s up?”  The man across from me rolls his eyes and I flick him off.  He shouldn’t be saying anything with the way he and Jill make all those lovey noises and use pet names.  It’s sick.

“I’m out to lunch with my Boss man, at the moment.  He told me he’d pay.”  I grin when Justin snorts at my comment.  “We haven’t even gotten our food yet, I probably won’t be back to the apartment for another half hour or so.”  John proceeds to tell me that he’s all done running his errands so he’ll just wait for me back at my place.  We say our goodbyes and I hang up.

“I don’t know why he doesn’t just move in with you, he’s always at your place anyway.”

I shake my head.  “Not really.  I don’t let him sleep there that often.  Besides, I’ve decided that I’m not living with anyone until I get married to them.  I’m old fashioned like that.”

“But you’ll have sex with him before marriage.”

“I said I was old fashioned, not stupid.”  He laughs a loud and deep laugh that seems to shake his whole body.  I have to say that this particular laugh of Justin’s happens to be my favorite.  It’s the most genuine and I can’t help but smile along with him.  Just don’t tell him that, I’d never live it down.

“You are something else, Abbey Rhodes, something else.”  Our food is placed in front of us so conversation slows to an occasional mumble.  Just how I like it; seafood and silence.