Page 32 of He's The Reason Why

“Yes.” He took the box back and glared at it. These things were a metaphor for the past five days. They took forever to dissolve and left a bad taste in his mouth. “Piper the Sadist gave them to me. I hate to admit it, but they do help.”

Marshall smirked. “Does she know you’re not a serious singer?”

“She’s made her thoughts on that pretty clear, yes.”

“So what did you say?”

“I told her I was working my ass off.”

“That didn’t exactly answer the question.” Marshall tossed thegame controller onto the couch and crossed to the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of a locally brewed, limited-edition ale and held one out to Blake.

Blake imagined how beer would mix with his sore throat and menthol-coated tongue and shivered. “No, thanks. Got any herbal tea in there?”

“Uh, that would be a hell no. I have this, water, energy drinks, and Diet Coke.” Marshall put one bottle back in the fridge, opened his, and took a long pull. “So why do you need these magical drops? What happened to your throat?”

“I might have been a little enthusiastic on the final verse.” He sucked on the lozenge like the penance it was.

Marshall waited with the patience of a friend who knew more was coming.

“I belted that sucker out the way Jesse would, loud and proud. But it was all the repetition that did me in.”

“Which happened because…”

“She’s insane?” He checked inside the box of tiny torture devices. There were only three left. “Any idea where I can buy more of these?”

“I don’t know. A vitamin store?” Concern crept onto Marshall’s face. “What happens if your voice is stuck like that? You sound like an eighty-year-old chain-smoker. That won’t work forConned. You’re the hot, young lead. Emphasis on young.”

“I know.” He tried to ignore the stab of worry that thought caused, but it festered a little. It wasn’t justScorchedriding on his ability to get this song nailed down. “Don’t worry, her vocal majesty has commanded voice rest and herbal tea, which she thinks will fix everything by Tuesday because that’s when we agreed to be back.”

“Herbal tea?” Marshall wrinkled his nose. “Can’t you take a pill or something?”

“Apparently not.”

“Voice rest. So you’re not supposed to be talking right now.” Marshall grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you go more than ten minutes without talking.”

Blake stared at Marshall for a long, thoughtful moment and then gave him the only answer that seemed reasonable. “Bite me.”

A text alert sounded on Marshall’s phone. His friend picked it up and grunted. “Back on set in fifteen.”

“Okay. I’ll clear out.” Blake stood up.

“No need to rush. Trust me. Nothing moves that fast around here.” Marshall leaned against the kitchenette counter. “I’m just curious. What’s taking so long to nail down these tracks?”

“Piper,” he said with a little too much emphasis. “She refuses to accept any of the takes we’ve done. There was one yesterday that was more than good enough but she refused to send it through to Tamar.”

Marshall gave him a funny look. “Good enough?”

“Yes, as in sufficient quality to promote to the general public.” He cleared his throat.

“Sufficient,” Marshall repeated in a flat, even tone.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“The playback was pretty good. I nailed the character, and she sang the hell out of the chorus. Add in the animation and it’s fine. Anything rough would get ironed out in post. But she doesn’t know anything about the production process. All she knows is the music stuff.”

“Fine.” Marshall said it like the concept was foreign. “You think it’s good enough, sufficient, and fine.”

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