Chapter 7
Smoke Brown arrived at ABS at five minutes before eight. He hurried through the buildings with his cymbal and sticks under his arm, hoping he wouldn't be late. He hated the oily smell of the elevator when he boarded her. He hated the slowness of the ancient machine even worse as it took it's time creeping to the second floor.
"Shit, I could have walked twice as fast!" he muttered to himself as he left the contraption.
Once inside studio 33, he relaxed a little. They hadn't started yet. It was almost eight o'clock when he finished fastening his cymbal to the stand. He would have time for a cup of coffee, he hoped.
Smoke Brown was the drummer with the David Alan orchestra. He had been working studios for fifteen years. He was a good drummer and the contractor with David's orchestra always called Smoke. David asked him to.
Smoke was thirty eight, about five foot ten, black curly hair and a pleasant smile. He was Mister Cool under pressure. Nothing upset him. In fact, he performed better under pressure. His life thrived on activity. He did the Don Melton Show and three other network shows, plus record dates and commercials. All the contractors in liked to hire him because of his ability, plus, he was a warm blooded Italian whom everyone liked.
He poured himself a cup of steaming hot coffee and sipped it slowly.
"Good morning, Smoke," Dana had offered, walking past him with his violin.
"Yeah, 'mornin', Dana. Shit, it's early!" he mumbled, half to himself. He and his wife had been in an argument the night before and he hadn't slept much. They were about to split up and it was a big hassle living with her. They had no children, but had been married for twelve years. He loved her, but he didn't. His life was filled with activity and his wife sat home waiting for him. He didn't always come home, which bugged her, and lately she had started nagging at him, which he didn't need, so they argued. There were a couple of chicks involved, which his wife suspected, so naturally there was trouble. With these thoughts running through his mind, Smoke stared into space, sipping his coffee.
"Okay, let's do it guys. It's past eight now. Get on the stand!" the contractor yelled, clapping his hands as he walked toward the coffee machine.
"Come on Smoke. It's after eight!" one of the musicians spoke, walking briskly past him.
"Yeah, man, yeah man," he mumbled, taking another sip of coffee. They couldn't start without him, so he took his time walking to the orchestra pit.
The morning went fairly fast for Smoke. At about ten o'clock the guest star arrived for her pre-record. For this last show it was Ina Freeman, a recording artist with several hit records. She was a beautiful woman, around thirty-ish with a good body and a sexy look about her that really turned Smoke on. He had played drums on her latest record where they had met briefly.
She nodded to David Alan when she came into the studio. The band was recording something for the production number, which didn't involve her, so she sat in the audience seats until they would call her for her numbers.
"There's coffee over there," David said politely, after they finished a take. "We'll get to you soon.
Don't run off."
Ina smiled at David and went to the coffee machine, which was located behind the audience chairs.
Smoke watched her walk and she excited him. She wore a knit pant suit which showed off her figure very well. The cheeks of her ass moved back and forth nicely as he watched her from behind his drums.
"Shit! I'd like to fuck 'er!" he spat out, no one in particular listening to him. They knew he'd like to fuck a lot of the women that came on the show, so paid little attention to his amorous remarks.
"Dang, dang, dang," went the bass and guitar on a rock number. Smoke played with all the energies inside him. He banged and spent all the ideas he could imagine as the number continued.
"Oh, fuck!" he commented. One of the violin players made a mistake and they had to do the whole number over. Eight minutes of shit! he thought, wiping his brow with a towel he carried wherever he went. Who was it? Smoke looked up over his ride cymbal at the violin section. Dana? He never makes mistakes! He's one of the best concert masters around. "Oh, well. Do the fucking thing and get it over with!" He was tired when they finally finished the number.
"You're next, Miss Freeman," David called out to the visiting guest star.
"Be right there," she answered, walking sideways between the rows of seats.
When she climbed up the small incline to the stage, she stood by David, then gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Ina Freeman," David said in a gesture he always did with guest stars to the members of his orchestra.
The orchestra applauded, then watched David for instructions. "Ina's opener, from the top. Follow all the cuts, they're all good," he said, raising his arms preparing for the downbeat. "Sing it here to me, so I can hear how you want it. We'll pre-record your voice later. We're just laying a band track now," David explained.
The music began. David conducted with much sensitivity as he leaned down to listen to Ina sing her special number.
When the number was almost through, Ina told David to stop.
"It's too fast, David." She looked at Smoke, a concerned look on her face. "You did the recording, Smoke, you know the tempo."
"I only take directions, Ina. I'm not the leader."
The orchestra laughed. Everyone usually enjoyed Smoke's sense of humor.
David looked at Ina and smiled. In a very gracious manner, he asked: "How fast do you want it to be?"
"Let Smoke set it. He knows. He made the recording a hit with his steady beat."
"Smoke. Will you rise, please?" David asked, in a mocking gesture.
"Rise? What for?" Smoke asked back.
"The star seems to think you will be better at setting the tempo than I. Therefore, you should conduct," he retorted, with his dry sense of humor.
"Okay. One, two, three, four!" Smoke commanded, setting what he felt had been the tempo from the previous session.
David picked up the beat and began to conduct the music from the score in front of him.
Ina sang with a lot of feeling. She liked the song and loved to perform it. This spot on the Don Melton Show was another good break for her. She had a lot going for her already and this just added to her good fortune.
When she finished singing the tune, she looked at Smoke. He looked back with a smile. He was good looking, she thought, watching the drummer. Her lover was somewhere in New York during her stay here in Los Angeles. She had been lonely for the two weeks she had worked a club in town. Maybe he might just be the one to ... her thoughts trailed off when the director called out over the speakers.
"Like it, Ina?" the voice boomed through the studio.
"Yeah. Was that a take?"
"Yes, fortunately. We got it all. We'll prerecord your voice this afternoon," the director said, then continued..."The second production number, David. Let's go!"
"It's a number called "All you got!" David said, raising his baton.
Smoke looked after Ina as she walked off the stand. He smiled as she looked back at him. She had a strange look in her eyes when she glanced at him. It was different than he was used to from most guest stars.
The long production numbers were exhausting to Smoke. There was never a break for the drummer ... he had to play all the time through the numbers. There were a lot of bumps and kicks to catch with the drums and it kept him concentrating most of the time. He envied the violins. There was so much music that they weren't in and got to rest. Oh, well, that's the plight of a drummer, he mused, happy to be sitting where he was.
They finished at twelve o'clock and Smoke took off his ride cymbal and put it in a velvet carrying case. He took his sticks and put them in a special container and left the studio.
On his way out, he passed by Ina Freeman's dressing room. The door was open and she was sitting in a chair in front of the mirror listening to a tape recording of the band track Smoke had just played on. Each week the sound engineer brought the band tracks for the guest stars to listen to so they could rehearse to the tape. This saved valuable time at the pre-record.
"Listenin' to me play drums?" Smoke asked with a grin.
"Yeah, I just can't get enough of your drum music," Ina said, smiling. "I listen to it every waking hour. Smoke, Smoke, what is your last name, Smoke?"
"Brown."
"Smoke Brown drum music all day, every day. That's all I do."
"Wanta do a number?" Smoke asked, walking into her dressing room.
"Now? I mean, here?"
"Sure. Just shut the door and turn on the blower. I've gotten high in here before. They can't smell it outside. Not with this incense I carry around with me." Smoke produced a stick of Patchouly incense from his drum stick container. "Fits in there right nice," he said, using a southern accent.
Ina closed the door and locked it, then went back to her chair in front of the mirror.
The room had two chairs and a divan. There were lamps scattered about on teak-wood end tables that rested on a thick carpet. There were a few paintings on the wall and heavy drapes covering one side of the dressing room. It was a comfortable place to relax for the guest artists.
Smoke produced a joint from the back of his cigarette pack. He moistened the end with his lips, then struck a match, lighting the marijuana.
He took a toke and handed it to Ina.
"Here," he said, inhaling, "It's good shit." Smoke lit a match and set the Patchouly on fire. It smelled good as the smoke curled to the ceiling. The blower sucked all the smoke through the ceiling, leaving the room fresh.
"Thanks," Ina said, taking a long drag on the joint, then pressing it in her chest. She held it a moment, then blew the smoke out of her lungs. "That's smooth. It is good stuff."
"Yeah, I have one of these every morning before I come to this gig. I get about half stoned, then I can face all the crap you have to play on a show like this."
"There must be a large variety of music to play."
"Everything imaginable. Rock, symphonic, hillbilly, jazz, and marches ... just everything." He took a long drag on the weed and held it in his lungs. "I love it though. I like a lot of activity of staying busy."
"You're smart. Most people don't keep themselves busy and that's why they're unhappy," Ina said, taking another long drag on the cigarette. "They have too much time to sit around and think about themselves instead of staying busy. I keep too busy. I'm on the go constantly and have to almost fight for time off."
"Yeah, I guess that when you make it like you did, you have to really push to keep up there." The joint was getting hard to hold. Smoke took out a roach holder and put the flame and what was left of the marijuana in the attractive clip, then took another drag.
"I can feel that joint. Damn! You got me stoned, Smoke Brown!"
"Good!" he said, handing her the roach clip. "You'll sing your ass off when you pre-record this afternoon. What time is your call back?"
"Two. I have about an hour and a half to kill."
"Are you gonna have lunch?"
"No, not until after I sing. Then I'll go across to Kiko's for a bite. Want to hang around with me and have a drink and something to eat later?" Ina asked, looking at Smoke with half-closed eyelids.
"Sure. I'll hang around and get you stoned."
"I have had enough of that until after work. Then, who knows?"
Smoke got a tingle of excitement when she said that. He looked at her in that groovy knit suit and he got the urge to make a pass at her. She would be so soft and nice to make love to, he thought, staring at her. He took one last puff on the cigarette, then went into the John and flushed it down the toilet.
"Where is home, Ina?" Smoke asked, crossing to the divan. He sat back and crossed his legs.
"Here. My old man is in New York now. He's my manager, you know."
"No, I didn't know that. Been together long?"
"Two years. It's alright, I guess, but its sure a strain sometimes."
"Tell me about it. My wife and I are splitting up."
"How long were you married?"
"Twelve fucking years." Smoke closed his eyes and leaned back on the soft divan. He was tired and wanted to rest.
When Smoke said the word, 'fucking', this excited Ina. She felt a quiver of passion shoot through her body. Her eyes became fixed on the bulge in Smoke's pants. He was hung! The long prick jutted out from his body at least six inches. She wondered how long it was when it was hard.
Smoke felt good. He was about half stoned from the joint, and had been asked by this beautiful woman to wait and have lunch with him. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "Tired?"
"Yeah, it's hard work playing those fucking drums."
"I'll bet. Lie down and take a nap. This tape recorder won't bother you, will it? I'll turn it way down," Ina spoke, turning the machine on.
"No, I can sleep with it turned up loud. I'm used to catching quick naps in the studios," he said, turning and laying on his side with his back to her. He was soon fast asleep.
Ina sat and rehearsed her numbers until almost two. She went into the bathroom and freshened up with a splash of cologne, then went to wake up Smoke.
She turned him over and shook him gently.
"Smoke. Smoke, wake up. If s almost two, and I have to go." Her eyes went to his crotch where she saw what she had been wondering about before. He was huge! He must be seven or eight inches! Her first temptation was to grab it, but no, let things take their own course. She was sure he had eyes to ball her, but not now ... later, she thought as she stared at the giant prick.
"Smoke, come on," she repeated, shaking his shoulders.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," he said, sitting up. He got up and walked to the bathroom and made no attempt to hide his hard-on. He figured she should see it, because more than likely, he would stick it in her somewhere before the day was over.
The engineer turned on the loud speakers near Ina so she could hear the band. He had adjusted the mike before her and was ready to start making playbacks.
"Try for a balance," he said from the booth.
Ina began to sing. She was a good singer and loved her work, especially recording. The first take was good, but they wanted another. "They' were the director and the sound engineer who had to approve of all finished takes before they would be accepted for the show.
"That's a good one, Ina. We'll go on to your second number," the director blurted out over the play-back speakers.
The second song went beautifully. She did it in one take, and it satisfied the director and the engineer.
"You're a genius!" the director spoke with a happy tone to his voice. It thrilled him when they didn't spend a lot of studio time. This made him a bigger man in the producer's eyes when he turned in a small amount of recording time. "We tape at eight tonight. See you then. Oh, I'll send in another tape of your voice over so you can practice your lip sink."
"Thank you, love," Ina said, leaving the stage. "See you tonight. Come on, Smoke. I'm starved!" she spoke, picking up her purse to leave. "I'll buy you lunch today."
"Oh, that's not fair. Let me buy," he said, leaving the studio with her.
"Nope, this one's on me. Don't argue with the star!"
"Alright," Smoke grinned as they left the building.
Kiko's was dark as usual. They stood at the entrance to the restaurant for a few moments getting adjusted to the darkness of the room.
Smoke saw Dana sitting with a girl. This was the first time he had ever seen him with a woman. Groovy! he thought, maybe he'll swing with her ... she's cute as hell!
"Two please," Smoke told the receptionist who had walked up to them.
"Good afternoon, Miss Freeman. I hear you're doing the Don Melton Show today," the receptionist remarked as she seated the couple and handed them a menu.
"Yes, we tape tonight at eight. I just finished the pre-recording. I'll lip-sink to my track tonight," Ina said, being friendly with the young woman. She liked nice people and tried to be as nice as possible. Some people bugged her and she turned them off fast.
"Want a drink first? I'll have the waitress bring you one right over." The young woman asked.
"Bloody Mary," Ina ordered.
"The same," Smoke chided. He leaned back in the booth and let his arms go limp beside him. Suddenly, he became aware of Ina's hand ... it was resting on his leg.