Page 29 of Grown

I’ve dreamed of the day I’d enter a real studio. The day I’d be able to touch the soundboards, the mics, rub my fingers along the booth foam. But I never ever thought it would be with Korey Fields. I take a quiet moment to relish it all, like a delicious piece of cake you want to savor with every last bite. My songbook sits heavy in my bag, itching to be released.

Korey leans against the wall by the various instruments—guitars, congas, drum set—face glowing, eyes following my every step. Not watching me like a kid about to break something, but more cherishing the moment as well.

“I built this after my third album went triple platinum,” Korey says, hinting at the plaques on the wall. “I wanted a place where I could create and not be on anyone’s time. A place to just... be myself.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes, something left unsaid between his words.

“Must be nice, so much room to... breathe.”

He nods then tickles his keyboard, the notes ringing out of the overhead speakers.

“You know how to play?”

“Not enough to say I really can,” I laugh. “I’ve always wanted to play that duet that everybody does. You know that ‘Dun dun DUN DUN dun dun...’”

He laughs. “‘Heart and Soul’? Come here. I’ll teach you. It ain’t as complicated as it looks.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the musical genius.”

“Ha, ‘genius’ got a nice ring to it, don’t it?”

He stands behind me, laying my fingers on the board, guiding me, and it almost feels like he’s caressing my hand, but I could be imagining it.

“You play this note and I’ll play the other.”

With a few strokes, I’m playing. But the way his chest lies against my back, sandwiching me into the keyboard, my fingers trip up.

“Oh, um sorry,” I mumble at the floor.

“That’s OK.”

He stares down at me, fireflies sizzling in his eyes.

“Um, shouldn’t we be recording or something?”

He shrugs. “In a minute. You can’t walk up in a studio and expect to lay down a hit! You have to ease into the vibe. Melt into it.”

He picks up his guitar and plops down on the black leather sofa, stringing a couple of notes. I want to sit with him, to crawl into that space under his arm, rest my head on his chest... but nerves keep me frozen.Be respectful. Act like a lady, Mom said.

“So how do we melt?”

“Aight, rules for the studio. One, no one can know what goes down in here. This is where the magic happens, and you can’t be giving away our secrets, you feel me? So you can’t tell no one, not even your moms.”

I start to question how I’d go about doing that, but even the thought seems childish and he’s already trusting me with so much. I nod.

“Two, we don’t just make music in here. We make love, you feel me? So all that uptight shit, you gotta leave at the door and free yourself.”

“OK.”

“And you gotta start by shedding some of them layers.”

I glance down at my sweater. He couldn’t mean...

He laughs. “Get loose. Get comfortable. See me? I don’t even walk in here with shoes on.”

Listen to him. Be respectful, I think again, and unzip my hoodie, tossing it on the sofa. I stressed all morning on what to wear, but the simple white V-neck T-shirt that snugs my frame seemed like the best option. Less is more.

“OK. Any other rules?”