"Can I help you?" the lady behind the desk asked me quickly the moment I walked through the door.
"Are you Grace?"
She seemed a little surprised that I knew her name. "Yes, I am. What may I do for you?"
"I'm Janice Miller. George asked me to come in sometime this week, and he said that when I did--"
"Ah, Janice Miller. Yes, he mentioned you might come in. Please, follow me." She stood up and led me down a hall, up a flight of stairs, down another hall, around a corner, and further down the hall. Just when I began to wonder if we'd be wandering in the building til winter, she stopped at a door, knocked, and went in.
I don't know what I had expected, but it certainly wasn't this. Of course, I had never been in a recording studio, and I was under the impression that the artists played their music in a room off from the control room, in which sat the producer and engineer, or maybe a small group of technical people. All of them working, at least. A thin cloud of smoke hung in the room, and I estimated all of about three of four of the people out of the fifteen or so in the control room must be working. I recognized Phil Spector and figured he must be producing. In name only, of course. At the moment, he was leaning back in a chair and talking to a couple other people about something. I wasn't quite sure what, but from the little bit I could make out, it sounded like they were debating on who would win some football tournament.
I turned to Grace, but she was no longer beside me. I turned around just in time to see her slip out the door and close it behind her. No one seemed to have notice my presence yet -- too stoned, perhaps -- so I walked up to the window. The scene in the actual recording room looked closer to what I might have expected. George and a few other musicians were discussing the song they were working on, and they seemed pretty involved.
Okay, so I was in the control room of a recording studio. Now what? I looked around. Maybe they were on lunch break. I couldn't imagine trying to get a song, let alone an album, done like this.
"Do you want to talk to him?" I heard the person beside me say.
"Hunh?" I turned quickly in the direction of the voice and found myself looking at one of the few people I had mentally labeled as 'workers'. He was one of two people wearing headphones.
"George. Or anyone down there, for that matter. They can't hear you now. Just push that button there --" he pointed to a button right next to my hand "-- and talk into that mike."
"Thanks." I pushed the button, and said, "Hi, George!"
He looked up. "Janice! Hi!" I waved, and he set his guitar down, said something inaudible to the other men in the room, and came into the control room. "I can see how hard you've all been working, and I think you all deserve a little break!" His volume rose with every word as he entered the room, so only the few closest to the door -- the ones who had been working -- had heard the first part. The rest of them cheered and cleared the room, leaving the people who had been working to straighten up what they had been working with.
The loafers had also left a complete mess. The room was fairly littered with empty cups, napkins, even cigarette butts. I started picking up, and I think I'd managed to make a dent in the disaster before George noticed, took my elbow, and steered me out.
"Don't worry, it'll look good as new in the morning."
I just nodded, not quite believing.
"I actually only asked about three of those people to be here today. But they move in packs, you know."
"Packs or herds? Or flocks?"
He seemed to consider this, then grinned mischeiviously. "Well, if they move in flocks, then I guess when they leave, they get the flock out."
"Oh, that was bad! You sound like my friend Alex! He--" I stopped, realizing that talking about Alex felt so weird now. It was as if, by protecting him, it felt as though I couldn't discuss him. I tried to get back on track. "He, ah, he often made some pretty raw comments."
George gave me a sidelong glance, but thankfully said nothing.
"Where are we going, anyway?" I said after a few more steps.
"Well, I haven't eaten all day, and I'm famished. And the few things you can find in the refreshment room at the studios there is truly disgusting."
"Ah, cafeteria food. My theory is that there is one central cafeteria food supplier from which all schools, airlines, hospitals, and other such institutions order their food."
"Is that why we always had the same meals on planes when we were traveling, even when we used different airlines?"
"It's all a great conspiracy!" I said through my laughter.
"Well, let's smash the conspiracy and have some decent food! There's a great little place right around the corner here," he said. "Hope you've got an appetite, their serving sizes are huge!"
"Well, I know I haven't eaten today, and I think I only had an apple yesterday."
"Doesn't your aunt ever feed you?" George said with a laugh.
"Both of us have such weird schedules, it's no use trying to actually prepare a meal to share."
"Well," he siad as we turned the corner, "I'll feed you here, and you won't need to eat again for days!" He steered me into a place that amounted to little more than a hole in the wall, and which turned out to be an Indian restaurant. Except for us, the place was completely devoid of patrons -- probably what had attracted George to it in the first place. I was surprised that he had managed to keep a low enough profile to come here unnoticed, but I supposed it was possible, after all.
When George asked me what I wanted, I had to admit that though I had begun developing a liking for Mexican, Italian, and even Chinese food, I had yet to encounter Indian food in my extensive travels around Southern California. He chuckled and ordered for both of us, and thus came about my introduction to Indian food. I have no idea what I ate, but I do know that it was plenty, spicy, and good.
About midway through the meal, I had another 'I don't believe it' moment, and when I shook my head and tried to snap myself out of it, George noticed my movement and laughed, probably instinctively knowing what I was thinking. During the rest of the meal, he kept the conversation going, trying to keep me at ease -- and probably trying to reinforce the theory that he was, in reality, still human.
"So," I said timidly on the way back to Apple, "You mentioned that if I came in, you'd see what you could line up. I think those were your words. So, ah..."
As I tried to collect my next words to say, George said, "So, what was I talking about? Well, of course I've never heard you sing or play an instrument, and I don't know what kind of secretarial skills you've got, but I find that a personal assistant is a good thing to have around the office. Do you think you'd be up to the challenge?"
"Personal assistant?" I asked, feeling somewhere between bewildered and stunned. "Like, getting coffee, taking a letter, fetching lunch?"
"Pretty much. I don't write many letters, though, and the ones I write, I, well, I write them! But yes, basically just having someone there to run various errands when I'm in the middle of something."
I shrugged. "Doesn't sound too bad. I'd love to do it. What kind of hours?"
"You'd think that the first question would be about what kind of wages, but no! Hours would vary. You say that you and your aunt keep odd schedules anyway. Well, if I stay until late at night trying to lay down a particular track or something, I'd hope that you'd be able to stay. Of course, if it were to get ungodly late, I wouldn't keep you there."
"Well, it probably wouldn't be too much of a problem. I've made a few acquaintances here, but we don't make plans together or anything. We just look for each other at whatever club or show we go to in the evenings."
"Do you go out every evening then?"
"No, actually. two or three times a week, possibly, mostly to keep away complete boredom. Wow, that sounded weird!" I said. Boredom? "I don't feel the least bit bored, actually. Probably because my environment is still new to me, so I manage to see something new all the time."
"I can understand that." We now walked up the steps to the Apple building once again, and George held the door for me.
"Thanks. So, I guess now's the part when I ask about the wages."
We started walking back upstairs, presumably to the room we'd come from. He shrugged. He told me, and I tried not to appear surprised. I had expected minimum wage, or perhaps, just perhaps, slightly above it....
"That much?"
"You don't want it?"
"Well, no, I mean, I do, but, well... that much?"
He laughed. "Not a penny less!"
"Hey, who am I to argue!"
"That's the spirit!" Instead of heading off toward the recording studio, he led me up to the third floor, and down at the end of that hallway, he opened a door to a rather large room. "This is my office, or so they tell me. When you come in in the mornings, come up here, and if I'm not here, there'll be a note with whatever I need you to do. Under that pile of papers there--" he pointed to what really did look like an enormous pile of papers under a window "--is another desk. I apologize, I never have been much at organization in here. Anyway, feel free to clean it off and use it, or that table there--" he pointed to the other side of the room, and I wondered if there really was a table under all that "--but I'm usually in the studio more than in here, really. Of course, if I don't need you to come in on a certain day, I'll try to tell you the day before, or phone you at home or something. Which reminds me..." He dug around in what I assumed was his desk, finally surfacing with some papers. "You do need a work permit, at least until you become a citizen. Either way, it's alot of paperwork, and a pain in the neck, or so I'm told. Fill these out, and that'll take care of the permit, and put you on the payroll." I took them and nodded. George was once again digging through his desk. "Ah, there it is..." He handed me a keyring with three keys, saying, "My spare keys. This one lets you into the building, this one into the studios, and this one into this office. Okay, You're all set. For now, though," he glanced at the clock, "let's get back down to the studio, shall we?"
We walked back into the control room to find people there once again, and -- if it was possible -- even more mess for whoever was to clean it up. "Well, it looks like everyone is anxious to get back to work!" George said with a clap of his hands. I heard somone groan, and only a couple people stood up. George took a step to the side -- I hadn't even realized that I'd moved behind him, almost as if afraid of the other people in there -- and said, "Everyone, this is Janice Miller. She'll be working for me around here, and that also means that if she tells you to put a cigarette out or get to work, then you bloody well better do it!"
I blushed a little at that uncommon introduction, but it did at least give me an idea of where I stood in here. Of course, I didn't think I could seriously tell most of these guys to do anything, but they didn't need to know that.
Most of the people had stood up by this time, and were trying to look busy. A few people made their way into the studio, and George gave me a grin and a pat on the back, and followed them in. As soon as the door was shut, about half the people in the control room sat back down.
I shook my head and sat in an empty chair in front of the controls, setting the bag I was carrying with the papers inside it on the floor next to me. I could see into the studio, where George seemed to be giving instructions to the other guys in there. I started looking at the control board in front of me, trying to figure out what everything was.
"Janice, is it?" the guy next to me said.
I snapped out of my own little world and looked up quickly as he chuckled. "Janice, yeah," I said. Lame, I told myself. C'mon, talk. "You are?"
"Aaron. I'll just say right now, the button to talk to them is the same one now that it was an hour ago, but I don't reccommend saying anything while they're playing."
"Is that a fact. I'd never have guessed that," I said, instantly disliking him. Yes, it was my first time in a studio, but I didn't think I needed to be treated like an idiot.
"It's my god-given right to act superior for the first five minutes or so." He glanced at his watch. "Okay, I'm done. I'm pleased to meet you." I shook the hand that he offered and wondered how often I'd have to put up with him. "Working for the almighty George, eh? Dare I ask how you secured the position?"
I made an effort to appear as though I didn't catch any meaning other than the completely upfront one, and said, "I met him a couple days ago, and we talked for a little while, and I mentioned along the way that I was looking for a job. He asked me to come 'round here sometime this week."
"Ah," he said, nodding. If I were four or five years younger, I'd probably have slugged him right then and there for what he was implying, but then again, if I were four or five years younger, I probably wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't have thought of implying it.
Of course, that didn't mean I wasn't mad. I turned back to the control board and tried to ignore him, but he kept talking.
"Must have been some exciting conversation," he said, leaning closer. "Don't suppose you and I could have a, er, talk later on?"
And that, my friends, was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I gave him an icy glare and moved my arm as if to slap him. He noticed and braced himself to try and dodge or catch my hand, and in shifting his weight, he set his feet straight under him, rather than wrapped behind the legs of the chair. My hand never moved any closer to him. I smashed my foot down hard on his and turned back to the control board.
At first, he seemed about to cry out, but I guess he decided that wasn't manly or whatever. I wondered -- briefly -- if I'd broken his toe, then decided that if I had, then maybe he wouldn't come in to Apple for a bit. Maybe.
No one else in the room seemed to have noticed this little exchange, which was probably a good thing, at least for the time being. Aaron shot a poisonous look in my direction, then turned back to the guy on his other side and ignored me for the rest of the day.
After playing the same song seven times, George was starting to look bored with it. After the eighth take ended with the bass player hitting one of the drummer's cymblas with the neck of his bass, George sighed in frustration and told everyone to go home, that he would see them tomorrow.
Then, looking up at the window, he said, "Janice, stick around for a minute. I'll be in there in a moment."
I nodded and started to pick up some of the mess in the room while I waited. A couple people had introduced themselves to me while I was in there, and they stopped and said goodbye, but most of the others just sort of evaporated.
I heard the studio door open and a rather upset-looking bass player walked through. He tried to smile and gave a little wave as he walked through, but I imagined he was probably praying for a second chance. I heard laughter from within, and a couple other people walked out. Naturally, they were laughing about the bass player. I couldn't help but laugh a little as they walked out. Cruel as they might have been in their jokes, they were, after all, funny.
A few seconds later, George came out, and he looked as though he were either going to rage about how little work had gotten done or laugh about the funny things that had happened.
I decided to try to influence his decision. "You've gotta admit," I said, "He managed to lighten the mood a little there!"
I saw a smile spread across his face and knew I was right. "Too bad we're all so tired, though. How was your first day at work?"
"Hm, I think I can survive. Whip a few people into shape, make some friends, and blend in with the scenery. I think I can handle it."
"Stressful day, eh? I can just see you going home as soon as you leave and falling right to sleep."
I laughed. "Close enough! I'll stop at home and drop off my bag and go out for a couple hours."
"Don't party too much, you're now employed and expected at the office at nine tomorrow morning!" He said teasingly.
"Five bucks says I'm here before you!" I said as I walked through the door.
"That'll be coming out of your paycheck!" He quickly returned with a laugh.