Risky Business, part 1/6
"S-C-N-D-L to the A, OUS, can't handle-"
"For the twentieth time, Gabe, wrong order!"
The tall singer yanks the clunky headphones off his head and glares through the glass window into the recording booth. They swing wildly from where they're plugged into the side of the isolation booth, mimicking the movement of the man in the control room as he none-too-gently drops his head to hit the mixing board.
He raises his head and touches the switch that'll enable to other man to hear him through layers of soundproofing and glass, choosing his words carefully. Gabe is tetchy at the best of times, volatile when things are going wrong- like now.
"How about we leave this for now and get the others here instead, finish up the bridge to 'Smile for the Paparazzi'?"
Gabe leans his long frame against the booths edge and waves a languid hand, obviously deciding anything was better than having to do the same line yet again. And probably mess up, yet again. "Sure, Patrick. Whatever."
Patrick Stump, full time producer, part-time musician and apparent nursemaid to singers with diva tendencies, sighs as he swings out of his chair and through the door to the corridor, inwardly wishing he didn't have to deal with people like Gabe Saporta on a daily basis.
But, sadly for him, Gabe and his band Cobra Starship are just one of many temperamental groups that Patrick has to deal with regularly, seeing as he has the great fortune to be Head Producer at Decaydance studios. He surveys the rest of the band through a glass panel in the door to the small waiting room, silently assessing them once more.
The lone girl, Vicky T, is a sultry brunette on the keytar, an instrument Patrick had thought hadn't survived the eighties before she'd shown up with it. She's comfortable and confident in the company of the other guys, and Patrick has enjoyed recording her sections. Nate is the most down-to-earth of them all, the one who tries to prevent fights before they can begin. Patrick's been grateful to him several times for calming the band down before a row can start.
Ryland and Alex, well. Patrick thinks of them as light relief from the toils of recording, mostly. Alex is quiet and content to simply play when he's told to, offering an opinion when asked. But if he and Ryland start plotting, that's the end of quiet. Patrick grins at the memories of some of Ryland's more outrageous tricks. Together they can wreak havoc, which is sometimes a nice diversion, but more often annoying.
Patrick can't bring himself to dislike them, though. They're all sweet and kind, most of the time. Like when they aren't playing stupid, off-the-wall pranks.
And even when they are, it's generally directed at either unsuspecting engineers or Gabe. It's been four months since they started recording their album, and so far there have been four fist fights, three screaming matches and forty-eight threats of disbanding. Gabe tends to dish the last out whenever he feels not enough attention is being paid to him, which accounts for the alarmingly high rate of threats.
Patrick keeps a tally; there's a pool among the technicians about whether they'll break up before the album's complete, with a lot of money in it. Patrick's seriously hoping they don't. If they can do it, it'll actually be a pretty good album.
He gathers his thoughts, and courage, and pushes the door open. "Guys? We were wondering if you could come back and finish the bridge on 'Smile', please?
Vicky laughs. "Gabe fucked up once too many times for his ego to handle, has he?" Patrick smiles with the others as they file out and head back to the studio, once again surprised by how much he can like the rest of them when they're led by Gabe. If only Vicky didn't wear such scarily high shoes, he'd be completely comfortable around them.
And if the only times he saw them didn't normally end in threats of various varieties, that is.
--
Two hours later, they've pretty much got it. Patrick listens to the new recording of the bridge and asks them to do the rest of it again, which leads to the inevitable arguments over chords and placements, through which all he can do is keep quiet and offer facts about the previous stuff on demand. They're just about to finish a perfect run-through, one Patrick feels will be good enough to synch with the vocals and other tracks, when a blur of colour and energy flies in and screws up the recording.
And Patrick's life for the next...well, leave that for now. The blur, whoever (whatever?) it is, cuts off the recording and presses the 'talk' button with a heavy-handedness that makes Patrick wince for the equipment, so lovingly tended by the techs, before slowing down long enough to acknowledge his presence.
"Oh, sorry. Hi. I-" Gabe picks that moment to come barreling through the door from the live room, followed at a slightly more sedate pace by his band. He covers the ground in what seems like a single stride and envelops the blur (now he's stopped moving Patrick can see it's a guy about his own height) in a hug, practically lifting him of the ground.
"Pete! Why are we being honored with your presence in this hellhole?"
Patrick's actually a little insulted at that. State-of-the-art equipment, his own (however much Patrick protests) producer and a newly fitted live room to record in. It's not like he's in one of the yet to be renovated rooms, so drafty Patrick thinks they should be used for wind tunnels instead of studios.
Then it clicks. Pete. The owner.
Suddenly he's glad the snarky comment on the tip of his tongue has stayed there. He swallows it as Pete turns to him once Gabe releases him from the octopus hold he's infamous for. Handsy, you see.
"Sorry again." He extends a hand, and says "Wentz, Pete Wentz," in the same tone as one would say 'Bond, James Bond', only it doesn't make Patrick swoon and fall at his feet, begging to be rescued from a nefarious villain. Or at least Gabe's atrocious spelling.
He instead shakes Pete's hand perfunctorily, returning his beaming smile with a cool expression. The grin dims slightly, and Pete hesitates. Patrick isn't sure whether he doesn't realize he interrupted a session, or whether he's just not used to people not smiling at him. Both, probably.
"Patrick Stump. Can I help you with something?" He knows, knows he sounds bitchy and it's probably a bad idea to use that tone with his boss, but Pete's made a bad impression and it'll take time for Patrick change his mind. If he ever does; seriously, Pete interrupted a recording. It's unlikely.
Pete's face is suddenly bright again, although it's a different sort of smile. It makes Patrick uneasy. "No, sorry. I'd like a word with the band, please."
It's clear from his tone that he means in private, and for a split second Patrick's hurt and offended. Then he realises this is his chance to escape from Gabe for a while at least, and nods brusquely.
"Let me know when you're done. I'd like to get at least one decent recording sometime this week." Pete's eyebrows raise at his sarcasm, and there's something akin to admiration in his eyes as Patrick exits.
--
Their first meeting can't be called good by anyone's standards, but there is still a slight chance that they can salvage a partially civil working relationship. Patrick's spent years trying to control his temper, so he's determined that his automatic reaction to Pete, that of simple anger, isn't going to prejudice him against his boss from the very start.
Pete manages to do that all by himself.
He wanders in during recording sessions, apparently unheeding of Patrick's glares. He makes Patrick sit in on long, pointless meetings about tour dates, interviews and merchandise, even though as a producer he isn't normally included in that part of the band's life. Doesn't want to be included.
He calls Patrick on his day off, gets him to come into the studio to work on a few songs with one of the other producers as a 'second opinion'. Patrick knows that the producer, the Butcher, is more than capable of splicing the right tracks together. It's how he got his nickname, after all.
And Patrick knows Pete is aware of this as well. He does it in retaliation for Patrick's sarcastic comments about his limited knowledge of the recording process. As Patrick listens to the same notes over and over again when he could be lazing around his apartment listening to Bowie or Prince, he comes close to regretting opening his mouth.
Still, it had been satisfying to point out Pete's very obvious error when he once attempted to tell Patrick what they were doing wrong.
The situation rapidly degenerates from there. By the end of two weeks, Patrick isn't sure whether he wants to kill Gabe or Pete more, both are so annoying. It's either kill them or leave the studio, and in his angriest moments he actually considers it.
Until Ryan talks him out if it, looking horrified. "Who would stop me dying of boredom, or save me from Brendon?" Well, it might be selfish, but it makes Patrick smile.
Ryan is the almost girlishly pretty 'receptionist' at Decaydance Studios, five-foot-something of ruffles, artfully messy hair and bitchiness. He draws intricate patterns on his face with eyeliner every morning, ranging from birds to suits of cards tumbling down to his neck in a long line of shimmer and talent.
For all his inherent sarcasm and tendency to rant about literature or slip into long, rambling metaphors, Ryan's amazing on the front desk. He can turn on the charm when he has to, smiling at the often slightly-odd people who come in asking for various artists or Pete himself, and his oddly monotone voice works in his favor.
No one can take offense at his tone if he's only got one.
Patrick met Ryan sometime during his second year working at the studios, and they'd bonded over music and a shared disbelief that Brendon could be that hyper without coffee. Brendon is Brendon Urie, one of the A&R guys. The way he tells it, he got hired because of his likable personality and charm. Most people privately think it's because he's got the energy to deal with the most demanding of artists and not get irritable or depressed.
When not working with the talent, though, he's actually not that bad. Still jumpy and grinning, but it's manageable. Patrick likes him, and Ryan tolerates him, which is as far as Brendon's probably ever going to get with him.
Patrick and Ryan tend to talk during lulls in the flow of traffic through the studios, snatching moments to gossip and whine about their jobs. Not that they mean it, but it's still good to vent. Somehow Ryan still manages to keep everything organized and running smoothly, and more than once Pete's stood looking longingly at the neat desk and talked of stealing Ryan to be his own personal assistant.
Ryan always replies he's too pretty for Pete, and besides, he has a boyfriend.
Patrick's not sure if it's creepy or just Pete that he winks and says he won't tell Spencer if Ryan doesn't, but he doesn't worry. Ryan can hold his own against Pete easily, hips tilted, a wit quick enough to match Pete's. It's fun to watch them snipe at each other, although lately even that's lost any pleasure for Patrick.
Ryan whips out his mirror as soon as the clock ticks over to his break, makeup bag ready to do any touch-ups. "So, what's the latest indignity?"
"Shutting me in a studio with that new blonde singer, Ashlee." Patrick swings his legs as he sits on Ryan's desk, looking morose and a little angry. "What's irritating is that she's not a bad singer, but she puts all these weird little noises at the ends of verses and stuff, like they'll make it better."
Ryan grimaces. "And Pete himself?"
"As obnoxious as ever. I wish-" Patrick is cut off by a shadow looming over the desk he and Ryan are at, making him turn to see who's blocking the light. And then promptly wishes he hadn't.
"Patrick! Oooh, are you free? You know I only like working with you." William Beckett, as tall as Patrick is short and with more attitude than a Victoria's Secret model-despite being male-puts a lascivious tone behind the words as he leans over to capture Patrick's hand, bringing it up to his lips in a show of mock chivalry.
Bill Beckett is one of two people Patrick hates working with the most, and not because he's talentless; far from it, in fact. Patrick can cope with people who have no talent, but people like Bill who have it but just use it as a pick-up line make him mad.
And he just knows Pete will pick up his dislike of Bill, with that weird people-sense he has that makes him so good at his job. Between Bill and the still acting up Gabe, Patrick thinks things look very bleak in the foreseeable future.
Ryan gives him a sympathetic look as he makes his way to the front of the receptionist's station, barely dodging Bill's grabby hands before leading him off to see Pete and sort out studio times.
--
Pete greets Bill like a long-lost...something, but Patrick really doesn't want to dwell on that. He slips out of Pete's bombsite of an office-no wonder he wants to steal Ryan, looking at that mess - and into one of the unoccupied studios. He's thankfully been spared Gabe et al. today, a photoshoot and interview taking up their time.
He's not hiding, exactly, more hoping to stay out of Pete's way. No such luck. Pete comes crashing into the room in pretty much the same manner as he had two weeks ago, and beams at Patrick. By now he can see the glint in Pete's eye that says this is just another round in the little battle that's raging between them.
"Ah, here you are. Patrick, I'd like you to produce for Bill, if that's okay?" Like he can say anything else, really. Patrick gets a certain satisfaction from depriving Pete of any kind of reaction beyond a distracted "Sure." as he keeps working on some harmonies.
He can feel Pete waiting for something else, for the snarky comments that have become the norm between them. Instead Patrick simply looks up at Bill and gestures to the chair next to him. As much as he knows he's going to dislike working with Bill, he's eager to see what exactly they'll be working on. "Oh, sorry. Was there something else?"
Pete's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. He flicks a look at Bill, folded gracefully into the chair and languidly trying to snatch Patrick's hat, and then leaves. The door bangs shut behind him and Patrick sighs.
At least Pete is easier to deal with than Bill.
--
The 'argumentative state' between them, as Ryan wearily terms it, becomes a fully fledged war once Patrick starts working with Bill. He hates it, hates how Bill acts towards him, making suggestive comments as he folds himself into the chair next to Patrick. He hates the way Bill twists his words and sings them to him, perfectly in tune with the music.
It just makes things with Pete worse. Pete either can't or won't see what Bill is like, laughing off the few sly comments Bill makes towards Patrick when Pete's within earshot. All that happens is Patrick gets angry at Bill, Pete fuels it by being the most irritating person Patrick knows, and when he tries to work off that frustration in the studio all Bill wants to do is mess around with harmonies.
If it wasn't for Ryan, Patrick thinks he'd probably have quit weeks ago. Ryan calms him down after a sniping match with Pete, after Bill's expressed no interest in perfecting a song, after Gabe has had a diva moment again, after, after, after.
By the time a month has passed, Patrick's near the breaking point. Cobra Starship as a band have agreed on pretty much everything for their album, but Gabe, as the 'lead singer' (Vicky's air quotes, not Patrick's), is still making a point of playing the diva. Patrick's spending as much time in the studio with him as he did when they first started recording, but it doesn't seem like anything's going to be worked out anytime soon.
Bill is moving quickly through the material he wants to record, when Patrick can actually get him in the booth to do his vocals. He's more interested in the other artists working around him, or as Ryan so delicately puts it, in 'being a slut'. Patrick, on a short fuse with Bill anyway, is incensed when he declares he wants to get a song finished as fast as possible, then wastes three days hooking up with the guy rapping in the next studio.
His temper, never very good at the best of times, gets one last boost when Pete turns up demanding to know why the song isn't done. Brendon will later talk of it in hushed tones, and Ryan, in a rare break from policy, will use the reception phone to call Spencer as soon as the action is over.
Patrick's just turning from asking Ryan how long ago Bill and Travis, the rapper, left the studios when he hears Pete behind him. Over the last few weeks he's developed a sort of Pete-sense, which is either really lucky or really worrying, depending on his mood.
"Hey, Patrick. Have you got Bill's songs done yet?"
Patrick grits his teeth at Pete's tone. He fucking knows they aren't done, he's just being irritating.
"No, not yet. Bill's-"
"No, not Bill. You. It's your responsibility to get this done. You're the producer, the one in charge-"
"If you can get Bill to turn up to sessions and stop acting like a slut, then we might get stuff done faster," Patrick's voice lifts to a yell, his anger spiking, "If not, then fuck off, stop bothering me as I try to make a singer out of one of your whores and leave me alone."
Oh. Shit. Pete's his boss, not a good thing to yell. Pete's jaw clenches, but he still manages to grind out: "If that's what you think, then maybe you should-"
Patrick blames it on Pete's supercilious tone; it's the one he uses when he knows he's going to win a round of their little...game, or whatever it is. His fist connects solidly with Pete's jaw, knuckles stinging in a very satisfying way. Patrick spins on his heel and storms out of the front doors before he can swing again, steps angry and harsh to his ears.
How long he sits on a wall overlooking the parking lot, Patrick doesn't know, but he eventually calms down. He writes music in his head, runs through four of the songs he's currently working on to clear his mind. And just when his breathing has slowed and his heart rate is back to normal, anger a dull itch behind his eyes, just then, Pete sits down next to him.
In his peripheral vision Patrick can see a large bruise blooming on Pete's jaw, but Pete doesn't look like he's about to fire him. He looks, oddly, embarrassed. Patrick waits, not trusting his voice.
Pete clears his throat, gingerly touching the patch of color Patrick's amazed he caused. He's not that good at throwing punches.
"So, I just got told off by a guy skinnier than I think I've ever been, and who I'm pretty sure is wearing a girl's top."
The image of Ryan telling Pete off is a very funny one, considering Pete has a few pounds on the receptionist, (mind you, that's probably true of everyone when compared to Ryan, except possibly Spencer), as well as being much more unpredictable. Patrick smiles before he can help himself, realizing too late that it might not be a good idea.
Pete's voice is flat when he next speaks. "Why didn't you tell me you don't like working with Bill?"
Patrick sighs and turns to face his boss. "Would you have listened to me, the way things are between us?" Pete looks down at his slowly swinging feet. "No. You would've paired us up anyway, out of spite."
"Probably. And I'm sorry for that." He sounds so sincere that Patrick knows the surprise is written all over his face. Pete smiles wryly. "Why are things so bad? Why can't we talk without it devolving into an argument?"
"I have no idea. But it's not exactly something I look forward to when I come in each morning." His tired and depressed tone matches his mood perfectly, and it makes Pete look at him in what seems to be horror.
"Oh, no no no. You're not leaving this place." He sounds so determined that Patrick laughs. Weakly, but it's definitely a laugh.
"What, are you going to lock me in one of the studios?" Patrick means it as a joke, trying to make an effort to have a conversation that's at least less bitchy than normal, if not totally civil. He's really been spending too much time with Ryan if he even calls it bitchy in his head.
So he's more than a little worried when Pete nods emphatically. "If I have to, sure. You're the best producer this studio has, Patrick. You can do more with one half-decent singer than anyone else I've seen, and some of the stuff you've come up with for Gabe's bunch is amazing." He pauses and must realise that what he said sounded a lot like gushing. "I mean, you're an asset."
Patrick's not good with getting praise, and especially not from someone he thought he wasn't on very good terms with - although now he's not so sure about that. "Uh, thanks, I guess."
Pete falls silent, and they sit looking out at the parking lot for a few minutes. Patrick's almost convinced himself to go back inside and try to carry on with some work, even though he's really not in the mood any more, when Pete speaks up.
"Why don't you like working with Bill?"
He sounds simply curious, nothing more, and Patrick finds himself wanting to tell him. He shrugs. "I don't like the way he treats recording." He leaves out the 'and me', thinking it too personal to tell Pete when they're only just managing to talk without sniping at each other. Pete hears it anyway.
"And the way he treats you?" He takes Patrick's silence as confirmation. "I know he's a bit...over the top, but that's just the way he is. Flamboyant."
"It's not that. I'm not good with attention in general - I like flying under the radar, doing my job right and enjoying the music. But Bill would rather hit on me and make lewd suggestions rather than making the most of the great talent he has, and it fucking annoys me."
Pete is very still beside him, and Patrick wonders if he's gone too far with this tentative civility. When he speaks, Pete sounds chastened and small. "I didn't realize. I've known him for years, since I was in bands myself, so I guess I'm just used to it." He laughs, sounding self-deprecating and hollow. "Plus I used to be just as much of a slut as he is, so I'm probably more tolerant."
Patrick smiles again, ducking his head down to hide it. "I see that smile, don't think you can fool me." He looks up to see Pete smiling as well, and just like that something shifts. The air clears between them, and Patrick can feel any lingering tension dissipate.
Pete must sense it too, because his smile widens until it makes crinkles appear by his eyes and shows an amazing amount of teeth. He scoots closer and knocks his shoulder against Patrick's, making him clutch at the wall.
"Tell you what. I'll switch Bill to a producer who he won't be tempted to hit on, and I'll have a word with Gabe about cutting down on the demands, okay?"
"That would be great, thanks." It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off Patrick's chest, and he smiles gratefully at Pete. He's a very easy person to smile at, Patrick is discovering.
"And, along with that, let me take you for coffee. To apologize, and clear the air some more." His smile is replaced by a hopeful expression, and Patrick finds himself nodding just so he can see it bloom again. "Fantastic! Okay, come on."
He hops off the wall, stretching a hand out to Patrick. He rolls his eyes when Patrick glares at him and slips down on his own, if with slightly less grace than Pete. They stroll in together, and when Pete moves purposely off to his office to reassign Bill, Patrick watches him go.
Part II