178:

Michael's sigh was as large as he was. His eyes held hers. "It wasn't wrong. It was done in love, and we will change anything, literally anything you want." His humility was unprecedented, Tracy had never seen him capitulate. 

She turned frantically to stare at Julian. His words were sinking in as well... intriguing, inspiring, emotional... weren't those words a songwriter loved to hear?

 Yes! On fire, he'd said with conviction, as if the connection between her feelings and his were indescribably real. He'd been touched, and others had too.

Tracy licked her lips and searched around for water. Michael handed her his small plastic water bottle and she took a sip and handed it back. She nodded. I have to let this go. No harm has been done. I have to let this go. She looked up with a smile. "Thanks."

Two giant grins collided on the faces of her two firmest believers, and hugs were forthcoming, giant bear hugs.

"Will you let me get a makeup artist in here before you start in the studio and we can film and use the bits and pieces, you know..." Michael was practical, and they were to that point, they needed more footage. She nodded. It wasn't her favorite thing to do, the cameras really did bother her, but if she could tune out yelling and confrontations then she could tune out a few cameras in the studio. How hard was that? These days she had to have the videos if she planned on not touring as much.

Two hours later, Tracy sat at her piano, barefoot, one blue-jeaned leg up on the bench, long hair trailing un-artistically down her back, both hands vehemently picking out accompaniment. It wasn't a relaxed atmosphere.

Greg downed a Welch's juice from the pop machine in the hall. He leaned against the wall, sweating. "These guys are freaks." He said watching the shadow of Michael in the sound rooms, monitoring, working, talking to Tracy and Julian through their headsets. Julian, on the drums, eyes closed. Tracy.... Her fingers looking pale.

It had been hours. Songs and songs later, a lot of laughter, a lot of double takes, switching of instruments, filming, goofing around, jumping around. But it was exhausting. This was exhausting. Jimmy leaned against the wall; he ran a hand through sweaty wet hair and let it fall in spiky layers across his brow. His eyes looked tired and drawn.

"What time is it?" Jimmy asked.

"Ten."

Jimmy gave his brother a crazy look. "It's gotta be later than ten. I feel like we've been in here for a day and half."

"Not that long. It's ten a.m. Costuming is coming in, and we're doing the video in a half an hour." He raised his can and pointed at the opposite door where a couple of people were standing. "They're waiting to make her into a star."

Jimmy looked at Tracy. The blouse was open, hanging off a shoulder, the lace tank baring a creamy expanse of neckline and bosom. Famous hair swung and lifted as she swayed and concentrated. Her eyes were focused, and then not.... Closed; as her lean fingers created the melody. Toes moved with Julian's beat, she had pushed the phones off one ear, and was singing softly.

"They don't need to do anything. She's beautiful." Jimmy breathed. "Put a spotlight on her right now. That's the real Tracy."

Greg privately agreed. She'd changed a lot since a year ago when she had needed to have him hold her on the piano bench while she cried, barely able to sit up by herself. For those brief moments in time, she'd been his, needing him. 

But she'd changed... become extremely independent, become even more unique, more sure, less anxious, more free. Her music spoke it all. Varied as the wind and ocean she loved, it spoke to all of them.

*****