Page 18 of Broken Melody
“I’m. Not. Interested.” I tell him, my stomach burning from the lie and my performance, and I turn to walk away.
“Yeah well…me either!” he calls to my back.
I turn to face him, still curious about why he came here to begin with. “Then what do you want? What’s on your mind? Spit it out, Maddox, or I’m going back inside,” I tell him.
“You did great at the audition the other night,” he says so quickly it takes a second for the words to register. “I’m sure you know that,” he adds. I stare at him not at all sure how to respond. Partly because I feel like I’m going to puke, and partly because I don’t want to sound conceited or something, so I choose to say nothing at all. “You seem to havesometalent. But, in truth, there are concerns about your limited experience and your ability to be a true professional. We also wonder if your look will distract from or enhance us?” he says and his words sting a bit. My stomach drops. I feel defensive for a moment and want to tell him and his stupid band mates that they can all go fuck themselves. “But…”
“But, what?” I ask angrily.
He stares at me for a minute, “Look, truth is, the band doesn’t really want a chick.”
“A chick?” I interrupt immediately indignant. “Seriously?”
“Fine, we don’t want a woman. And if we do get one, well, it has to be the right one. I mean, some people may think your look and style is hot…” he says making me wish I had just kept my mouth closed. I refuse to blush or respond to his backhanded comments. “The guys and I… it’s been just the four of us for a while and I think this is the fucking stupidest…” he sighs and looks down, takes a deep breath and bites his bottom lip. “It doesn’t matter. It is what it is. The guys…well, they have some worries that if we choose you that you and I will create problems for the band.”
“Why?”
“Well, our first meeting didn’t exactly instill confidence that we can get along. And those other issues, I referenced.”
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” I begin and find myself pointing at him in anger, ignoring the other comments and focusing on that event only. “You snapped your fingers at me like a dog. Who does that? Dogs don’t even deserve that!”
“It was an honest mistake,” he argues.
“It still makes you an asshole. And if it hadn’t been me, you still would have snapped your fingers at Bethany!”
“What do you care?” he asks sharply.
“You aren’t the only one that has reservations. Maybe I’m not sure if I can work with some entitled asshole.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Back at you.”
“God, this isn’t going to get us anywhere,” he says running his hand through his hair in exasperation. “I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t even know why I did - to tell you the truth. I guess I was just on edge.” I roll my eyes not caring one bit about some lame excuse. He sees my reaction and clears his throat. “The reason I’m here is because I think you and I need to spend some time together and see if this,” he points between us, “is going to work.”
“What do you mean by ‘spend time together’?”
“How about we meet for a late lunch tomorrow or an early dinner?”
“Lunch or early dinner? You mean you don’t stay up partying all night and sleep all day?”
“No, actually, I don’t. Usually.”
“Well some rebel you are. I think the mags have got it all wrong.”
“Not all of it,” he says and while he wears a smirk upon his lips, that’s where the humor ends because there’s nothing but sadness in his eyes. “Look, let’s get together and we can get to know each other a little better, see if working together, and tolerating each other is something we’d be able to do.”
“I don’t have to tolerate you to be able to sing with you,” I state defiantly.
“Seriously?” he asks throwing his hands up in the air. What a drama queen. “That proves you have no idea of what it’s like…traveling together, being on the road together…it’s way bigger than just making music.”
I sigh, “Fine. I’ll meet you. Early dinner?”
“Yes,” he says calming since he sees I’m considering it.
“Well, okay,” I reply with more reservations than I can even count, “that works because I work at nine.”
“Okay, then how about we meet at six?”
