Page 8 of Broken Melody
“Are you sure about this?” I ask looking at myself in the mirror while talking to Britt who keeps adding more clothes, jewelry, and shoes to our pile in the dressing room. I can barely see her over the large stacks she’s carrying. How she’s gotten past the attendant with this vast array of items escapes me. That girl just does whatever she pleases.
“I’m positive. If you’re going to go to a pop rock band’s audition, you are sure as hell going to look the part. I can’t have you ruining my reputation.”
“Your reputation? What reputation? You’re a hairdresser.”
“A hairdresser with exceptional taste in fashion.”
I sigh, “I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.” I take off the top that’s full of pre-ripped holes and try on another.
“You won’t,” she says while coming up behind me her eyes tracing my form. “You have always worn your clothes, they don’t wear you. Understand?”
“No, not at all,” I tell her with a laugh and she shakes her head and sighs making me giggle even more.
Looking away from her, I check out my reflection. I’m wearing ripped jeans, a long white tank, a black leather vest that belts around the bottom, and ridiculously high red stilettos. “I don’t know, I like it but, I don’t think it’s the look I want to go with for tonight.” I turn and walk into the dressing room, kicking off the shoes on the way. From the piles, I pull out a couple pieces I keep eyeing and remove everything else I have on but the jeans. After putting on a black ribbed tank, I add a white one on top of that that’s looser and flows around my hips a little, the black underneath playing peek-a-boo. Next, I dig out a long necklace that I place around my neck, and then grab a pair of black booties from their box and place them on my feet before walking to the mirror and looking at my reflection once more.
I’m on the short side and curvy, like I remember my mother being. I have her dark hair, but the ample cleavage and booty are all my own. Right now, my dark hair flows down my back and my makeup is minimal, but it will be aces tonight. I like this look and I like it a lot. “This. This is it. I feel more comfortable. I won’t be distracted by fixing or fiddling with my clothing, or worse, stumbling around in those stupid shoes. That would be embarrassing. There’s nothing worse than women that wear awesome shoes, but then look stupid when they can’t walk in them.”
“I agree, but you walk in them just fine.” She sighs at me, but there’s a smile on her face as she looks at me from head to toe. “There isn’t anything you could put on and not look good wearing. I pretty much hate that about you.”
“Oh please, crap is too tight on my ass all the time and you know it.”
“Whatever, that hardly ever happens.”
“Well you’re not one to talk. You’re tall and thin and can wear any damn thing you want.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she laughs and flips her hair behind her shoulder in a sassy move that makes me laugh. “It’s amazing I don’t have a man.”
“Well, you have to actually date in order to get a man, you know.”
“I’m well aware, thank you. And if I ever meet someone worthy of my time, I’ll do just that,” she states prissily. “Until then, I’m completely happy on my own.”
She says that, but I’m fairly certain she doesn’t mean it. There’s been a few times we’ve either gone out or stayed in and had a little too much to drink. During some of those alcohol induced vulnerable occasions her lips have gotten loose, and revealed her true desires about finding someone to share life with. Moreover, she’s confessed to feeling lonely sometimes in that way that not having a steady man in your life can make you feel. One misses feeling special - the flirtations and compliments, being taken care of, having someone to dress up and go out with, and of course the kisses. All the kisses. I sigh missing that a little bit myself, but quickly push the feelings aside. “Uh huh, sure,” I comment, but leave it at that.
“Do you really think you have room to talk?” She asks glaring at me, hands on her hips.
“You know very well that I have no interest and don’t miss that at all,” the lie leaves my lips smoothly. “Nothing but heartache and trouble.”
“She says before she gets ready to go audition for a band that has four guys. Fourhotguys.”
“Ugh.” Her words make my stomach drop. Not because the guys are good looking – I don’t care about that. Well okay, I may care a little. I mean, I’m not dead. No, my nervousness is for another reason altogether. “Did you have to bring that up? I was doing a good job not thinking about it.”
“Uh, sorry?” she shrugs.
“Am I really going to do this? I mean, should I?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Britt asks me stopping in her task of hanging the clothes she knows I won’t be purchasing.
“No, I’m being serious. I mean, what if this is all just some sick perverse way of getting me to the studio and something awful happens. What if this isn’t really an audition at all? Oh god, I’m so stupid. Guys walk into a bar and give me an offer that sounds too good to be true and I’m just ready to jump in with both feet?”
Britt walks to me and takes my hands in hers and makes eye contact. “Breathe,” I do. “Again,” she instructs and I immediately obey already feeling my anxiety taper off. “I get why you feel this way, okay? And I’m hearing you. I’m not blowing off your concerns, but let’s think about this one step at a time. You called the record label that was on the business card and confirmed that Rick McEntyre is really who he says he is, right?” she asks knowing I did exactly that because she was with me for every call and each search. I would bet money that she also did a search of her own.
“Right.”
“And you did a search via the internet that confirmed he is who he said he is,” she states matter of fact.
“Yes, I did that too.”
“And then we searched the agent…what was his name?”
