Page 54 of Even If the Sky is Falling
INTERLUDE
SARAH SMITH
Interlude
The most important lesson I’ve learned as a songwriter and jingle writer is this: have something to write with on you at all times. Always.
Even when you think you won’t need it, like when you’re taking out the garbage or in the bathroom, you will. Because that’s usually when inspiration strikes—whenever the hell it wants to, at the most random and inconvenient moments.
That’s what’s happening to me right now as I sit on the toilet emptying my bladder after guzzling an entire thermos of tea on my drive back home from an impromptu trip to the vet. You see, today my cat, Mango, decided to crawl into the trash can and devour three discarded muffin wrappers. I, of course, panicked and sped him straight to the vet. Thankfully all was well. Because they’re paper, they’ll dissolve in his digestive tract and he’ll pass them in a few days.
But today’s chaos has thrown me off completely. I haven’t eaten or showered and I’ve got a late-afternoon Zoom meeting to prep for. And this is why I’m humming the melody that just popped in my head over and over as I relieve myself because I’m so off-kilter that I broke my own rule and didn’t bring anything to write with me.
The bathroom door squeaks as Mango nudges it open with his face. He plops his chunky body next to my feet, then slow-blinks at me before letting out the quietest mewling sound in the world.
My heart melts instantly. I reach down and pet his impossibly soft orange fur. “You’re lucky you’re adorable. You’re forgiven for earlier today.”
I hop up and wash my hands, all the while humming the melody, then dart down the hallway to my office, grab my phone and record myself singing for thirty seconds. I save it and breathe a sigh of relief. Not sure what I’ll use it for yet. Maybe it’ll be the catchy hook for a song I can pitch to a producer. Or maybe I can use it in an advertising campaign. Those thoughts halt instantly when I check the time and see that I’ve only got twenty minutes until my first Zoom meeting. I still need to eat something. And shower. And put on makeup. Shit.
I dart back to the bathroom, toss my glasses aside onto the counter, flip on the hot water, shed my T-shirt and yoga pants, and hop in the shower. Under the hot stream of water, I quickly shampoo my hair and soap my body. As I rinse off, I force myself to take a breath. Yeah, today has been a mess so far, but I can’t go into my meeting stressed-out, which is with a jewelry company. It’s a lucrative contract—they want something moody and seductive for a Valentine’s Day jingle. If I nail this pitch, this gig will pay in the mid five figures. I want this contractbad. It would be the biggest single contract I’ve ever gotten, which would be a huge professional boost—not to mention a fat chunk of money that I’d love to see in my bank account. This high-end jeweler isn’t going to want to hire a frazzled hot mess to take on their Valentine’s Day campaign. I need to exude confidence during this meeting, like I didn’t just have a ridiculous pet emergency—like I totally, unquestionably have my shit together.
So I do the one thing I always do when I need to calm down: I sing. I choose one of my favorite pump up songs: “Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing.” It’s one of my favorite Stevie Wonder songs, but I’m also a huge fan of Tori Kelly’s version, so that’s the one I bellow under the stream of steamy water. It only takes a handful of seconds before the nerves dissipate and I’m swaying my hips and head as I sing and groove.
By the time I turn off the water, I’m feeling slightly less frazzled. I dry off, wrap the towel around my hair, slip on my fuzzy bathrobe, then throw on a sheet mask before heading to the kitchen for a snack. Ojai is beautiful and I love living here—it’s got that quiet, small-town charm but it’s only a couple hours from LA, so I can commute to meet with clients when needed—but the desert climate is hell on my skin. I look like the crypt keeper if I don’t moisturize my skin intensely at least four times a week, and I definitely want to look my best for this meeting.
Mask in place, I sprint to the kitchen and scarf down two leftover lumpia along with a green smoothie while going over the client info in my head for the meeting.
The sound of my doorbell going off interrupts my thoughts. I groan while chewing, tempted to ignore it as I’ve now got only ten minutes to pretty up so that I’m camera ready. But then it sounds again, meaning I’ll need to get rid of whoever’s at the door.
When I answer it, I’m greeted by a tall, broad man, I think? Because I’m sans glasses and squinting through a face mask, the person standing in front of me is blurry.
“Hi, Jocelyn? I’m Caleb, from Pop Pop’s Desert Paradise Remodeling.”
My eyes go wide. Today is the day I scheduled to have a contractor come over and give me an estimate to replace my kitchen cabinets. In the chaos of today, I completely forgot.
“Oh! Shit!” I cup my hand over my mouth. “Sorry for swearing.”
Blurry man chuckles. “It’s okay. I’ve been known to mutter a curse or two.”
“Um, right...” I step aside to let him inside, too flustered to laugh at his joke. “Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I have a work Zoom meeting in, like, ten minutes, and I still have to get ready, so is it okay if you take a look at the cabinets without me?”
I move to shut the door and point in the direction of the kitchen. “Promise as soon as I’m done with my meeting I’ll check back in with you.”
“No worries, take your time.”
I yell a thanks before darting back into the bathroom and start swiping on my skin care. When I check the time and see that I’ve only got four minutes till my meeting, my nerves start to crackle. But I close my eyes and make myself take another breath.
“You’ve got this, Jocelyn,” I say.
I start singing “Don’t You Worry ’Bout a Thing” again. I belt out the lyrics, smiling to my reflection in the mirror as I stand up taller. I’ve already come up with a few melodies and lyrics, and I’m planning on singing them to the jewelry store marketing head during our meeting. This song is the perfect warmup for my voice. I reach for my glasses so I can see clearly when I put on my makeup, chaotic day be damned. I’ve got this. Just like Tori and Stevie say, I don’t need to worry about a—
The door flies open.
“Jocelyn?” the contractor booms.
I yelp, dropping my glasses on the counter. All I can see is a blurry form in the doorway.
I clutch at my robe. “What the—Caleb? What the hell are you doing?”
