Page 36 of A Country Kind Of Love
After trolling Music Row and submitting her songs to labels and discourteous music publishers, the response rate was a bleak zero. Jesse suggested contacting up and coming singers; he had contacts that gave her a head start, but she was massively out of her depth. She was a planner. She’d planned her move to perfection, down to the spreadsheet entitledWeather, where she broke down month by month the average temperature, humidity, and rainfall.
Back home in California, between working and writing songs she didn’t have a great deal to do, so the planning element of her move was travel guide worthy. If she fails to make it in the music industry, she can publish her travel guide to make afew dollars.
Implementing her plan seems to be her stumbling block. She should’ve known. She remembers an article entitledMoving to Nashville: Hints and Tips—it told hertwo things.
a) Everyone else is moving to Nashville too.
b) If you want to be in the music industry, you’ll have stiffcompetition.
Just like her brothers and her dad, the guide makes the dream seem unachievable, which only makes Peyton more determined, maybe to her own detriment.
“I might be able to help you out,” Jesse says casually.
“Really?”
“You remember my friend Marvin, fromthe party?”
“Sure, the music producer?” Or Big Mac, as Jesse often refers to him.
“Yes, he’s got a new artist lookingfor songs.”
“Seriously?” Peyton jumps up, her eyes sparkle.
“Yes, don’t sound so surprised.” He rounds the kitchen island and makes a beeline for the egg chair.
“Wait,is it Cleo?”
“Erm...no. Her manager said she’s going down a different route.” Cleo did say she’d been tasked with writing her own songs. Peyton doesn’t like Hank, and can’t imagine his representation is the driving force Cleo needs, but it’s not her placeto comment.
“Oh.”
“Shall I set something up?” Jesse asks eagerly.
“Yes, please.”
“He said he’s at the studio tomorrow. I’ll call him now.” Jesse hits dial on his phone whilst Peyton nervously paces the space between the sofa and the door.
?
“New Music Friday” is unashamedly the highlight of Peyton’s week. She trolls through her favourite artists’ social media accounts on a regular basis looking for snippets and spoilers for upcoming releases. She struggles to sleep some Thursday nights when the obsession kicks in and she finds herself refreshing Spotify as the clock strikes midnight.
Peyton, and music lovers across the USA, have Beyoncé to thank for the drop of her self-titled album in 2013. Dropping the album on a Friday, instead of the standard Tuesday, sent a ripple effect through the record industry ultimately branding Tuesdays as “no longer good enough” to release new music. Fridays work better for Peyton anyway. This is especially true now that she’s no longer working weekends.
Jesse has left for his gig by the time she’s ten songs deep in the New Releases playlist. She cranks the sound up as she tries to drown out the sound of construction across the street. The building looks like an old restaurant of some kind, but the whole face is undergoing a remodel.
The importance of music in Peyton’s life is beyond comparison. The joy she feels when she connects with a song is staggering. Music is just sound to most people; it’s noise composed in certain rhythms to allow people to express their feelings, but to Peyton it’s her escape from reality; it’s the most creative parts of herself. Music empties her mind and satisfies her need to feel contentment; music comforts her.
There’s a noise above the music that sounds closer than the construction. The loud thud deepens. Peyton turns the music down. The noise erupts from behind the entrance door to the apartment. She wipes at the line of sweat that’s formed in her hairline from doing her dance-clean routine. She pats at her T-shirt to straighten it out. The black circular mirror in the hall highlights her dishevelled look. She rolls her eyes. Who cares? It’s probably just the neighbour wanting to borrow Jesse’s toolbox again.
When she opens the door, she’s surprised to see Cleo. The night before is still weighing heavily on Peyton’s mind. Cleo’s eyes peer above a pair of square sunglasses. Yes, she’s wearing sunglasses inside, of course she is. Two locks of hair fall delicately on her forehead. She’s got a tank top on that shows the muscle definition in her arms and shoulders.
“Erm... Hi,”Peyton says.
Cleo props one arm on the doorframe like she’s posing for a catalogue. Peyton’s eyes are automatically drawn to the way her inner bicep tightens with each minor movement. Even the line in herarm is sexy.
You needto get help.
“Hey.” Cleo removes her left arm from behind her back. “I thought you might wantthese back.”
