Rick’s text later that night irritated him but also triggered his curiosity.

“2637 Rockport Street, Southampton Village.

Call me if you need any directions.”

“Could he maybe have come across a promising singer living in Southampton? That’s odd. Is she rich or something?” He thought to himself. “I’ll have to battle New York City morning traffic. What a nightmare.”

James’ worst fears were confirmed. Indeed, the traffic was insane. Still, he did not worry at all about being late. In his mind, he could as well not go to his appointment at all. It was more than clear to him that working with someone like Michelle would be next to impossible. After all, he wrote actual lyrics, not sleazy, sexual innuendos.

As he turned left onto Rockport Street, he realized that she was indeed very rich. Michelle’s mansion was located at the end of the street, surrounded by lush greenery. As his blue Escalade rolled down the road, the windows began to vibrate. His ears picked up loud, beating music and Michelle’s voice, singing:

“If I like you I will stare

Smack my ass and pull my hair”

“What a load of crap!” James yelled, noticing commotion outside the house. There were three, high-end cars, blocking the road: A green Dodge Viper, a black Lamborghini and a red Ferrari. Four cameramen were scattered around them. Michelle had bent over the hood of the Lamborghini, shaking her ass as she sang. He didn’t have to wait for more than a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

James only got out of his SUV after the camera crew had left. Three men emerged from the house and drove off in the expensive cars. He was still struggling to maintain his composure, as he knocked on her front door. A short, elderly man in a butler’s uniform answered.

“Good morning, sir,” he greeted James with a clear, British accent. “How may I help you?”

“Hi. I’m looking for Ms. Michelle Adams. We have an appointment.” James said.

“Who is it, George?” Michelle’s modulated voice bounced off the walls of her house. The butler fully opened the door. She was standing at the bottom landing of a big staircase, wiping her hair with a pink towel. “You’re not Jimmy X, are you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” James murmured.

“It can’t be!” She grinned. “You’re too young! Come on in.”

“Thanks.” He said, closing the door behind him. “Great house.” He added, sweeping the massive room.

“I wish it was mine,” Michelle sighed. “It’s my uncle’s. Sorry I had to drag you all the way to the Hampton’s. You want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. This won’t take long, anyway.” James declared. “Ms. Adams, why did you request to see me? I doubt you need my skills.”

“Actually I do, Jimmy,” she responded, as she attempted a businesslike tone. “I’m past the point where I can just sing about T&A. It sells, but eventually, someone else will come along and people will forget about me. Do you care to follow me to the living room?”

“Sure,” James croaked while he tried to reset his thoughts. “Lead the way.”

“Ok, I didn’t see this coming. Now, let’s see if you have what it takes, Blondie. Real singing is a lot tougher than shaking your ass.”

“Have a seat.” Michelle pointed to a grey armchair on the right. The living room was as extravagant as the rest of the house, but James’ gaze was drawn to a piano, in the upper left corner. The first thing that came to mind was to ask her if she played, but he rejected that notion in a heartbeat.

“If you mock music, you just can’t play; it’s as simple as that.”

“I’m having doubts over this.” James voiced his concern. “Do you really think anyone’s going to take you seriously? ‘Smack my ass and pull my hair’? Really?”

“To be honest with you, I enjoyed it at first.” She confessed, seating herself on the couch. “The social media buzz, the pictures, the interviews… But, like I said, it’s not going to last forever. I don’t regret what I did. It was a good way to attract attention.”

James smiled to himself, but did not dignify her last comment with a comment of his own. He pulled his backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it, before taking a notebook and a pen out of it.

“Now…” He began, putting his backpack down on the floor: “… a good way to write some really moving lyrics is by picturing a situation. I’d like you to describe me your most painful experience, as best you can: a breakup; a goodbye; either will do. Tell me where it happened: how it happened; things you said; and especially, how it made you feel.”

“Where should I start?” Michelle peered towards the ceiling, rubbing her chin. “The place: Malibu, ‘Wild Rocks’ beachside bar: and the when was July 2009. I was there with Eric Jenson, my boyfriend at the time; we’d just graduated from high school. We’d been going out for almost two years. We’d both been accepted to Stanford. I thought we loved each other. I know I loved him. Anyway, it was a beautiful night: warm; not too hot. We were dancing, hugging, kissing. You know, having fun and all. At some point, he went outside to talk on the phone. I found it a little weird that someone would call him so late at night, but I didn’t mind. Pretty soon, we’d be walking down the beach, sweet-talking each other. But…” Her voice cracked, as she dropped her gaze to her feet. “He didn’t come back inside. I waited for about thirty minutes and then went looking for him. He hadn’t gone far. He was standing in the sand, staring at the water. I asked him what was wrong. Then…” Michelle drew in a sharp breath, as tears welled up in her eyes. “He told me everything.”

“And what would that be?” James inquired, leaning forward, eagerly anticipating her response.

“He’d had a one-night stand with someone.” Michelle’s voice dripped with emotion, as a tear rolled down her cheek. “She’d just called him to say she was pregnant with his child.”

“Unbelievable,” James murmured, shaking his head.

“It was the worst day of my life” she sniffled, as her gaze shot up to meet his. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I always thought I’d yell at him if I found out that he’d been fooling around with other girls, but I swear to God, I couldn’t even speak. I just stood there. I lost my faith in men after that.”

“You wondered where to start earlier,” James remarked. “Is there anything else you’d like to share with me?”

“Yeah; lots of things really,” Michelle said as she wiped the tears off her face. “This breakup got me into music, that’s all.”

“How?” James voice reeked of sarcasm, while he waited to hear the same old sob story of how music saved her life.

“I took piano lessons in college. I got pretty good at it, but every time I tried to sing a love song, I’d get so emotional that I couldn’t finish it. A friend of mine suggested the twerking thing. It’s true, it is pretty stupid, but it helps pay the bills. Plus, I got to prove my point.” She put a little force in her voice with her last statement.

“Oh? And what was ‘your point’ exactly?” James smirked.

“Simple,” Michelle responded with a nod. “Men are just sex-crazed animals, who don’t think with their head.”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” he grumbled, tossing his pen into his backpack. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Jimmy X…”

“What?!” His stentorian voice rumbled like thunder, as he jumped from his seat. “You can’t sing like this: not ballads, anyway!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re angry!” He lowered his tone, his heart pumping as if ready to explode. “Do you have any idea how calm and focused you need to be to perform an actual love song?”

James’ outburst and his question obviously put her in a difficult position. Michelle locked her gaze on his, at a total loss for words. He would not force another word out of his throat, either. He was not offended by her childish opinion about men; he had heard those words before. It was her profound ignorance about his music and what was needed to perform in that genre that made him fume with rage. Grabbing his backpack from the floor, he flipped around and stormed out of the luxurious mansion, regretting his decision to show up for their appointment.

“You need to just stick to shaking your ass, you stupid, immature bitch. It’s what you’re good at.”