My life is no cake walk. Rejection coupled with the struggle to make ends meet, and what do I have to show? Nothing really. But I have to believe everything I’m doing now paves my way to the life I want. Lately, though, it’s been more of a drag. What if this is all for naught? It’s beginning to wear on me. The grind. Bus fare. Shifts at the coffee shop. Rent for my room. Food. Shampoo. Tampons. School loans. Phone calls from Mom. It all adds up.
But today; today is different. When my eyelids flutter open with the morning sun, I’m filled with hope. Promise. Expectation. It’s a frightening thing to hope too much, because my track record shows it’ll only end in bigger disappointment.
No. I shake my head against the pillow and peel my body off the twin mattress. Today I’ll let myself hope. Angel, one of my roommates, is completely into yoga, healthy food, and astrology. She would say I should put my hope into the universe, to let my goals be spoken, and eventually the earth will return them to me. Maybe she’s full of shit, but I’d really like it if she were right. So, instead of my usual morning routine of a run, coffee, and writing, I walk to my most prized thrift store score, a full length mirror, and stare back at myself.
“Today’s the day I get signed with a record label.” I whisper the words aloud. They feel damn good so I say them again, louder. All the while my reflection distorts, making my shoulders tiny and my calves appear huge where the mirrored glass is bent just slightly. Hey, that’s what you get for ten bucks. I’m honest enough to admit my vanity requires I have a full mirror in my room. My look is part of my act. It’s how I sell my music. I’m not an idiot. Half the guys who drop tips in my guitar case on Saturday nights at Leo’s are probably doing so just to get a closer look up my mini skirt. Fishnets and combat boots, it’s a combination that drives men wild. Add in my heavy eye makeup and red painted lips—they’ll cough up fives and tens for that shit.
God, I should’ve been a stripper.
Laughter and a real smile escape my lips even though I’m the only one home. My cell rings with the alarm that lets me know there’s no more time for self-reflection. It’s go time. The next hour is spent in a rush as I shower, get beautiful, and warm up my vocals—just in case—in preparation for my meeting at ten. When the alarm goes off again, this time to catch the bus, I give myself one last glance in the mirror.
“Today’s the day.”
Using my fingers, I tap out an anxious beat on the mahogany armchair and match the pace of my bouncing knees. All the while, my eyes follow Amie—a friend from college and hopefully my future agent.
Her footsteps pace back and forth, and back again, eyes closed as my demo plays into the headset covering her ears. Her eyelids lower and focus solely on the manila folder in her perfectly manicured fingertips. God, I wish I knew what she was thinking. My eyes follow the trail she’ll wear into the hardwood if she always works this way.
My music is everything. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. But breaking into a flooded market where women are still largely in the minority, and refusing to do it any other way than my own way . . . Well, that’s posed a large problem for me up until now. I’m hoping our shared past of Calculus 101 will gain me a little more attention than the thirty other agents who’ve listened to my three song album and passed. Honestly, there’s a good chance they never even listened before issuing a big fat rejection.
But I’m no stranger to disapproval. No. I thrive on it. Tell me I can’t do something and I’ll do it, ten times better. I’ve heard all the don’ts and it’s not worth its. I get it. But I don’t care. I want this. I want to make music. But more than that, I want to earn it.
Amie’s steps falter and her gaze snaps to mine after she pulls her smartphone from the desk and presses a button.
“You know this would be so much easier if you’d call in a favor—”
“No.” I shake my chin and purse my lips.
She sucks the bottom corner of her lip into her mouth and holds my stare. “At least, let me name drop—”
“No.” I interrupt again.
“Lex . . .” She groans and slams the folder on her already cluttered desktop before dropping into the chair beside me. “You get that I’m a nobody, right? I’m as green as you here. You sure you want me representing you? I’m not even sure what I can get you, let alone—”
“Wait!” I almost squeal, and I never fucking squeal. I flick my lip ring once with my bubbling elation. “You’ll represent me?”
Amie’s eyes widen as she relaxes into her seat. “This is good. You’re fucking brilliant, but you already know that. Of course I’ll sign you. I’d be a fool to not.”
My cheeks hurt, my smile’s so huge.
“No. Don’t do that. Don’t get excited. This is only the beginning. I’ve got my fucking work cut out for me, you know that?”
“I know, I know.” The grin’s still there. I can feel it but I can’t seem to right my face. “I’m not afraid of hard work. Thank you. Thank you so goddamn much! You won’t regret this.”
“Thank me later.” She pops off the chair in a blink and her heels click over the floorboards as she walks behind her desk. “Okay, I’ll run the standard contract through legal, should only take a couple days, but in the meantime I’m going to get you on the road. That a problem?”
“I’m ready. Tell me where to play and I’m there.”
Amie’s gaze snaps to mine and her lips tug with silent laughter. I don’t understand what’s funny, but that’s okay. I’m a signed—almost—solo rock artist with Off Track Records. They may be a small indie label, but they’re a label.
“You’re my first client! Well, besides the portfolio of nobodies they gave me. You know how fucking cool that is?” A giggle escapes her lips. “I can’t believe I just signed Richie Sa—”
“No.” My excitement fades, the smile completely wiped away with her words, and my gut churns with apprehension. “Don’t do that. No one can know. I’m a nobody. Just add me to your portfolio like the rest of them. I will not use his name and you won’t either. I want it in the contract.”
“Sorry, just the excitement of it all. Of course. We’ll write it in.” She waves dismissively before retrieving another folder from her desk.
“Swear it.”
“Huh?” She blinks and stills at my command.
“I need you to swear you won’t use his name. Ever. I want to earn every bit of this. This is all me. He doesn’t deserve a damn ounce of anything I do, and I don’t want one fucking thing from him.”
She nods and understanding softens her normally sharp features. “I won’t. You’re good enough on your own.”
Her words affirm more than they should and I fight the sentiment that threatens to spill out of the corners of my charcoal lined eyes.
“I believe you have what it takes. That’s why I want you. And we’ll do this your way. Just makes my job a hell of a lot harder.” She chuckles and lifts her chin to the door over my shoulder. “Now, get outta my office so I can start pimpin’ your music.”
I nod with a grin. “Thanks, Amie.”
“No. Thank you. I’ll be in touch when the contracts are ready, but keep your phone close and bags ready. I have a few favors myself I’m gonna see if I can’t cash in on. Once people hear your voice, my job gets a hella lot easier.”