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I can hear the sound of rustling papers in the background. I try to imagine the sleek office that I’m sure this woman is sitting in. All white and silver, very show offy. The music industry is all about appearance. Artists, offices, everything needs to look amazing. That’s why I need to take this chance if it comes my way. Soon enough I’ll be far too old.
“Actually, I know he wants to meet with you face to face so I can set that up if you like?”
My excitement grows, I know this is a good sign. Music moguls don’t bother wasting time on people they don’t give a shit about. “Yes please.”
“Can you do Friday at eleven AM?”
Oh my God, is this real? Is this really happening? I reach my fingers down to pinch my arm, but the sharp radiating pain that greets me reminds me that I am actually awake here. This isn’t a dream at all.
“Sure, sure, sounds good.”
“Wonderful I shall pencil you in.” The thing is she really does sound like she likes the ides of me coming in for a meeting. I must have done better than I thought with my one show on the cruise. How much better I could have done had the damn murder not happened. “I will see you then. Goodbye.”
“Thanks, Violet.” I must be keen, I even remembered her name. “Goodbye.”
By the time, I hang up the phone the second time I feel much more positive about things. This is amazing, a great sign that things are going my way at last. This is exactly what I came to America for and now it looks like it might really be happening. I jump around excitedly for only a moment, celebrating before reality crashes down on me once more.
It makes things crystal clear to me, and actually the one thing that comes out of it the most is the fact that I need to go to the cops about what I saw on the boat. I mean, I already thought that but now I really know it. I just have to find a way to do it anonymously so it doesn’t bring a load of shit my way afterwards. Maybe I couldn’t do anything to save the dead man, but I can let his family know what happened to him and I can try to prevent it from happening to anyone else. Including me.
I want to go into my dream with a clear, focused head. I want to be able to enjoy it. I don’t want to be worrying about criminals coming after me. I need to put an end to this once and for all.
I glance at myself on the small mirror that I have on my wall, allowing a smile to spread across my lips. Maybe I do look tired and more drawn than usual, but that’ll change when I put all this behind me and I get my mojo back. I’ll be back to my handsome self soon enough. I will get back to Stephen Jones and then I can finally start living the dream.
Chapter Nine - Tia
They’re all living the God damn dream. All of them, it really isn’t fair. As I scroll through Facebook, taking a break from my writing that really isn’t happening, my heart sinks lower into my chest. Diana has been positing some incredible looking pictures of Cambodia and Tokyo, Helen has already been promoted, and by the looks of it Alexa is doing amazingly with her wedding planning. It’s only me stuck in my teenage bedroom, ignoring the one piece of writing that I’ve done since college, getting nowhere with my plan to move out at all.
At this rate, I’ll be here forever.
‘He’s there, standing in front of me, the man I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with. Or if not love, then lust. With his hot, muscular body nearing mine, my heart leaps and dances about in my chest. There’s a fire in the pit of my stomach, a burning that races all the way down to my center. If I don’t have him soon then I might just die.’
I don’t know what it is about this paragraph but I really want to finish it. There’s something about the text that gets my heart racing and pleads with me to be inspired. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of how I felt when I first saw Stephen Jones. That magical moment when I finally start
ed to feel like someone new.
I pick my pen up and hover it over the page. I want to write more, I feel like the words are in there within me, but they’re trapped. They’re waiting for something. Or maybe someone.
If only I could see Stephen again. I don’t know why but I feel like that could solve everything. Even if he’s a player who totally blew me off I just want to see him. Maybe it’s just to get answers, to learn why he didn’t come back for me after he promised that he would, or maybe it’s because I miss him and he’s handsome. So damn handsome.
There’s no point in me looking him up online. Mostly because I already have and for someone that wants to have a music career he has a very sparse social media presence. I’ve found a very bare Facebook profile. I’ve sent him a friend request but I haven’t had anything back as yet. I don’t hold out much hope because it doesn’t look like he’s really into it at all.
I sigh loudly and roll over on my bed so I’m staring up at the ceiling. All I want to do is get the hell out of here but I can’t seem to do it. Something is holding me in place and I don’t know what it is.
“Tia?” Mom’s voice rolls up the stairs. “Are you in?”
I haven’t seen much of her since I’ve been back, but I think that might be more because of me than anyone else. I’m avoiding her, I’m avoiding Dad, I’m basically just avoiding life. Every time the house is empty I take a look around, I snoop trying to find what I can, but I don’t get anything. My dad keeps his office locked when he’s not in there and it seems he has the only key that he keeps on him at all times, so I have to assume that he’s meticulously careful and everything is only in there. You would think that he’d have one slip up and he’d accidently drop something somewhere, but it seems not. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good criminal.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I practically mumble back.
“Can I speak with you?”
I know she’s asking for permission to come into my room and I’m also very aware that she’ll find a way in whether I say yes or not. I flip back onto my front, slam my laptop shut and tuck my notebook away. This house might be big, but it’s no good for privacy. For me at least. I’ve been forced to learn how to make things look boring so Mom doesn’t don’t bother.
“Yep. Come in.”
I force myself into a sitting position and I brush my clothes down. Maybe if I make myself look presentable Mom won’t notice that I’m falling head first into a pit of depression. One that I’m not sure I’ll be able to claw my way out of.
By the time Mom has pushed the door open I think I look normal enough, but judging by the furrowed expression on her face I haven’t managed to pull it off.
