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As he drove, my eyes tried to pick out the people outside as they went about their daily activities. People with different lives than mine fascinated me to no end. I liked putting my shoes in the situation of another person with a different life experience than mine. The man walking his dogs, the couple arguing and causing a scene on the pedestrian walkway, and the young girl completely hooked on her phone while bumping into someone. These mundane activities, for some reason, intrigued me. Perhaps because I felt so alone inside. While ruminating on these existential matters, my eyes slowly closed.
"She's foaming at the mouth, sir!" the maid shouted at me from the living room while I scoured for my keys. I thought I left them in the kitchen, but I had trouble finding them. My hands shook furiously as I tried calming myself down.What the hell? Why was this happening?These questions ran through my head while my daughter struggled to breathe in the other room. Quickly, I glanced below to the floor to see my car keys. I swiped them, rushing back to the living room while Dame, my head of security, came into the house.
"Where the heck have you been?!" I yelled in anger, not even stopping to talk to him further. My mind couldn't process the fact that Maddy had gotten into such a situation.
Was she epileptic? I thought. No, now wasn't the time to query or ask questions. I needed to get her to the hospital. I'd already called for an emergency doctor to get over here.
"No, no, no, no, no," I muttered after seeing my 11-year-old little girl in such a state. "Maddy!"
She looked in a daze as foam continued to streak out of her mouth. I couldn't determine the problem, making me feel so useless. Carrying her in this state would be dangerous without knowing her condition, but I didn't care. I wouldn't lose another person I loved. Déjà vu hit me with scenes of when Maddy's mom died in the hospital while giving birth to her. I recalled the feeling of helplessness that got to me back then as well. Never again.
More guards rushed in, and I instantly picked her up from the ground while her body continued to gyrate.
Dame took the keys from my hand and ran outside to turn on the car.
"Stay with me, baby," my voice came out low but firm. "Don't go. Please don't leave me."
"Boss?" Reggie's voice caused me to wake up. Had I been sleeping? Whew! Thank God it had simply been a nightmare. No. That would be wrong. It was a memory that I continued to have as a nightmare. My daughter almost died that night, 10 years ago.
"Yeah, Reggie?"
"Is everything okay?"
I cleaned my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Just fell asleep for a moment," I explained.
"I just mentioned cars and your hatred for them. As a driver, I wanted to get your insight. Cars can't be that bad. They're fundamental to your line of work, even. It surprised me that you hate road travel."
Usually, on my way to work in the morning and from work in the evening, I engaged in talks with my driver, Reggie. Two cars followed me as protection, considering my status. One at the front, and another at the back. I hated cars. Everyone knew this because I never drove one. For a while, I became against even being driven, but quickly realized that wasn't feasible as the CEO of a music company.
"Roads annoy me. Being stuffed with other humans for an extended period feels suffocating." To be honest, many parts of my job irritated me or tired me out. I'd been doing this music thing for a while, and I slowly climbed my way up to the zenith of the pop industry, not just here in the city, but in the United States as a whole.
We continued our discussion about driving and roads in general until I got home. I liked having a good rapport with my workers. A good reason was it motivated them to want to serve me more, another stemmed from my immense loneliness, with few people to talk casually about even the most menial stuff, and the last reason came from morality; treating people nicely regardless of their station.
On getting home, I quickly continued my search for the next big thing for Ronald Razor Records. An hour in, I started getting bored. These people were talented, but I couldn’t see that spark, and some of them looked to have attitude problems. Having the talent is only part of the equation. One needed to possess the looks and be easy to work with. People at the company would appreciate a more understanding and sensible talent to work it, especially after the ordeal we had with Frank Dover.
Then I got to her name.
“Maryam Carey,” I said while clicking the link next to her name. Little did I know that this would be the beginning of a shift in my life.
Chapter two
Maryam Carey’s POV
“And I hope you are using the curries I sent.”
“Yes, Maaaa,” I sang, rolling my eyes at my mother. She loved to dote on me, and even though she could be overbearing, I loved it. As Mother always said, "It's a mother’s job to be too much.” I agreed with her in principle, but man, at that moment, it felt like a lot.
“I’m serious, Maryam. All that green nonsense in LA won’t cut it. I’m sure their curry is nothing compared to home.” Mother stressed the matter.
I’d been living in Los Angeles for just over a year now, so you'd think she’d trust me to be independent. Ever since my music career took off from YouTube, I chose to use this opportunity of exposure to move closer to where I could get signed. My father didn’t mind, but Ma did not like the idea one bit. She despised big cities, part of the reason why we lived in a small town in Colorado. She made the case of me getting a place to stay that was closer to family if I got that adamant about leaving the house.
To me, the focus was less about not staying with my parents anymore and more about moving up the ladder in the music industry. I eventually managed to convince her, even promising her that I’d come back and settle at home if I wasn’t about to find what I searched for in the big city after three years. I used to be excited about places like LA and New York as a child, but staying here for a year made me realize a lot of the things I thought were great about Los Angeles and the music industry as a whole were not quite right. The pretentiousness, willingness to sell your soul for a quick buck or a big break, and connections were a bit too much for me.
Fortunately, I’d found a way to still be happy while living here. I’d performed in smaller shows with a lesser number of people. Those made my performances more intimate. I also advertised them on my YouTube channel with over 2 million subscribers. Due to YouTube revenue, I didn’t need cash. Los Angeles is expensive, though, so I thoroughly considered going back home earlier than usual. Would that mean I failed to make a name for myself?
“Maryam? Are you there? Can you hear me?” My mother always spoke louder than necessary into the phone mic whenever we talked. A typical thing for people her age, though. I found it cute.
“Seriously, Ma. I’m taking the curry.”
