1
T he wheels on my luggage squeak as they roll behind me, and my designer heels tap on the pavement when I walk toward the rental car lot. I just landed at the airport in Portland, Maine, and am on my way to the coastal town of Brunswick. The band Second Sound is playing in a local bar, and I’m here to find out if they’re as good in person as they appear online. Last week I discovered them on YouTube, and judging by the hits and comments on their first video, this band is ripe for the picking. I’m going to pluck them first.
The group is a trifecta of appeal. They’re sexy, talented musicians that compose good songs of their own. I guess they first got their fame on the Internet from the distinctive male members. The three guys are the major part of quadruplets that look like Nordic gods, and when I imagine the products they could sell with their looks alone, my fingers itch to whip out my credit card. There are also two women to capture the male audience with their contrasting dark hair and sexy curves.
Pain shoots through my ankle when my spike heel catches in a crack in the pavement, and I stumble. I suppose wearing a couture skirt and stilettos wasn’t the best choice if I’m going to a podunk town, but one thing I’ve learned is that a woman my age dressed in jeans isn’t taken seriously, and I plan to get the job done tonight.
Cold wind blows hair out of my face as I approach the car in space B32. I sigh when I see the small sedan. Someday I’ll be rich and famous enough that a driver will take me where I need to go. But for now I’m stuck roughing it as I do my best to make my boyfriend and boss, Link Murphy, the best agent in the music business. My Brighton bag bounces on the backseat of the car when I toss it in, and the driver door creaks open when I yank. I wish Link were here with me. When I travel with him, we go in style.
The hard plastic of the steering wheel is ice cold under my palms as I back up, and when I pull out of the lot I hold one hand up to the vent blasting air. In twenty-five minutes I should be at Gideon’s Pub and just in time to see Second Sound’s first set. I think about how excited Link sounded over the phone when I called him about my discovery. But he was too busy on tour with his hot new girl band to come scout with me and begged me to go on my own. So here I am, reliving my college days in a cheap car on my way to a place that likely serves cheap beer too. I can’t wait to get to the point I can leave this behind.
I’m well versed in small-town New England, because I grew up in Northern Maine, where there are more bears than people. The moment I got out of high school, I was off to college in California, where the stars shine, and one day the rock on my finger will too. I landed an internship my senior year as Link Murphy’s assistant, and that’s the day I knew my tide had turned. Suddenly immersed in the world of pop music working for an agent, I was rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. Since I’m a stickler for details and good with people, it didn’t take long for me to prove my worth to Link.
Within weeks of my graduation he became more than my boss, and we’ve been together for almost a year.
Taillights glow as I weave my way in and out of Portland traffic. Compared to LA, this is child’s play, and I break free from the pack quickly as I head north. I crank up the car’s radio as a pop tune plays, and I imagine Second Sound will be that band soon. And it will all be because of me. I smile to myself, and my glee doesn’t fade when I enter the quaint college town of Brunswick. The pub is located on the main street, and I park in a space that faces a town green. Cold air makes my ears sting as I move quickly toward the bar. Two girls giggle as they flirt with the bouncer at the door, and I wonder if they’re using fake IDs. The crowd’s cheers are audible when he lets them in. I dig in my purse for my driver’s license as I walk, and when I
T he wheels on my luggage squeak as they roll behind me, and my designer heels tap on the pavement when I walk toward the rental car lot. I just landed at the airport in Portland, Maine, and am on my way to the coastal town of Brunswick. The band Second Sound is playing in a local bar, and I’m here to find out if they’re as good in person as they appear online. Last week I discovered them on YouTube, and judging by the hits and comments on their first video, this band is ripe for the picking. I’m going to pluck them first.
The group is a trifecta of appeal. They’re sexy, talented musicians that compose good songs of their own. I guess they first got their fame on the Internet from the distinctive male members. The three guys are the major part of quadruplets that look like Nordic gods, and when I imagine the products they could sell with their looks alone, my fingers itch to whip out my credit card. There are also two women to capture the male audience with their contrasting dark hair and sexy curves.
Pain shoots through my ankle when my spike heel catches in a crack in the pavement, and I stumble. I suppose wearing a couture skirt and stilettos wasn’t the best choice if I’m going to a podunk town, but one thing I’ve learned is that a woman my age dressed in jeans isn’t taken seriously, and I plan to get the job done tonight.
Cold wind blows hair out of my face as I approach the car in space B32. I sigh when I see the small sedan. Someday I’ll be rich and famous enough that a driver will take me where I need to go. But for now I’m stuck roughing it as I do my best to make my boyfriend and boss, Link Murphy, the best agent in the music business. My Brighton bag bounces on the backseat of the car when I toss it in, and the driver door creaks open when I yank. I wish Link were here with me. When I travel with him, we go in style.
The hard plastic of the steering wheel is ice cold under my palms as I back up, and when I pull out of the lot I hold one hand up to the vent blasting air. In twenty-five minutes I should be at Gideon’s Pub and just in time to see Second Sound’s first set. I think about how excited Link sounded over the phone when I called him about my discovery. But he was too busy on tour with his hot new girl band to come scout with me and begged me to go on my own. So here I am, reliving my college days in a cheap car on my way to a place that likely serves cheap beer too. I can’t wait to get to the point I can leave this behind.
I’m well versed in small-town New England, because I grew up in Northern Maine, where there are more bears than people. The moment I got out of high school, I was off to college in California, where the stars shine, and one day the rock on my finger will too. I landed an internship my senior year as Link Murphy’s assistant, and that’s the day I knew my tide had turned. Suddenly immersed in the world of pop music working for an agent, I was rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. Since I’m a stickler for details and good with people, it didn’t take long for me to prove my worth to Link.
Within weeks of my graduation he became more than my boss, and we’ve been together for almost a year.
Taillights glow as I weave my way in and out of Portland traffic. Compared to LA, this is child’s play, and I break free from the pack quickly as I head north. I crank up the car’s radio as a pop tune plays, and I imagine Second Sound will be that band soon. And it will all be because of me. I smile to myself, and my glee doesn’t fade when I enter the quaint college town of Brunswick. The pub is located on the main street, and I park in a space that faces a town green. Cold air makes my ears sting as I move quickly toward the bar. Two girls giggle as they flirt with the bouncer at the door, and I wonder if they’re using fake IDs. The crowd’s cheers are audible when he lets them in. I dig in my purse for my driver’s license as I walk, and when I
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