The Right Note
Hayley Parker was walking down main street. The once thriving area around her was now a dingy commercial district dotted with ethnic grocery stores, a sports bar and a few struggling specialty shops. A shiny new Starbucks glared out from one corner, a harbinger of the encroaching gentrification which would surely accelerate in earnest, once the condo developers had bought out enough of the surrounding properties to consolidate their inevitable takeover. She shivered from the early January chill. there hadn't been too much snow yet this year but the freezing rain had been nearly incessant since the holidays, leaving an icy dampness lingering in the air. She was on a mission today. She had come straight from the last of her afternoon's piano lessons so she could be on time for the most important appointment of her young life.
Not being familiar with the neighborhood she stopped to check a street sign on the corner. After confirming she hadn't missed her turn she found her self looking at her reflection in the window of a nearby parked sedan. The first thing people saw was the dark milk chocolate tone of her skin and the tall shock of naturally kinky yet soft, tight black curls that rose out of her head. her soft brown eyes were framed by medium thick, black designer frames. which she preferred to contacts. They made her feel smarter, and the overly gallant young men of her color which she encountered while on the subway or walking downtown tended to not bother her as much when she wore them. The delicate, rather European contours of her high cheekbones, Her flat little nose, and her less than full lips made her look like she was biracial. In fact both of her parents were black, having been born in Trinidad they had emigrated here with Hayley's grandparents as children.
Her face, taken as a whole, was one that could almost be beautiful but was neither girlishly pretty nor obviously sensual. Her tight fitting maroon peacoat was stylish without making her look too trendy, which was as she preferred, not really wanting to be viewed as a hipster per se. focusing now on how her body looked In the car window's reflection, It seemed underwhelming to her. She was five foot four, possessing the kind of figure one would typically associate with long distance running, which she had, in fact, competed at in high school. With slender shoulders, arms and hips she was somewhat catlike, but through her tight slacks, her muscular calves and her firm, high, round buttocks showed her to be more athletic than her trim contours at first suggested. Her coat and loose blouse hid more than ample breasts, which she seldom showed off to her advantage, finding the attention they attracted to be more an an annoyance than anything.
An astute observer would peg her as a socially assimilated young black woman in her early 20's from a lower middle class background with upwardly mobile aspirations, who worked in a creative field and they would be accurate. She was an aspiring pop songwriter. It was an extremely difficult field to break into with the majority of the top 40 billboard pop hits being written by a mere handful of big names based out of L.A. . She had always wanted to make music professionally. having had her first piano lessons from her mother when she was 4, she had started writing her own songs from the age of 12. After high school She had gone to college briefly, a 1 year composition/ entertainment business program. She had spent the last few years since graduating teaching music and writing a few jingles here and there. In addition to this less than steady work she had a part time gig as a coat check girl in a popular local music venue known as the the Ballroom. it was a job she had picked mostly for the industry connections she had hoped it might bring to her. Seeing promoters fighting with venue owners, and managers fighting with everyone else while artists smiled obliviously every night had helped her to realize how little
Hayley Parker was walking down main street. The once thriving area around her was now a dingy commercial district dotted with ethnic grocery stores, a sports bar and a few struggling specialty shops. A shiny new Starbucks glared out from one corner, a harbinger of the encroaching gentrification which would surely accelerate in earnest, once the condo developers had bought out enough of the surrounding properties to consolidate their inevitable takeover. She shivered from the early January chill. there hadn't been too much snow yet this year but the freezing rain had been nearly incessant since the holidays, leaving an icy dampness lingering in the air. She was on a mission today. She had come straight from the last of her afternoon's piano lessons so she could be on time for the most important appointment of her young life.
Not being familiar with the neighborhood she stopped to check a street sign on the corner. After confirming she hadn't missed her turn she found her self looking at her reflection in the window of a nearby parked sedan. The first thing people saw was the dark milk chocolate tone of her skin and the tall shock of naturally kinky yet soft, tight black curls that rose out of her head. her soft brown eyes were framed by medium thick, black designer frames. which she preferred to contacts. They made her feel smarter, and the overly gallant young men of her color which she encountered while on the subway or walking downtown tended to not bother her as much when she wore them. The delicate, rather European contours of her high cheekbones, Her flat little nose, and her less than full lips made her look like she was biracial. In fact both of her parents were black, having been born in Trinidad they had emigrated here with Hayley's grandparents as children.
Her face, taken as a whole, was one that could almost be beautiful but was neither girlishly pretty nor obviously sensual. Her tight fitting maroon peacoat was stylish without making her look too trendy, which was as she preferred, not really wanting to be viewed as a hipster per se. focusing now on how her body looked In the car window's reflection, It seemed underwhelming to her. She was five foot four, possessing the kind of figure one would typically associate with long distance running, which she had, in fact, competed at in high school. With slender shoulders, arms and hips she was somewhat catlike, but through her tight slacks, her muscular calves and her firm, high, round buttocks showed her to be more athletic than her trim contours at first suggested. Her coat and loose blouse hid more than ample breasts, which she seldom showed off to her advantage, finding the attention they attracted to be more an an annoyance than anything.
An astute observer would peg her as a socially assimilated young black woman in her early 20's from a lower middle class background with upwardly mobile aspirations, who worked in a creative field and they would be accurate. She was an aspiring pop songwriter. It was an extremely difficult field to break into with the majority of the top 40 billboard pop hits being written by a mere handful of big names based out of L.A. . She had always wanted to make music professionally. having had her first piano lessons from her mother when she was 4, she had started writing her own songs from the age of 12. After high school She had gone to college briefly, a 1 year composition/ entertainment business program. She had spent the last few years since graduating teaching music and writing a few jingles here and there. In addition to this less than steady work she had a part time gig as a coat check girl in a popular local music venue known as the the Ballroom. it was a job she had picked mostly for the industry connections she had hoped it might bring to her. Seeing promoters fighting with venue owners, and managers fighting with everyone else while artists smiled obliviously every night had helped her to realize how little
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