desk a second time and toppled a stack of discs, mesmerized a second by their spinning pattern on the hardwood floor.
Frustrated, I stood up and threw open my studio door. “Come on, Harri.”
I shoved my feet into an old pair of running shoes and snatched Harriette’s leash from the hook. We took another long walk through town and back again, stopping outside the coffee shop for water. Most people walked their dogs to exhaust them—I walked to exhaust myself.
And I couldn’t believe it, but after one week of walking, it was taking longer and longer to exhaust my fat ass. I needed to e-mail Charli like I said I would, but I couldn’t bring myself to hide behind my computer with kind words when I’d gone all asshole over FaceTime.
By the time I had my head on straight, I’d done two huge loops with Harriette and was drenched in sweat.
When we got back home, I dragged myself into the shower, dried off, threw on sweats, and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Only half of what I poured interested me, and I ended up spilling the rest down the disposal and snatching my laptop.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Harriette is disappointed in me
Charli –
Even my dog is hiding in shame from me. My actions today were not me. Asshole is too nice.
*Cue head bang into desk.*
And to think Ricky said you called me nice.
I would never call you a bitch. Yeah, I chose that song after our flight, but it wasn’t directed at you. I don’t know what I was thinking. Life’s a bitch, or some shit they print on a T-shirt.
Forgive me?
I really will be in NYC next week, staying in Columbus Circle. I have to go to dinner with the label on Tuesday, but was hoping you could join me for dinner on Wednesday. A makeup dinner? Even sushi? Anywhere you want.
Okay, I’m rambling . . .
—Lay
I attached a picture of Harriette hiding her snout behind her paws and hit SEND .
It had to mean something—me being seated in 2D on my way to Chicago and then again as I headed to New York. I slid into the leather seat and asked for a bottle of water rather than a drink; it was a Tuesday and I had to go straight to a meeting and dinner.
“Thanks,” I mumbled to the attendant and then squinted at her. I must have had something in my eye because I was pretty sure she winked at me.
At me?
“Have a good flight, and let me know whatever you need,” she said, and winked again. Maybe she had something in her eye.
Scrap 2D being lucky. It was making me crazy.
And then it got worse when a curvy redhead in a Princess Leia tee and hip-hugging jeans squeezed in next to me.
“Hey,” she said on a breath.
“Hi,” I muttered.
Ignoring her, I grabbed my laptop and headphones, busying myself with listening to some of the music repped by SoulTime Records, the label I was meeting with later.
“Ooh, I like that song.” She reached across the center armrest and pointed at my screen. Her arm was covered in bangles and a large Darth Vader tattoo. My type. Usually.
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, my eyebrow raised.
“Yeah. That song, ‘Loving Like a Hero,’ is the bomb.”
“Say it ain’t so?” I said, my voice condescending and gruff.
She crinkled her nose up at my rebuff. When did I become a dick?
“Yeah.” This time her response was muted, and I decided to never take seat 2D again.
Nothing good ever came of it.
My meetings were a blur of wooing, fancy food and beverages, and music. These SoulTime dudes meant business; they had a full roster of clients and they wanted to get maximum exposure. They’d gotten my name from a guy on a few movies back—that one had made the chick from reality TV famous, and I’d put her song in the credits.
Finally, back in my hotel room on Wednesday afternoon after twenty-four hours of being pursued, I sat down at the small desk, kicked off my Chucks, and opened up my e-mail. I’d purposely avoided checking it while in meetings. Mostly out
Frustrated, I stood up and threw open my studio door. “Come on, Harri.”
I shoved my feet into an old pair of running shoes and snatched Harriette’s leash from the hook. We took another long walk through town and back again, stopping outside the coffee shop for water. Most people walked their dogs to exhaust them—I walked to exhaust myself.
And I couldn’t believe it, but after one week of walking, it was taking longer and longer to exhaust my fat ass. I needed to e-mail Charli like I said I would, but I couldn’t bring myself to hide behind my computer with kind words when I’d gone all asshole over FaceTime.
By the time I had my head on straight, I’d done two huge loops with Harriette and was drenched in sweat.
When we got back home, I dragged myself into the shower, dried off, threw on sweats, and poured myself a bowl of cereal. Only half of what I poured interested me, and I ended up spilling the rest down the disposal and snatching my laptop.
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Harriette is disappointed in me
Charli –
Even my dog is hiding in shame from me. My actions today were not me. Asshole is too nice.
*Cue head bang into desk.*
And to think Ricky said you called me nice.
I would never call you a bitch. Yeah, I chose that song after our flight, but it wasn’t directed at you. I don’t know what I was thinking. Life’s a bitch, or some shit they print on a T-shirt.
Forgive me?
I really will be in NYC next week, staying in Columbus Circle. I have to go to dinner with the label on Tuesday, but was hoping you could join me for dinner on Wednesday. A makeup dinner? Even sushi? Anywhere you want.
Okay, I’m rambling . . .
—Lay
I attached a picture of Harriette hiding her snout behind her paws and hit SEND .
It had to mean something—me being seated in 2D on my way to Chicago and then again as I headed to New York. I slid into the leather seat and asked for a bottle of water rather than a drink; it was a Tuesday and I had to go straight to a meeting and dinner.
“Thanks,” I mumbled to the attendant and then squinted at her. I must have had something in my eye because I was pretty sure she winked at me.
At me?
“Have a good flight, and let me know whatever you need,” she said, and winked again. Maybe she had something in her eye.
Scrap 2D being lucky. It was making me crazy.
And then it got worse when a curvy redhead in a Princess Leia tee and hip-hugging jeans squeezed in next to me.
“Hey,” she said on a breath.
“Hi,” I muttered.
Ignoring her, I grabbed my laptop and headphones, busying myself with listening to some of the music repped by SoulTime Records, the label I was meeting with later.
“Ooh, I like that song.” She reached across the center armrest and pointed at my screen. Her arm was covered in bangles and a large Darth Vader tattoo. My type. Usually.
“Oh, yeah?” I asked, my eyebrow raised.
“Yeah. That song, ‘Loving Like a Hero,’ is the bomb.”
“Say it ain’t so?” I said, my voice condescending and gruff.
She crinkled her nose up at my rebuff. When did I become a dick?
“Yeah.” This time her response was muted, and I decided to never take seat 2D again.
Nothing good ever came of it.
My meetings were a blur of wooing, fancy food and beverages, and music. These SoulTime dudes meant business; they had a full roster of clients and they wanted to get maximum exposure. They’d gotten my name from a guy on a few movies back—that one had made the chick from reality TV famous, and I’d put her song in the credits.
Finally, back in my hotel room on Wednesday afternoon after twenty-four hours of being pursued, I sat down at the small desk, kicked off my Chucks, and opened up my e-mail. I’d purposely avoided checking it while in meetings. Mostly out
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