One Night Melody

Chapter 3: Played Hard

The memories came rushing in, and that was all I remembered from that night.

I have never felt more disappointed in myself.

How could I have let it happen?

Pain and alcohol are a recipe for disaster.

And the worst part isn't even the fact that I let it happen. It's the fact that I was sitting on this bed, all alone with just a letter.

“I just got played hard,” I mutter, picking up my clothes. I check my phone to see over 50 missed calls from Betty and Rayna. “Oh s**t!”

I dial back immediately.

I hear it ring thrice before Betty's screeching voice surfaces.

“Girl, I was so worried.” Her voice sounded like she was on the brink of tears. “ You left the club, without saying a thing, did that jerk hurt you?”

“Quite the opposite.” I laugh awkwardly.

“Wait, what? Don't tell me you got laid.” Betty screeches. “You took the dare to another level.

Teach me your tactics, son!”

“That jerk bailed on me before I could even wake up.’’ I groan , running my hands through the tangled mess of my hair.

“Why am I always a magnet for red flags?”

“Breathe Ruthy,” Betty’s voice softens. “I wanted to say this in person but now feels like the perfect time to cheer you up.”

I pause, my hands falling to my lap. “Okay, hit me.”

“Rayna told her dad about everything. She begged him to help, and guess what, he pulled a few strings. You’ve got a meeting with the Sephora label,” she adds.

My heart stops.

“Oh my God!” I gasp. “Are you serious?”

“I'm dead serious.”

“You guys are the best. I don't know what I would do without you.” My voice cracks, and I blink rapidly. “ I can feel the tears coming.”

“No more tears Ruthy, just go and show them how amazing you are. That's all that matters.”

A muffled voice in the background interrupts her.

“Crap, I've got to go now, oh, and yes, the meeting is by 2,” Betty says hurriedly before hanging up.

“And you're just saying this now.” I blink realizing she had hung up already.

Even now, with all this mess wrapped around me. My mind is still traveling back to the night I first met Betty and Rayna.

It was in kindergarten, on Halloween. I had just run away ahead of my older cousin, in my Wonder Woman suit, which was way too big for me, leaving his muffled voice trailing far behind me.

Betty was cornered by some little kids, asking for some of her candy.

A little girl was also hiding in the bushes with her eyes and ears closed.

Without thinking, I jumped onto the scene with my hands on my hips, shouting, “Leave them alone!”

They beat me up, of course.

But my little brave act made Rayna come out of the bushes, with her wand in her hand, she poked one of the girls’ eyes, and they all squeaked away like they had ants in their pants. We all got into trouble that night, but that was the beginning of us.

The memory fades. But the warmth stays with me. I've always been one to dive into my challenges head-on without thinking, but now I don't have to do that alone anymore.

Now that I've got my girls with me.

I take a deep breath, staring at the tall building in front of me with bold silver letters:

Sephora.

Inside the building, people moved around in quick paces and hushed tones as if preparing for something big, or someone. I walk up to the receptionist, my heels echoing on the glossy floor of the building.

“Hi, I'm Ruth Shelly, and I have a meeting with Mr Reese today,” I say, handing her my ID.

“Right, we've been expecting you, Miss Shelly.” She grins.” “Follow me, Mr Reese will join you soon.”

I looked around in awe as she led me through various rooms,

The walls are lined with various framed posters of platinum-selling artists.

Platinum records stared down at me under soft lighting.

We finally stop in front of a private lounge, with little plush seats, beautiful interiors, and a faint smell of vanilla and coffee.

The receptionist smiles once more at me before taking her leave.

I sit down gently, trying not to fidget.

My heart thunders in my chest

I glance at my wristwatch.

1:59pm.

“Right on time,” I whisper shakily under my breath.

I have to do whatever it takes not to let this opportunity slip through again.

Whatever it takes.

The door creaks open, and a tall woman in red stilettos and a short dark bob walks in.

“Hi, I'm Mr. Reese's personal assistant, and I've been told to address you before he arrives.” She says, not looking up from her iPad.

“You're Ms. Shelly?” She looks up at me gently, slowly assessing my looks, she nods and continues.

“Okay, can you tell me a little bit about your experience as a songwriter?”

“I've been writing songs since I was ten. I've written songs for a few upcoming artists. Every song I've written topped a chart. My latest song…” I paused, fighting back tears. “ My latest song, Your Grace by Frederick Mulligan, topped number 1 on the Billboard.”

She raises a brow. “ Your song? Frederick mentioned in an interview that he wrote that song all alone.”

“Uhm… you …see…” I cleared my throat. “ It was stolen.”

“So you're careless?” She strikes back, tilting her head.

“No,” I say quickly, trying to remain calm. “ I trusted the wrong people, I've learnt my lesson now.”

She narrows her eyes, pausing for a second. “ I see.”

My hand moves nervously, knocking the cocktail right in front of me on my navy blue dress.

I jump up from the sudden wetness. “f**k!”

This shouldn't be happening, not when Medusa is standing right in front of me, waiting to strike at any time.

“You should get that cleaned up before Mr Reese joins you” she walks out without a glance back.

How am I supposed to guess where the washroom is right now?

Just then, a young intern rushes past the door, holding a stack of lyrics sheets. I step into the hallway, grabbing her attention.

“Hey, excuse me, do you know where the nearest restroom is?”

She pauses, shifting the papers in her hands. “Yeah, it's a bit of a maze, I'll show you real quick.”

I nod, trailing behind her as she leads me through glass panels and muted conversations. My heels click awkwardly, and the damp wetness from my dress sticks to my skin with every step.

We get to a corner and she stops suddenly.

“Shoot! I forgot I was supposed to drop these. Just keep going straight and take a left. You'll see the restroom sign.”

“Thank you.”

She offers an apologetic smile and runs off.

I sigh, adjusting my bag. I follow the directions I was told to follow until I stop in front of the bathroom.

As I reach for the handle, I hear footsteps from the other end. I turn to look and I freeze. I rush into the bathroom, and at this point, I can hear my heart beating in my mouth.

“What the hell is he doing here?”