Page 16 of After Effect

Chapter 5

Finch Corbin

Why do her songs do this to me?

Ever since we started our one-on-one sessions in the studio, Lilly’s slowly been able to work her way up to bigger and bigger audiences. So long as I was there in the audience to give her anxiety refuge, she managed to haul herself over every hurdle and keep performing. This should be a good thing. We were making progress. And surely one day, she’d be so used to the attention that she wouldn’t need me there anymore.

But until that happened, I had to sit there through all of her songs. I had to take in every single ounce of her sultry voice, laced with lust and desire, and remind my body that, despite the hot and heavy eye contact, it wasn’t aimed at me. If this continued, I might have to give up writing music and switch to Lilly Cisneros fanfiction.

Not that it was her fault in any way. These were my emotions, not hers. She’s just doing her job. Although, the worst part of all was I didn’t know why it kept hitting me like this. I was just unreasonably attracted to… this one, single client. It’s just that her lyrics are extremely sexually charged, and I haven’t gotten any in a while, so… she’s having a really strong effect on me.

Right. That’s it. I just needed to get laid, and this would all clear up. Easy. Let’s call that today’s top priority.

As soon as I got off work, I took the elevator down to the parking garage, and headed home for a change of clothes. I’m twenty-one. I work in the music industry. I’m a good looking guy. I should be out partying and clubbing every night anyway. I guess.

I can at least try it this one night.

I wore a casual suit with a partially unbuttoned shirt. A tie would probably be too weird. It’s not like I didn’t know what was cool and what was in fashion right now. It was my job to know these things. But it was different when I was dressing myself up. Styling Lilly felt natural. Styling myself felt… weird.

I traded my glasses for contacts, gave myself one last once over in the mirror, then I called a cab. Rage Cage was one of the most popular clubs in Hollywood, so I figured I’d start with the best. I flashed my credentials at the door, and the bouncer let me cut the line. Industry perks.

It was so fucking loud. They were playing some low grade techno. No lyrics. Just throbbing bass and distortion. I wasn’t sure if this was supposed to make me want to dance or go to war with the robots of the future.

Maybe I should have tried a dive bar.

I took a deep enough breath to allow for an adequately heavy sigh, then I walked over to the bar counter for a drink.

“What can I get you, love?” The bartender had a fake sweetness to her voice. She was a generic Hollywood blonde. Fake eyelashes that were long enough to poke your eyes out, and massive breasts pushed up to her chin. She was barely contained in her bikini top, over a build that was built more by lipo than fitness. She leaned over the counter, squeezing her breasts between her biceps, to give me an eyeful as she waited on my order. Maybe I wasn’t that desperate, after all, because this whole scene wasn’t appealing to me in the slightest.

I hadn’t drank much in my life, so I wasn’t sure what to even order. My adoptive father occasionally had whiskey after work, but he was very strict on me giving it a try. ‘Alcohol is a killer of dreams,’ he told me. But I wasn’t here to live out any dreams. I certainly wasn’t here out of self-respect. This was a means to an end.

My eyes scanned the bottles behind the bar, before finally landing on a bottle I recognized from Mr. Corbin’s shelf.

“Whiskey on the rocks.” I spoke confidently as I pointed to the bottle behind her.

“Sounds good.” She winked. “Can I see your ID, Hun?”

I reached for my wallet, accidentally pulling out my employee badge alongside my ID. A mistake I would not soon forget.

“You work for ALIVE Records?!” Her voice jumped up about ten octaves. “Can you get me an audition?!” She frantically grabbed for the bottle, then poured me a very generous glass. “This one’s on the house. I just moved out here from Indiana. It’s been tough, but I’m going to be hit as soon as someone gives me the chance. It’s just such a hard industry. But if you listen to me, I think you’ll understand what I mean.”

Ugh. I smiled and nodded as she sang a quick verse. She was good in a typical way that a lot of people are good. Her vocal training was obvious. But it was boring. Nothing about her stood out. It was like she read the modern popstar playbook and was reciting the lines.

I was here to get laid though, and she would definitely be an easy lay…

No, my conscience wouldn’t survive if I gave someone that kind of false hope. Especially not when I would only be sleeping with her in a selfish effort to get my mind off sexually dominating my colleague. That’s not fair to anyone involved.

“Sorry, I’m just an intern. I don’t have any pull there yet.” I gave her a smile, then took the drink and left the bar, not wanting her to push further. Unfortunately, leaving the bar meant being confronted with the dance floor, and I’m not sure my chances were any better over there. I stared into a mass of bodies in various levels of dress and various levels of inebriation. The women were all attractive. The men, largely desperate. I watched as a typical bro tried to work his way into a circle of women who were dancing together, only to get shut down by their aggressive mama bear. Another woman was biting her lip as she rubbed her backside against a man who, I’m fairly certain, was penetrating her under her skirt in the middle of the room.

Classy place.

With another sigh, I found an unmanned booth and took a seat. I didn’t have the social skills or the desire to approach any of these people. How was this going to work exactly?

I sipped down what must have been about four shots of whiskey entirely too quickly, then I ordered another. I’d need to be drunk to go through with this.

The waitress returned with my drinks. She could have been an exact carbon copy of the bartender, just with brown hair instead of blonde.

“Here’s your drink.” She set down a glass of whiskey and a shot of something else. “And this is a little something extra, just for you.” She winked. I’m sure the bartender had told her who I was, and now the whole staff was trying to butter me up. If it’s this annoying to be an intern, I can’t imagine what it’s like to actually be successful.

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