Page 8 of After Effect

‘Good luck?’

I don’t know why she assumed I needed it, but she was right on the money.

“Cuánto?” I examined her cart of jewelry. She held up three fingers, and I gave her a nod before digging for three singles from my wallet. Once I stretched the elastic over my wrist, I flashed her a perfect smile. She tried to act chill, but I could tell she was swooning.

Gets ‘em every time.

A couple more blocks down, passed bacon wrapped hot dog carts and knock off jewelry stores, I at long last found myself standing in front of the ALIVE Records building. It towered into the sky, with large reflective windows covering every inch of the outer walls.

I took a deep breath and went through my mental check list.

Shirt- tucked. Belt buckle- shiny. Smile- boner-inducing. Good luck bracelet- secured. Hair- Well… good enough. Let’s do this.

I waited in the waiting room long enough to nearly lose my nerve. This is what I get for arriving so early. There were a handful of other people trying out. A three-piece band and a one-piece rapper were both ushered in before me. There was a hot red head scheduled after me. I managed to get his number so we could discuss… uh... our results. I’d definitely keep that handy for later.

When I heard my name fill the waiting room, my fear and anticipation and uncertainty bubbled up through every vein. I stood up and forced eye contact and a smile with the woman standing in the door to the stage. Then I followed her into the audition room.

A couple of executive types sat at a desk in front of the stage- a chipper blond man with entirely too much enthusiasm, a middle aged woman who looked like she spent most of her time scowling at flowers, and an older dude who was strikingly similar to my grandpa. I climbed the steps to the spotlight, trying to wipe the sweat from my palms on my jeans before my nerves became any more obvious. A few more steps to the mic.

Then my foot caught on the microphone chord. Shit! Make it look intentional! Make it look intentional!

I stumbled into position, flourishing my entrance with a swing of my boot, and catching the mic stand before it could hit the ground, as if I had intended the theatrics all along. The evaluators looked… maybe impressed? Pinche suave, Lilly. Pinche suave.

I gripped the mic firmly as the sweat built up on my palms again, not wanting to make a fool of myself further. “H-hi everyone. I’m Lillian Maria Ainsworth-Cisneros.” My voice sounded more like a squeak than anything that could be mistaken for manly. I cleared my throat. “I was born and raised in Oxnard, California, and I’m so excited to be here…” Ugh. The tremors just wouldn’t go away, and I could feel an unpleasant heat radiating through my nerves. It was so easy to sing for my family, and even easier to record at home. I hadn’t expected this to feel so different. I closed my eyes and took hold of the mic, trying to just focus on the song.

This is my thing. It’s what I do best. All I have to do is show them. It’ll be fine.

The tape with my background music started to play. A steady drum beat and soft acoustics. Focus on the beat. There’s my cue!

~I keep dreaming. Keep… I keep…~ I... What comes next?! I couldn’t remember the words. My own song. Words I wrote. That I sang ten thousand times. I was frozen. My voice didn’t even work. I choked on the air, forcing myself to make some kind of sound. The music played on without me, and I stared at the judges, mortified.

“S-sorry- let me start again.”

“I think we’ve heard enough.” Grandpa look-a-like grunted.

“We’ll let you know what we’ve decided by the end of the week.” The woman added with her flower wilting glare.

“We really appreciate you coming all the way out here to perform for us today.” The chipper blond spoke through a disappointed smile.

“Thank you for your time,” I mumbled. I put my head down and dragged my feet off the stage. I couldn’t even muster a smile for the hot red head as I trudged through the waiting room. A blur of expensive carpet and elevators brought me to the ground floor. The nauseating scent of urine, food carts, cigarette smoke, and five-star restaurants bombarded my senses as I stepped out onto the sidewalk of Downtown Los Angeles. Somehow, the cigarette smoke was the only smell that didn’t make me want to puke. Maybe I can bum a smoke off someone and calm my nerves.

I stepped into the alleyway behind the ALIVE Records building, sidestepping some vomit on the sidewalk and shimmying around a dumpster to where a lone smoker leaned against the back wall. He was young- well, about my age- with the kind of shaggy brown hair that makes you want to run a hand through it just to feel how soft it is. His eyes were closed softly behind frameless rectangular glasses, mounted on high cheek bones and an angular nose. He had an air of masculinity, arrogance, and inexperience somehow all rolled up into one. Maybe he and that red head can both console me later…

“Got a cigarette I can help you get rid of?” I grinned as I slipped in next to him. He jumped at the sound of my voice, meeting my gaze with an astonishing pair of vibrant blue eyes. With a quick shake of his head, he regained his composure, leaning back to show off the extra six inches of height he had on me. A subtle but obvious power play. My favorite kind.

“I’m out, but you can share this one.” His voice feigned nonchalance. He took one last drag, and handed me his half used smoke. I wrapped my lips around the filter and took a puff. One of those candy menthols. Cute.

I exhaled, relaxing into the nicotine rush, before returning his cigarette and extending my hand. “I’m Lilly by the way. If we’re going to share an indirect kiss, I should probably introduce myself.” I gave him a wink. If I didn’t know better, I might say it made him blush. Yes, he’s definitely my favorite kind.

“Finch.” He shook my hand in his warm, firm palm. “How’d your audition go?”

Huh? “How did you know I was here for an audition?”

“You think you’re the first over-dressed model to slip back here for a post-audition ‘I totally don’t smoke, but I’m so stressed out right now,’ smoke break?” He rolled his eyes then relit his cigarette. “Naïve.”

“I suppose not, no.” How did this get turned around, and why do I feel like an idiot? Maybe he’s not as coy and innocent as I first envisioned…

“Also because I’m the one who recommended you.” He added, no longer able to contain a smirk. “Your voice is incredible. You deserve to be here.” His tone was uncaring, but his words made my heart beat a little faster.

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