Page 11 of Embracing the Beat
MICHAELA
I’m glad—now—that West was here when I got home. I wasn’t at first. He had scared the shit out of me—not hard, given how that night had gone. I had expected to leave a note on the kitchen counter that I was here and that I’d have a run-in with Mom or Dad the next morning. Mom had mentioned something about a cruise, but I guess I didn’t pay attention to the dates she gave me.
While West teaches—more power to him for wanting to spend more time in school than he has to—I spend each day thinking about my next steps. My dream hasn’t changed. I want to be a successful singer, but I’m not willing to compromise where Brad is concerned. I’ve blocked his number and left several messages with the receptionist at Reverb, hoping to speak to Randa Miller, the owner. I think she’s Brad’s boss.
“Are you sure I can’t speak to the person in charge of the label reps?” I ask, attempting for the third time in as many days to reach someone I can report Brad’s behavior to.
“I’m sorry, hon, but that person is unavailable.”
That person. Obviously that information is some big secret.
“I’m a current artist with Reverb,” I tell her.
“I’ll make sure to pass along your message.” She sounds ready to disconnect my call with an indifferent press of her finger.
“I’ve left a few messages already.” The urge to scream bubbles in my chest, the frustration at the lack of response finally overwhelming me.
“I’ll pass along your message. Thank you for calling Reverb Records.”
Click.
“Shit!” I scream to the empty living room. The only response is the muffled sound of the TV. Since the silence stresses me out, I leave either the radio or TV on for the background noise.
Pacing the length of the living room and back, I struggle with the need to act now that I have a plan. Report Brad. Keep working toward my dream of being a famous singer.
The lack of response from my label is stopping that before it’s even begun.
My phone rings, distracting me from my pacing.
“Hey, Mia.”
My friendship with Mia Maddox formed under the most bizarre circumstances. I’d contacted her after her ex, Tucker Winston, released a sex video and claimed it was her. He lied. It was me. And I had finally proven it to the media when I showed them my tattoo—a perfect match to the one visible in the video.
“You sound like shit, Kay.”
Her directness surprises a laugh from me. “Well, thanks. Tell me how you really feel.”
“That’s all I have for now. What’s going on?”
I flop onto the couch with a sigh.
“Another call to Reverb. Another message.”
Mia is aware that I’m home after my tour, but not exactly why I’m in Pennsylvania instead of LA. The only thing I shared with her is that I can’t work with Brad anymore. Since she knows he’s a jerk based on some of my other stories, it’s not necessarily a surprise. But I’m not ready to tell her everything that happened when I’m still trying to process how I feel about it. So far, the two major responses are relief that I managed to avoid him when I left and embarrassment for putting myself in that situation to begin with.
But now frustration has joined the mix.
“Have you thought about getting out of your contract?” she asks.
“How would I even do that?”
“I’d start with an attorney. There are plenty in LA that specialize in entertainment law. There must be some way though. Come to LA.”
“You’re not in LA,” I remind her, mulling over the idea. Maybe I can find an attorney here since I’m not ready to head back to California just yet. “Speaking of, how’s Washington?”
“Wet,” she says with a laugh. “It’s rained here nonstop for the last two weeks. Now the director is rethinking the location.”
“Isn’t the story set in the Pacific Northwest though?”
