One day, Emily thought, she would really learn how to put away her clothes in a way that didn't involve throwing them into a jumbled fabric mountain spilling out from the doors of her closet. That way, she wouldn't be relocating the mountain to her bedroom floor as she tossed shirt after skirt after dress after knee sock after pair of leggings after scarf out of the closet, searching for her favorite wedge heels.
"They're here somewhere," she muttered, trying to recall the last time she'd worn them and what she'd worn them with. She spotted a sky blue silk halter top crumpled in the corner, and on a hunch, plucked it up off the closet floor. "Ah-ha," she exclaimed, triumphant, and reached for the shoes that had been hidden beneath it.
Her prized footwear in hand, she stepped carefully around the clothes now strewn across the carpet until she reached the edge of her bed. With one hand on her mattress for balance, she slipped on her shoes and then straightened to a stand, examining her appearance in the full-length mirror on the wall in front of her.
Her skin looked like porcelain against the long, charcoal gray tunic she wore over black capri leggings. The wide black belt cinched at the smallest part of her waist matched her shoes and black leather purse perfectly. Gold-colored bangle bracelets and gold hoop earrings completed her look, which she hoped was elegant and dazzling.
She'd spent most of the afternoon trying to decide if she really wanted to go to Jesse's show. She'd also made the mistake of texting Shelby, who was in Cleveland for work, and asking her opinion. Shelby had never been Jesse's biggest fan, and so her reply hadn't been much of a surprise. Let Jesse fade off into the sunset, please, Shelby had written. He's never going to change, and he's not worth your time.
Still, with Shelby out of town and most of Emily's other friends either staying in with their significant others or going to a bar in Santa Monica she didn't feel like driving to, her only other option had been to stay home. Given she'd spent her last three Friday nights in front of her computer, trying to get ahead on articles for Zeeked and another site she freelanced for, facing Jesse seemed like the lesser of two evils.
Frowning, Emily looked around her bedroom at the destruction she'd managed to create in less than ten minutes, then shrugged. She picked up her phone from the bedside table and called for a cab.
It was show time. She gathered her purse, keys, and sweater, and gave herself one last appraising look in the mirror before heading out of her apartment.
* * *
Emily felt the drum beat that came from the upstairs of the Viper Room vibrate the walls around her as she walked through the bar's entrance and into a darkened hallway. She checked the time on her phone and saw it was already quarter to nine.
"I.D. please," an impatient male voice requested. She handed her driver's license to the club's bouncer. He looked at it and handed it back to her. "Ten dollars."
"I'm on the guest list," she said. "Emily Watts."
"Ashes of Brooklyn."
He rifled through a few sheets of paper attached to a clipboard, then drew a line across one of them. "Okay, you're good." He moved on to the couple standing behind her in line.
The sound of an electric guitar grew louder as she walked upstairs to the club. Once inside, she stood at the edge of the crowd and scanned the room for Jesse or one of his band mates. The band on stage wasn't Ashes of Brooklyn, and she didn't see any of them at the bar or in the booths lining the walls of the room. That probably meant they were outside or hidden away in the band room at the back of the club.
YOU ARE READING
Rock Star's GirlChickLit
☆ PREQUEL TO HIDING OUT IN HOLLYWOOD ☆ Emily Watts just wants a weekend break from the workaholic hours she's taken on to keep her popular fashion-snark website up and running. What she gets is overnight celebrity and a career-killing media scandal...