September saw a month of tears
And thankin' God that you weren't here
To see me like that
But in a box beneath my bed
Is a letter that you never read
From three summers back
It's hard not to find it all a little bitter sweet
And lookin' back on all of that, it's nice to believe
-
At fourteen, they made the move to London, buying a house in Kensington, the Edwardian terraced house hosting five bedrooms, a white facade and a few short steps leading up to the polished wood of the black front door. It had a gold knocker and a black wrought-iron fence, the wide streets lined with Audis and BMWs, and in complete contrast to the farm that Rosie had grown up on. She was enrolled in a private school for girls in Barbican, in the centre of London, the annual fees an extortionate price, and Rosie was thrust into the middle of upper-class girls, most of whom looked down on the daughter of a stockbroker. It was a competitive environment, and although Rosie was comfortably wealthy, with enough talent to make some of the girls jealous, and pretty enough to be a threat, she found that she wasn't all too popular there. She only made one friend, but that was enough for her.
On her first day, towards the end of the school year, she was sat next to an American girl in English class. Her name was Talia, the daughter of an American politician, and soon enough they became best friends. She wanted to be a swimmer, hoping to make it to the Olympics one day, and Rosie was likewise just as ambitious with her music, her sights set on making it to the big stage. Talia was to Rosie what she imagined a sister would be, and they were inseparable, at school and outside of it. It was Talia who first introduced her to country music, the Nashville-born girl a huge fan of the likes of Faith Hill and the Dixie Chicks, and Rosie became a fan too. After a trip back home to Nashville during the summer holidays, Talia brought her back a pair of cowboy boots.
Looking back on that, so much had changed. It was a different life entirely, and not a bad one either, and sometimes Rosie would think back on how naive she'd been, and how she'd wished that things had stayed as simple as they had been. When she was fifteen, the most pressing concerns in her life were whether she would pass a Math test, if the field hockey team she played on would win their next match, and writing songs about love. It seemed silly to her when she was older, that she ever thought she knew what love was when she was barely a teenager. Most of the songs she wrote back then were largely based on the girls in her class, gossiping about boys they knew, about their heartbreaks and first dates, and Rosie found herself completely on the outskirts of those conversations. In a school full of girls, she never had much experience with boys, so she made it up, from movies, from wishful thinking, and anything else that struck her as something worth writing about.
It wasn't all about boys either. She wrote songs about her family, about friendship and school, of all the times she was bullied and ridiculed for her music. She wrote every day, about the trivial things that were so important to her at the time, and she played her guitar for hours at a time, until her fingertips bled and blistered. Yet, she never gave up. She played the songs for her parents, and over the phone when Alice called, and for Talia. The four of them were her biggest supporters, and Rosie found herself settling into London nicely. School was hard sometimes, but not as bad as it'd been at the boarding school in Melbourne, and there was a sense of purpose, with all the record labels and people dabbling in music crowding the city.
But still, she heard nothing, and she was beginning to wonder if maybe she'd passed up her only opportunity to sign a record deal. She knew that she'd been right to turn the offer down though; she wasn't made to sit on a shelf until other people deemed her ready. Rosie was ready now, she just needed to make someone listen. Talia listened to her though, and was endlessly supportive, soothing Rosie's frayed nerves when she fretted about the future, her eyes set on one prize, while she worked at her own. Rosie spent hours at the school's swimming pool, sitting on the benches lining the shimmering turquoise water, the smell of chlorine strong in the air, writing new songs as she watched her friend swim laps.
She wasn't sure at what point she found herself feeling something more for Talia, but slowly, Rosie found herself fancying her best friend. Just a little. It confused her at first, with the fluttering feeling in her stomach, and the way that she loved her laugh so much, and Rosie found herself writing about those feelings, realising that those songs weren't about boys - they were about a girl. Those songs held more conviction to them, yet for some of them, she couldn't bring herself to put she and wrote them under the impression that they were about boys. It helped her stamp down the confusing thoughts and feelings, playing it off as nothing, even though she knew it was more. She never told Talia, of course, and she never had the chance to. After the summer holidays were over, Talia came back to school for a few weeks, before she was pulled out, her father moving her back to America. Rosie lost her only friend, her first crush, and one of the only people who supported her. She cried for the rest of September and wrote the song that would become her first hit, based on nothing more than a schoolgirl crush and her heartache. Looking back, she wasn't even sure what those feelings were, whether they were real or it was just the first time she realised that she was attracted to another girl. It never changed anything anyway, and Talia had been one of her closest friends for years, no matter where they were in the world.
Over the summer holidays, she had handed in demos to as many of London's record labels as she could, from the big American labels with offices in the UK to the small independent ones geared towards folk music and smaller music demographics. It was how she first came into contact with Park Chanyeol. Over that summer, her mother had pushed her towards modelling at the recommendation of one of her father's friends, and she took part in a campaign for Gap, her wild curls straightened as she posed in sweaters and dresses for the winter season. When she sent in a demo of her music to YG Records, she sent in a copy of her modelling work too, and by some stroke of luck, managed to catch the eye of one of the executives at the label. Within a matter of days, she found herself in Park Chanyeol's office in Kensington, not too far from her own home, her guitar in hand as she was seated on a leather sofa and made to play some of her songs.
The first she played was one called Picture To Burn, and she'd never forget the moment that Park Chanyeol pointed his finger at her, his eyes burning with triumph and greed, as he smiled and said: "that's a hit song."
Pausing, Rosie's fingers had come to a halt on the guitar strings, and she'd looked up at him with raised eyebrows, an uncertainty creeping up on her. "That? Really?" she'd asked in disbelief.
But in his Armani suit, with his plush, executive office, she believed him. He was an American, from Texas, and it was clear that he knew what he was talking about. For the first time, Rosie started to think that perhaps something could come of her music. With Park Chanyeol's belief that she could turn her words into hits, she found that herself with plans for him to come and see her perform.
It was November 4th, 2004, when she performed at Hammersmith Palais and Chanyeol showed up to watch her. It was a small venue in London, a notorious place known for its music, and had hosted more than a few big names in the industry, and been the starting point of a few musicians, and Rosie had finally gotten herself a slot to play a short set. She was a month shy of her fifteenth birthday, her blonde hair in wild curls, wearing stonewashed jeans and a rust coloured sweater paired with the cowboy boots that Talia had given her. A Taylor guitar, crafted from spruce and rosewood, was nestled in its velvet-lined case, and she nervously sat amongst the crowd, near the back wall. Her father was away on business, Alice was still away at Trinity College in Melbourne, so she sat beside Clare, who looked out of place amidst the crowd of people drinking and smoking, listening to the acoustic sets of singer after singer.
Patiently awaiting her own turn, Rosie looked around, taking in the audience, trying to judge how well they'd receive the songs she was about to play. All of the other singers were older, by more than a few years, and she was nervous, feeling like perhaps her parents were encouraging her out of their love for her, rather than the confidence that she could actually do something with her talent. Yet she had to prove herself, and when it reached 9 o'clock and her slot opened, she pushed her doubts away and climbed to her feet. Clare gave her hand a quick squeeze, and Rosie carried her guitar case up to the small stage, bright yellow spotlights making her feel a little warm beneath the collar of her sweater as she took a seat.
Surrounded by the speakers and mics, wires and leads snaking across the stage, she found some peace in the familiarity of it. It wasn't the first time she'd performed in front of an audience, although such a notorious music venue held more weight to it than the local county fair in Melbourne, and Rosie unclasped the leatherbound case and pulled out her guitar. Slinging the strap over her shoulder and balancing the guitar on her lap, she smiled out at the audience, squinting slightly through her bad eyesight, and greeted the crowd of men and women who had paid to be there. The tickets were four pounds, and as cheap as that was, Rosie was determined to give them a show that they wouldn't quickly forget.
With a quick quip, a wry smile and as much confidence as she could muster, she put her fingers to the strings and started to play one of the songs she'd written. Her music was her strong point, the self-written lyrics holding more weight as she sang them with such earnest that no one could doubt that they meant something to her, even if it was only from wishful dreams that she'd feel that way about someone one day. The lyrics were written by her, and it was plain to see that she'd put her heart into them. She sang three songs all together, finishing with one she'd written not even a month ago. It was written for Talia and her love of country music, and she called it Tim Mcgraw, after the hours they'd spent listening to the country singer. She didn't know it at the time, but that song would be the one that launched her career.
Clare watched the whole set from her seat near the wall, and once she finished singing, shyly thanking everyone as she glowed with happiness at the applause, Rosie nestled her guitar back down in its case and rushed back over to her mum. Giving her an excited smile, Rosie hugged her and couldn't keep the adrenaline coursing through her body at bay. And then Chanyeol interrupted them, a determined look in his eyes as he stared down at her like he'd uncovered some rare treasure. And then he took a seat at the small table they were occupying, ordering a whisky for himself, a glass of Chardonnay for Clare, and a Coke for Rosie, and he gave her a rare smile.
"Here's the deal, Rosie," he said, a shrewd look on his face as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, "if you want to get signed with YG Records, I'll introduce you to all of the executives and try and help you get signed ... but you need to know something; I'm not going to be there. I'm leaving to start my own label in America, and the only promise that I can make you tonight is that, if you wait, you'll have a record deal with me."
Rosie looked at him with wide eyes, before turning to Clare, who was giving him an incredulous look. Their drinks were untouched, and Rosie felt her stomach twist with nervous excitement, although so much was uncertain in that moment. Clare was polite but evasive as they spoke, making no promises and trying not to instill any false hopes in her daughter. Chanyeol drained his whisky and said goodnight after that, and a bleary eyed Rosie hummed with the thrill of the evening as Clare drained her wine, sliding the glass of Coke out of Rosie's reach with a stern warning about how unhealthy they were.
She'd gone home after that, and Rosie couldn't think of anything else. Clare wouldn't talk about it that night, and Rosie was left tossing and turning all night, her mind reeling with thoughts of a record deal, and the uncertainty trusting in Park Chanyeol would bring. The next morning, she had school, and she went with weary resignation, sitting alone in class, scribbling lyrics in the margins of her workbooks, her mind still turning over the options in front of her. She trusted Chanyeol, and knew that he would help her even if she didn't choose to sign with him, but there was a part of her that was a dreamer, and she wanted to believe in the dreams of the man who'd been in the industry for years. After much deliberation with Clare, who warily let Rosie decide for herself, she called Chanyeol herself, and with as much self-control as she could manage, nearly bouncing in her seat, she waited for him to the answer the phone, filled with excitement as she told him, "I'm waiting for you."
And then started the waiting game. Chanyeol was thrilled that she'd chosen to make a deal with him, and Rosie knew that to him, she was a golden opportunity that he wanted to capitalise off, but it was everything she'd ever dreamed of, and he was promising it to her. What more could she had wanted? In the long run, she'd owe everything to him, to that spark of faith that he'd had in her, even if things hadn't gone the way she'd wanted them to. But at that moment, at the very beginning, Rosie felt like the whole world had been made available to her. Everything was falling into place.
It wasn't until September the following year that Park Chanyeol managed to get his new record label up and running though, with all the planning and effort needed to be put into it. Mason bought up three percent of the shares to get the label on its feet, and eventually, PCY Records came into existence. Rosie was the first signing to the label, and she knew she'd never forget how it felt in that moment. She signed a six album deal, and was offered more money than she'd ever dreamed of having. Her parents had lawyers read over the contract, and it was only with Clare's agreement that Rosie signed her name on the dotted lines and closed the deal.
The record label's headquarters was set up on Music Row in Miami, and the following March, a few months after she turned sixteen, Rosie was accompanied by Clare on a trip to the States, shown around the sunny city, with its palm trees, celebrity scene, and high-end bars and restaurants. It was partly a vacation, and partly for the purpose of business, and in between trips down Sunset Boulevard, taking in the most famous landmarks in the city, and relaxing around the rooftop pool of the hotel they were staying at, Rosie met with Chanyeol at his new office, was introduced to more people than she could keep track of, and was on the hunt for a manager.
That led her and Clare to find themselves seated at a table near the wide windows of an expensive restaurant called The Black Orchid, all whiteness and chrome, with hints of black marble and velvet, waiting to meet the latest woman that they'd been put into contact with. They were bound back for London in three days, and Rosie was anxious to find herself a manager, someone who was on her side, who wanted her to succeed as much as she wanted to. She needed someone with a clear vision of who she was going to be, and so far Clare had disapproved of everyone they'd met with. Rosie had to admit that none of them had felt right either, and she watched with interest as a brunette walked towards them, her clothes stylishly understated, reeking of money, with an aura of business about her as she stopped by their table and gave them both a forward smile.
"I'm Bae Irene," the woman introduced herself, holding a hand out to Rosie, who meekly shook it, a little thrown off by the forwardness of the woman.
"Rosie," she introduced herself, giving the woman a polite smile.
"Clare Park," her mum introduced herself.
The two women politely conversed as they all sipped on glasses of sparkling water, neat slices of lemon flavouring the water, as they basked in the sunshine slipping in through the windows of the rooftop restaurant. Rosie listened in, following the conversation back and forth as they discussed what Irene could do for Rosie. So far, Clare had essentially acted as her manager, ensuring that she got to the small gigs she booked on time, helping her make those bookings and advising her on what to wear, but if she was going to take the chance of making a real career for herself, Rosie needed someone who was a seasoned professional at this. Asking around town, as well as the help of Park Chanyeol's own contacts, had led them to Bae Irene, and now it was just a matter of finding if they were compatible.
Eventually, Rosie found herself brought back into the fold of the conversation as Irene made her stand up, oblivious to the other clientele in the restaurant, and she made a slow circle around Rosie, before sitting back down and lounging in her chair.
"First things first, I've listened to the demos you sent me, and I have to say, it's promising. If this record deal with Park Chanyeol pays off, I imagine that you'll find yourself a niche with the folk people, and maybe even the country music folk in the southern states. But the real question is, do you want to just be a small town star, or do you want to be a household name? Because I can help you make that happen, but it's going to take some changes."
"Like what?" Clare asked, a suspicious note to her voice.
With a quiet smile, Irene moved over to the chair directly across from Rosie, reaching across to cup her chin in her hand, and Rosie let her tilt her head up slightly. Gently twirling a strand of straightened black hair around a finger, a thoughtful look crossed Irene's face, before she dropped Rosie's chin and plucked the black frames from her face. "First of all; no glasses."
The glasses were set down safely out of reach on the table top, and Irene cocked her head to the side, arms folded over her chest and lips slightly pursed. "The hair."
"I straighten it nearly every day," Rosie quickly assured her, her cheeks warming slightly at the fact that her hair was never quite straight; it always had a stubborn kink in it, and a frazzled look that spoke of its natural curliness.
"Don't."
"Oh."
With a small sigh, Irene took a sip of her drink and fixed her with a scrutinising look, her brown eyes hard. Setting her glass down she leant towards Rosie, her hands flat on the table as she gave her a serious look. "The hair. Lighter would suit you better and curly, no more straightening. "
"Park Chanyeol-"
Irene gave Clare a wry smile as she cut her off, "is trying to sell music. I'm trying to sell a person. Trust me, Clare, I know what I'm doing. Rosie needs to create her own brand. Folk music has an older demographic, and so does country music, and normally I'd run at the first sight of a client trying to break out into either of those genres. It doesn't offer the biggest exposure, if I'm being honest. But someone this young and fresh? There's potential there, and I'm going to do my best to make sure that I don't let it go to waste."
"Well," Clare murmured, an air of approval around her as she picked up the menu before her, "shall we order food while we talk?"
They walked away from that meeting with a nearly closed deal, both parties seeing the perks of Rosie being a client of Irene's, and by the time they were back in London, Rosie found herself with a new manager. Shortly after that, with a trip to Miami to visit her, Irene had her dying her hair blonde, with her natural ringlets starting to come back. Then came a trip to the optometrists for some contact lenses. More went into creating her image than Rosie thought, with the dentist visits to bleach her teeth, the wardrobe makeover, leaving her desperately clinging to her well loved pair of cowboy boots, in fear that they'd be tossed out with the rest of her things. Slowly but surely, the clear image of a country-born girl, with a guitar and folk music in her heart came to life, and Rosie found herself a brand new person.
In between the makeover and the trips to Miami, spending hours in a recording studio, reciting lyrics she'd written herself, she accumulated a PR agent named Hyeri, and the beginnings of a band. Slowly, everything fell into place, and by the time that June rolled around, she released her first single, Tim McGraw. It was an instant hit.
A lost look in her eyes, Rosie came back to the present, a faint smile on her lips, holding the slightest bit of bitterness to it, and she let out a soft sigh, blinking away the endless stream of memories. At the time, the meetings had been new and exciting, the new clothes had been like playing dress up, hearing her song on the radio for the first time had been a source of a hour of crying, filling her with so much pride and satisfaction that she didn't think anything would ever feel better than that.
-
"And that was the beginning," she said, letting out a wistful sigh, "it took so much effort. Two years of waiting, before I even put out my first album, but with that one single ... it changed everything."
"Do you ever regret it?"
With the slight quirk of her lips, Rosie shrugged, a hard look in her eyes. "I don't have many regrets, and no, that's not one of them. The regrets came later on. Back at the beginning, it was like living in a dream. It was everything I'd hoped for. Not many people can say that they did what I did, and I'll never regret that, not for a single moment. It's just ... well, relationships always complicate things."
Eagerly leaning towards her, Nayeon gave her an urging look, a spark of greed in her eyes at uncovering the secrets that Rosie still held at bay. "And which relationship is that?"
Scoffing slightly, Rosie slumped in her seat, chewing on her bottom lip as she ran her fingers over the leather upholstery of the armchair she sat in. "People have always thought that I've fallen in love too much, too quick, dated too many men, exposed too much in my songs and bad mouthed good people. The truth of the matter is actually very different, and I'm afraid you're going to have to be patient a little while longer. I'll get there eventually, but it's the story that matters; not the ending."