"What are you doing here?" Andrew asked Ronnie when we entered the terrace atop my office building. "I'm here on business," the latter shrugged. Andrew shot Samantha a look and scoffed: "Yeah, sure. Business." Sam looked like she might faint. "H-hi," she squeaked. He shook her outstretched hand, though he seemed very reluctant to do it.
"What about you?" Ronnie asked my other client. "Business," he shrugged. "Want to join us?" Ronnie asked.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Radke, but it might be better if Mr. Biersack and myself sit at a different table. We're only just getting started," I explained apologetically.
"Nah, we can join. I have time," Andrew countered. I sighed and sat back in the seat I occupied an hour ago. Sam was unusually quiet. She kept sending glances at the two people sitting opposite us. I pinched my nose to stop the headache I felt starting to spread. This wasn't how I imagined my day going.
"So, how have you been? I didn't know you were also Sophie's client," Ronnie said.
"I only became one today. But me and her go way back," he said.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, my-" he started, but I interrupted him: "Mr. Biersack, I think we should discuss this album of yours. Do you have any specific wishes in mind?" I really didn't want Ronnie thinking I only got this job because I dated the clients.
Andrew smirked and sent me a knowing glare. He fully realized the power he had over me in this situation. I silently prayed to every deity out there that he wouldn't continue the conversation from earlier. It seemed it was my lucky day because he simply started answering my question. I took note of everything he said, dead set on absolutely acing this job.
After one of the most painful hours of my life, the meeting was finally over. Andrew and I agreed on a few things: he would send me the songs, I'd send him the first draft of the cover by the end of next week, and that it would focus on a martyrdom theme, just like the songs in the album. We left the café together, while Ronnie and Samantha stayed in the same spot I left them in the first time.
"Thank you for giving me a chance," I said when we reached my floor. "Don't thank me yet. If Delilah was here, she'd tell you I'm not the easiest client to please. Call me if you need anything. Good-bye."
I rolled my eyes when I knew he couldn't see me anymore. Just when I thought I would never have to deal with him again, this happened.
I sat behind my computer for hours before Sam joined me. I got little to no work done in that time. I couldn't start until I heard the songs. Hopefully, he'd send them before tomorrow.
"I thought you said Andy didn't come with the job," Samantha said when she plopped down on the sofa in my office.
"Yeah, I thought so too," I groaned. I rested my forehead on my arms. I didn't know what else to do today. I asked Sam about Ronnie to distract myself.
"He's amazing! You have no idea... We talked about everything and nothing for five hours. I didn't even know how long we'd been there until I checked my phone. I've always admired him, but I never knew what a great person he was until today. I'm so glad I got to meet him. Thank you," she said happily.
"I'm glad at least one of us had a good day."
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"I have 9 days to get this cover done or else I'm out of a job."
"What?"
"He said he'd get me fired if he didn't like the cover. I hate him, ugh," I groaned again.
"Can he even do that?" She asked.
"Seeing as he's been a client here for the last three years and I haven't even been an employee here for three months, I'd say that he can," I told her.
"Well, that sucks. I'm sorry," she frowned.
"It's not like I didn't know he's a dick. But I had no idea how big of a dick he actually is. I really hate his guts," I complained.
"That's very understandable. Come on, it's already 4 PM, your workday is done. Let's get you home. We can buy some booze on the way, and we'll have another sleep-over. How does that sound?" She suggested.
"It sounds like you're avoiding going home, Sam," I chuckled.
"What if I am? I'm an adult. I don't have to go home if I don't want to. All they'll do is chastise me for not getting that Klimt painting in Vienna. They'll completely disregard the fact that I got 5 other renowned paintings and sculptures in the process."
"You really do have First world problems, dude," I said.
"I'm sorry. But if I can't complain to you, who can I complain to?" She whined.
"I'm always here for you, don't worry. Okay, let's go."
I got up and grabbed my stuff. I said good-bye to everyone before we left. We grabbed takeout from a Thai place close to my flat and stopped at the liquor store on the way.
"No man has ever resulted in you day drinking before," Sam noted, when I took the first sip of my drink. "This isn't a man we're talking about, it's Andrew Biersack. I can't believe that prick threatened my job. I've never done anything to him. He just decided that he didn't like me. Of course, it would be just my luck that I got stuck with him as a client. God, I hate him," I said.
"You've mentioned that before, yes. But at least he's hot," she shrugged.
"He is not hot," I scoffed. She shot me an incredulous look. "Excuse me? Have you seen him? He is tall, has the bluest possible eyes, a chiselled jaw line, dark hair, a deep voice..."
"Meh," I shrugged. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'MEH'? HE IS EXACTLY YOUR TYPE!" She yelled.
"Since when?"
"Since always. Every guy you've ever liked looked exactly like that."
"But they weren't complete dicks."
"Must I remind you of Michael?" She asked, exasperated.
"So what? It doesn't change the fact that he's making my life miserable at the moment."
She threw a pillow at me in response.
"Let's talk about something else," I suggested.
"Like what?" She asked.
"Like you talking to Ronnie Radke for five hours. He said he had five minutes to spare, not a quarter of his day. You must've really caught his attention. What did you talk about?" I asked.
"I've already told you," she shrugged, suddenly becoming secretive.
"Yeah, about nothing and everything, all at once," I mimicked her squeal. Another pillow flew my way in return. I giggled and she flipped me off.
"Come on, Sam. You gotta share. It's your duty," I reminded her.
"Fine. It started with his music and how I stumbled across their first show. Then he asked me about myself, and it sort of evolved from there. A big part of our conversation were our travels. I don't know, it was nice. I liked it, but does it matter? He is a rockstar and we'll never cross paths again," she said. The disappointment in the last few sentences didn't go unnoticed by me. I made a mental note of asking my client about his thoughts on their time today. I'd be seeing him soon probably. I don't know if it's professional to ask him about her, but I might be getting fired soon anyway. Who cares?
We changed the topic after that. We started reminiscing on our school days and the many conversations about boys we had in our past. It seemed that her day at my work really took a number on her because she was out by 9. I couldn't fall asleep that early, so I checked my work email for a message from an annoying client. It wasn't there. I groaned and went outside for a smoke. When I returned, I saw a notification on my browser. I checked my email again, and to my great surprise, he had sent me a WeTransfer file. The email said: Top secret. Dear Miss Williams, if you show this to anyone, I will sue you. I hope it helps you do a good job. Would be a shame to lose your job over this, wouldn't it? Best wishes, Andy Biersack.
I could almost see his stupid, smug face as he was writing this. I wanted nothing more than to punch him and maybe break his nose. Ha! He wouldn't be as pretty then, would he?
I downloaded the file on my phone and played it over my earphones. To my great displeasure, I actually liked the songs. I started sketching something out while listening to them. An urge came over me. Sketching wasn't enough. I felt the need to hold a paint brush in my hands and use acrylics to convey my feelings. I didn't want to let the feeling go, so I quickly scribbled down a note for Sam, in case she woke up and started looking for me. I let her know I was at my studio across the street.
I ran all the way there. As soon as I unlocked the door, I grabbed a brush, squirted some paint on my palette and got to work. It started out as abstract feelings that needed to be released all over my canvas, but soon they started taking shape. I worked for hours, adding more and more paint, until I realized that what I had painted was a portrait. I screamed in frustration at the sight of his forsaken smug face staring at me.
It's been years since I was able to paint anything concrete on my own. I haven't felt the need. I tried ignoring what it meant. I refused to let it have meaning. I decided that all it was, was pent up frustration over what an ass he was. Still, I didn't want the inspiration to leave me, so I continued painting. I went back to the idea of martyrdom. I was well versed in Christian iconography, as half of my time in the past few years had been spent restoring church art.
I found an apocalyptic meaning in the songs he had sent me. The colours that spoke to me through his music were red and black. I started with those, painting the apocalyptic background. The space in the middle kept staring at me, an empty void that knew what it was doing to my brain. It was as if I was possessed. My hand started doing its own thing.
The fourth replay of the entire album ended when my brain regained its focus. I stared at the painting in front of me. I had painted a crucified figure with two black apocalyptic bird-like creatures on each side. The background looked like something from a horror movie. I was surprised by how much I liked it. I grabbed other colours- orange, white, brown, green- to add details.
It was well past 4 AM when I finished. I was tired as hell, but I was satisfied with what I'd produced. I took a picture of it with my phone and sent it to my work email. This was it; I could feel it. I would retouch it on the programme our firm used to create covers, but most of my work was done. Hopefully, the prick would like it.
I dragged myself home to shower and get at least an hour of sleep before I had to get up for work. I didn't care if I would be tired as hell at work the next day, because I had (hopefully) saved my job, and it was worth it. I've said it before, and I'll gladly say it again, I actually found a job that I loved here. And I would do anything to keep it.