I sat in the center of my bed with my acoustic guitar in my lap. My fingers danced across the fretboard, creating a soft melody that seemed to echo around the room. It wasn't my usual style. I preferred more upbeat rock or blues riffs, but if they wanted emotional, this would have to do.
As I sorted out the chords I liked best, I started to experiment with random melodies by singing the first things that came to mind.
"I've been waiting for you a long time,
Because I need to give you back this... lime.
And I need to know where not to go,
To find the right... kind."
I cringed a bit but continued spewing nonsense anyway.
"I'll hang out near the... window pane,
Wondering if it'll ever be the same.
Some nights I cry myself to sleep,
Hoping I'll learn my own name."
That one was a little too... meh.
"Lions roar and pigs have chins,
I have eyes like fish have fins.
I haven't a clue what's going on,
But I need to write this stupid song."
Jesus, this was hopeless. Letting a deep breath slowly slip through my teeth, I ran my fingers through my hair and looked at the time.
Two hours of work and little to show for it.
What is wrong with me? This used to be so easy!
Setting my acoustic to the side, I figured it was time to head to my photoshoot. If I was late again, I was sure my manager would murder me.
Texting Harry, my driver, I took out my keys and locked the door to my apartment. By the time the elevator brought me down to the lobby, he was already idling outside the door.
Slipping quickly into the back seat, I closed the door behind me and nodded that I was ready to go.
Peering out the window tiredly, my eyes slid over the steady stream of pedestrians.
A part of me was envious of them. I missed being an anonymity in a sea of faces. Now I could hardly go anywhere without eyes and cameras following me. Hell, if any of them had a clue I was in this car, they'd probably ambush it.
I became lost in my thoughts after that, and all too soon, I was forced back into reality. The car came to a stop in front of my destination, and I was tempted to ask Harry to drive a few more laps before letting me out.
"Here you are, Mr. King," his words seemed to seal my fate. I could sense the relief in his tone when he saw there were no reporters waiting for me. Harry was getting older, even if he didn't like to admit it, and pushing through gossip mongers and media rats wasn't exactly his favorite pass time.
"Thanks, Harry," I sighed as I opened up my door and stepped onto the empty sidewalk.
I closed the car door behind me, cutting off my only chance at escape, and turned to face the building. It was a towering skyscraper, so tall that if you looked straight up it'd feel as though you were falling backwards. I tended not to look up often in the city, since it made me dizzy, but every once in a while, I'd peer up at the sky just to catch a glimpse of the ominous structures looming over me.
I was recognized as soon as I entered the lobby, and before I even had a chance to state my name and purpose, I was led into the elevator by an official looking man in a grey suit.
The ride was silent, albiet awkward, but I would've chosen to stay in there for hours if it meant I wouldn't have to deal with my stylists.
I barely had time to step out of the elevator before they had me surrounded. It was nearly impossible to make out what they were saying, since they all insisted on speaking at once. The only brief reprieve I got from their prodding and bickering was when they left me alone in my dressing room to change into a black Armani tuxedo and wingtip Italian leather dress shoes.
Needless to say, I took my sweet time getting ready.
I sadly couldn't hide forever and soon found a no-nonsense Icelandic woman twisting some sort of gel into my hair. At the same time, a small brunette attacked my face with skin colored powder, lip balm, and a few other items I'm too scarred to mention.
"Okay, I understand the face and hair, but why do my nails have to be shiny?" I found myself asking as a blonde girl buffed each fingernail on my right hand before moving to my left.
"Everything must be perfect," she responded simply.
"Okay," I sighed, cutting the primping session short as I stood. Smoothing the front of my tux out, I stalked towards the bright flashes of a camera, ready to get this over with. I was followed closely by my team, who despite my obvious annoyance, were still fussing over my appearance.
"Collin King on set!" Someone called out. Soon after, I was ushered in front of the camera with various people running their fingers through my hair and positioning my body.
"That's it, that's it," the obviously gay photographer muttered as he assessed me from a few different angles. He was cute, but he was a little too... flamboyant for my tastes.
With a flick of his wrist, the stylists scurried away and I was left feeling bare in front of the smaller man's scrutiny.
"Tilt your head," he instructed, walking towards his camera with his fingers perched over his chin. I did as he asked. "The other way. That's it. Now, give me that devilish smile."
I let the corner of my lip tug upwards in a secretive smirk that had practically become my personal signature over the last couple of months.
"Ooh, yes. There's America's newest heartthrob," the photographer gushed as he clicked away from behind his camera. "Look that way. Now over here. Hands in your pockets. Show me those pearly whites."
He fired out commands like a machine gun, but I followed each one without complaint.
External complaint that is...
"I want Katrina on set," he suddenly announced.
A long legged woman with caramel skin and midnight curls sauntered towards me, exuding confidence the entire way. She looked like an empress in the way she moved. She was beautiful, no doubt, and I'm sure I would've been drooling over her if I wasn't gay.
Kat took hold of my blazer with both hands and lightly rested her temple against my chin as she sent flirty eyes towards the camera, holding me close to her body.
"Beautiful," the photographer mumbled as he flashed away. "Look into each other's eyes. Give me lust. Give me passion."
I looked into the model's emerald eyes and noticed they were the same color as her sleek, heavily jeweled dress. It was a nice color on her. Fitting.
"Don't look so dead inside, Collin. Show me your secrets."
Focusing on the girl's brilliant eyes, I tuned out the world around me and imagined I was looking at her male equivalent.
"Lean in like you're about to kiss her."
Lean in like you're about to kiss him.
"Closer. I want the barest brush to her lips."
Barest brush to his lips.
I allowed my eyes to become hooded as I lost myself in my fantasy.
Suddenly, and without warning, Katrina leaned forward and closed the gap between us. Her lips tasted like synthetic strawberries and it made me want to gag. Still, I did not pull away, partly because the photographer was going nuts and partly because the girl had a vice like grip around the nape of my neck.
Why did I have to be in the closet again?
Oh yeah, because my manager is a dick.
I nearly sighed in relief when Katrina released me. She gave me a seductive smirk before she sashayed back to her dressing room to touch up her makeup.
Out of the corner of my eye, I vaguely registered my manager following after her, probably hoping to bind me in another contracted relationship.
"Alright. Why don't we take a short break," the photographer suggested.
Taking the opportunity to escape the lights and curious gazes, I made my way over to the impromptu lounge area and sank into a plush black leather sofa.
I sat there for a few moments with my eyes closed, simply focusing on my breathing as I tried to bring myself back to level ground. My life was spiraling out of control, and I felt so vulnerable and helpless as I watched it descend to chaos from behind a sheet of glass.
Leaning forward, I let out a heavy sigh and allowed my eyes to roam the contents of the coffee table at my knees. It was mostly just gossip magazines with various models or celebrities on the covers. My face was among them, though I couldn't bring myself to care.
I was about to get up and walk somewhere to clear my mind when my eyes landed on something else on the table.
Reaching down with curious fingers, I picked up a sleek black business card with simple white lettering.
The White Russian
Music Consultant