GTFO of My Head

Chapter 2

"I don't know what to wear, I don't know who I'm meeting. Do I go casual? Do I go corporate? Do I get glammed up? Go clean faced?" Maddie stood at the end of the queen-sized bed in the hotel room with her phone scanning the three outfits laid out before her as she face-timed Patti.

"It doesn't matter who you're meeting. Wear whatever gives you the most confidence. What makes you feel like you can take on the world?" Maddie smiled as she aimed the phone at the shoes she had brought with her.

"Okay well what about shoes? I mean the heels are the obvious choice but I'm going to be worried the whole time about breaking my ankle but if I go with the flats am I even trying?" she asked.

"Neither. Wear your boots. You love your boots," Patti responded immediately. Sighing Maddie sat on the edge of the bed.

"Am I just overthinking all of this?" she asked, putting her free hand on her stomach which had been churning the entire flight despite all of the ginger ale she'd had.

"As usual," her friend chuckled as she went back to stirring the pot of her famous jerk chicken marinade.

"Ugh I wish you'd been able to come," Maddie grumbled as she fell back on the bed and closed her eyes.

"You're fine. It's a meeting. Either you take the job and make bank, or you don't and something else will come up. You're going to be fine either way," Patti replied encouragingly. "It's not a fucking date Madz. You don't have to like the guy. You just have to be able to write some songs with him."

"I know you're right. I guess I'm just used to the songs selling themselves," she mumbled as she turned to look out the window at the view over West Hollywood from her room. The Whiskey was a short walk down Sunset Boulevard. She wondered who might be playing there tonight and if it would be worth checking out after her dinner meeting.

"I'm surprised you even remember what that's like. Rick didn't give you time to do fucking anything other than look after him. I'm so proud of you for getting back to it girl," her friend picked up a glass of white wine and held it up as a toast before downing half of it.

"What if I can't write a whole album of good songs?" Maddie asked, sitting up again and staring out the window at the LA sunshine.

"Well, you know I hate to agree with your sleazebag agent about anything but after what you've been through babes, there has to be a shitload of material in your head. You just need some time and space to get it out. You've got to have one of those kick-ass break up songs in that noggin of yours," her friend grinned at her. "Now, go put your face on, eyelashes and everything and put on your sluttiest panties and pack the girls into a push up and go get you some spending money."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" Maddie sighed as her friend blew her a kiss.

"Only every day. Now I gotta feed the kids so go," Patti signed off and suddenly the neat and clean hotel room was very silent and felt neither warm nor inviting. Running a hand through her short black hair Maddie got to her feet and headed for the bathroom. First a shower and then she could begin to spackle and paint.

"She is coming right? What time did you tell her to be here? Maybe you should call her?" Brady asked, tapping his long fingers on the table while his legs bounced anxiously beneath it.

"I bet you were that kid that woke his folks up before the crack of dawn on Christmas morning," the songwriter's agent chuckled as he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers so that his Rolex gleamed in the candlelight. Brady wanted a drink to take the edge off. Both his agent and the mysterious songwriter's agent had glasses of wine in front of them. It felt rude. It felt thoughtless. It was making his anxiety worse. He sipped at the ice water and tried not to think of the way a jack and coke would have gone down more smoothly and tasted a hell of a lot better.