Sugar Spell it Out

Six: No Time for Peasants

It took us about twenty five, thirty minutes to get from the vacation home to the studio. Traffic was light, which was good considering the number of people living in the city and the ride was pretty smooth, aside from the occasional yapping coming from the passenger seat.

I swear Manager Ray put all mothers to shame with his nagging.
Putting the car in park and pulling the key out of the ignition, we all filed out of the Jaguar and up the steps through the entrance of the large industrial building.

On the first floor, the series of long winding hallways that lead into large rooms with cubicles, ringing telephones, and people in business attire made me feel a bit out of place. I snuck a look at my care-free, bum-like wardrobe.
Everything here seemed legit and here I was in my impossibly dark long-sleeved shirt, worn out black jeans, and white Chuck Taylors looking like an ass.

The place was definitely uppity on the business scale and as we walked through rows and rows of cubicles, my mood went further down with each step. I knew there was no need to be self conscious, I was a fucking rock star for goodness sakes.
  Yet, at the same time, it was a relief to find that I could still be bothered by trivial things like this. It was proof that the fame hadn't gotten to my head just yet.

While walking through the room, a handful of women stopped what they were doing to wave at me through their cubicles. At those particular ladies, I offered them in return a genuine smile and watched as their eye lashes fluttered as they returned back to their work.

I had noticed the eye fluttering from fans right after the band's debut, but never really thought anything of it. It was odd, but the gesture had become something of a relief to me, a security blanket. It let me know that people still liked my music, that women still liked my music. This gave me a small amount of comfort.

  "I have a surprise for you," Manager Ray cleared his throat. We all looked in his direction, finally stepping into the elevator. A small pang of curiosity hit me, but it quickly went away as thought back to the other number of surprises Ray had brought us that year.

This surprise probably wasn't anything of substance. His gift to us would probably be Australian models or a shorter shoot time. None of those things made me the least bit happier of my situation.

I expected to see a hallway or even another office with tons and tons of cubicles, but what I was met with was neither of those.

Slowly the elevator doors opened into this vast, dim room with photography equipment everywhere. The backdrop, the lights, the sheets, the cameras, the employees--absolutely everything was there. And I wasn't surprised, just the same old stuff. Nothing stood out enough for anything exciting.

I didn't have to ask Ray about the surprise because there, lo and behold, out of the mess of wardrobe racks, popped a familiar character—a blur of stringy, styled dirty blond hair raced towards us with his arms wide open, the tail of his black, matrix-like trench coat floating behind him with every step.

  I couldn't help the laugh tugging at my lips and I already knew the others had shit-eating grins on their faces too.

His swift stride turning into a quick jog and he stopped in front of us with his blinding smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as Cade and Dan attacked him. Waiting for them to finish their tirade, I simply stood there with my hands in my pockets, a large grin on my face.

Watching these three messing around transported me back four years ago when we first started the band. Everyone was so easy going, especially me.
Back then, my hair wasn't as long and I had no inhibitions.
Back then, I had inspiration.

I was brought out of my thoughts with a large hit to my chest before a set of arms wrapped around me in a tight chokehold.

"What's got you so out of it, Goldi-locks?" His voice reached my ears. It wasn't like I could answer him with his hand crushing my windpipe. I grunted, trying to wrestle my way out of his hold. For someone slimmer than I was, it was like his grip could crush steel. I just knew my face was turning red.

Finally, I elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to let go with a grimace.

"I should've known," I shook away the hair that was in my face, a smile playing at my lips. "Only you would be so stupid to set a shoot this late," I said, my breath heavy.

You could hear Cade's faint laughing from where he and Daniel had been guided to for make-up and wardrobe. Glancing to my right for a second, I could see Raymond talking with one of the crew members near the computer monitors.

"Hey now," Ari chided, lifting his hands. "You don't have enough time for us peasants now. The fame has gotten to you already. Do you know how hard it is to book a shoot with the band Confucian?" Ari laughed. His shoulders slumped into a more relaxed pose.

Ari Rosenthal had been a person of significance since our debut. We met for the first time when his close friend and our manager, Raymond, scheduled a shoot for the cover of our first album. He was a mastermind behind the camera and made it big as a photographer fourteen years ago, at the age of fifteen.

He was a funny character.

I shrugged one shoulder, fixing my shirt a bit and following him to make-up.
" I'm sorry man. Things have been hectic," I apologized.

  Ari's dirty blond hair shook as he turned his head towards me. The corner of my lips pulled up in a half smile as we walked into the room. Daniel and Cade chatted, oblivious of Ari and I.

Sitting in the swiveling chair, a few unknown women bombarded me with tickly face brushes and layers of odd substances, mumbling about skin complexions and other things.  Through their frantic motions, I made eye contact with my photographer.

Again, I shrugged. "Or maybe I just didn't want to talk to you."

An amused snort sounded from the brunette make-up artist behind me.