I Play for Keeps

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Writing a song is hard.

Well I mean not really, but when you’re sitting in a hotel room that is as bland as hell, inspiration doesn’t come to you. And I know what you’re thinking, go outside! Nature always provides inspiration!

Well my view is spectacular. Really. I get to see a dark alleyway that smells like vomit.

I mean I could always write a song about that!

So why not go around and walk around?

Lady Gaga doesn’t agree with that grand idea. She’s sent giant guard men to monitor our doors. They’ve been told to stay there all day and night and only open the door to give us meals.

So I’m freaking trapped.

And I’ve made several attempts, I wrote a song about complete bordness, the weather—did you know it’s gonna be 78 degrees this weekend with light showers?—and my uncomfortable white bed.

They all are hits waiting to be heard.

And the worst part of it all was that we were separated from each other. We couldn’t even brainstorm songs together. The positive side: Lady Gaga’s paying for this whole thing. Another negative: it’s 1:48 in the morning, I have eight hours and twelve minutes and I’m feeling so deliriously tired. But I know I won’t get anything done in the morning because at six we get breakfast, seven we come to our rooms, write for another hour, and at eight, we have to be ready and leave. Then at nine we have to prove to the best guys in the business that we’re better than everyone else.

So it’s now or never.

Then the thought hits me.

I know what all those girls are writing about. They’re writing about something with superficial lyrics. With a shallow idea. Nothing behind it. No emotions. Just sex, money, drugs, and partying. That’s what they all do.

And what’s gonna set me apart from the others?

My individuality.

But then again, don’t all the singers say that these days? That they’re different from the rest? So doesn’t that make me just like them.

Holy crap.

Just like them.

Just like you.

I’VE GOT IT!!!! I took out a pad and paper that we were provided with and began to scribble down the lyrics.

Feeling content with my hard work, I finally fall into a dreamless slumber.

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A fist pounded on my hotel room door.

“Six O’clock! Breakfast! Get ready now!” a male voice shouted. Grumbling, I rolled out of bed, landing with a thump on the cold tile. I threw on the outfit I wore yesterday and rushed out the door. The other four girls were waiting for me, perfectly dressed and ready. They were showered, their shirts were on neatly, and they looked perfect.

I looked like I had been dragged through the sewer.

And who came up but Lady Gaga, like the others, dressed perfectly. She turned and smiled at me.

“Like the grungy look. Though I think it won’t work well with the bosses, hun.” I nodded and we all silently followed her downstairs.

The restaurant had a restaurant built in, so thankfully, we didn’t have to walk very far to get our food. It was seriously empty. Not a single soul was in there.