The Masked Singer

[Chapter Sixteen]

Chapter Sixteen

"Honey, do you have everything packed? Do you have the flight tickets?" 

I should have let Mum continue to grill Dad about all those minor details. Because maybe we wouldn't be stuck at the airport in the heat, waiting for something to magically happen.

"Why didn't you listen to Mum?" I groan, as I wiggle in the uncomfortable plastic chair.

We've been stuck at the airport for the last three hours trying to clean up this mess. My butt is beginning to grow numb.

"I was, for the most of it," he says.

"She should have just paid for your time, then we'd be going somewhere." Better yet, she'd have a limo, red carpet and a private driver waiting for us from the get go.

"I'll book you a flight home, if that makes you happy?" he says in a joking tone, but I can hear the underlining threat. However, we both know he can't send me back home. This is not a vacation, it's a professional work encounter. But I'll let him throw his weight around if it makes him feel better.

I'd like to see him explain to the record label, and my fans to why there's no album. I don't want to be pinned as the singer who crushes little girl's dreams.

"You should have hired a baby sitter. We might have been at the hotel by now," I say.

I can see him internally rolling his eyes. Before he can make a reply, his phone starts ringing, which cuts him off.

No more than two minutes pass, and he is already standing up, and reaching for his suitcase. A small ounce of joy sparks up inside of me. I can't wait to get inside a hotel room and order room service.

Dad hurriedly walks towards the exit, and I follow behind him. When we walk outside the building, it's easy to spot a free taxi. It's not like everyone's trying to leave at this time of the day.

"Thank you," he finally says.

Before we climb in the cab, Dad tucks his phone into his coat pocket, and works on placing our luggage in the trunk. Then joining me in the back seat.

"Where to?" the cabby asks.

Dad lists off a few streets, and the name of the hotel to the driver. He nods his head, as he types the address into his navigator.

I sigh in relief the moment I walk into our hotel room. It's comforting to know I'm in the place I'm supposed to be. Not stuck at an airport in limbo.

The room reminds me of the one we stayed at in New York. Except this one has tones of blues and yellows, which makes it more of a beach, summer resort kind of vibe. It's a nice change from the cold grey scale.

Dad looks at his watch, then at me. "It's still early afternoon. You could have a tour of the studio, and meet the people before you start tomorrow," he suggests.

I love how he can remember details like this, and not the street name of the hotel.

"Tomorrow job." I shrug my shoulders.

Since I got on the aeroplane and started reading pamphlets about Orlando, I've got a few places I would like to explore in mind.

"Or you can get dressed, and we can go down to the studio," he says.

"Or that," I causally agree.

The hotel room seems to have the same layout. So I open the door to the left of me, and place my belongings at the end of the bed. Placing my suitcase on top of the bed, I unzip it, and begin rummaging through the neat stacks of clothing.

I pick out a pair of black denim shorts, a white singlet, and a white lace over shirt that can be loosely tucked into the shorts.

The new mask my parents brought me doesn't really blend in with the style of the outfit, but it's a better match than my purple one. Which honestly feels like a birds been tapped to my face. It's nice to have something I can wear from my family, it's comforting.

Once I have my clothes, I walk straight into the bathroom to freshen up. I don't bother with a shower, I just change clothing, fix my smudged make-up, and spray myself with more perfume.

"I look good." I smile. "You're going to be amazing," I continue to say.

My small pep talk is cut short, Dad's calling my name out.

"Riley, are you ready yet?"

"Yes." Taking a deep breath, I grab my handbag and join him at the door.

"Okay, good?"

"I'm ready to kill!" I do some ninja hang movements to emphasise my enthusiasm.

"That's what I want to hear." Dad's changed from his casual attired, and into something a little more fitting for a manager profile.

"How long do you think you'll get to play manager?" I ask.

"I don't know. Do you already want me gone?" he asks.

"I uh. I just don't want so many people knowing. Too many hands make light work," I grumble.

"Because it'll be nice to be yourself, not scared about who's going to find out about your identity. Especially if you're going to be living, and touring with a manager," he explains.

"Sounds like a nice idea. Best friends with the help." Dad smacks my shoulder, then frowns at me.

"That's horrible." He laughs playfully.

"But you're laughing." I raise my eyebrow up at him.

"They've also decided to bring someone into the studio to help co-write your songs," he says.

My eyes pop open. A co-write to collaborate with. Who in the world could that be?

"Who? Did they say who it is?" I ask. "When will I get to meet them? Today?" I start to get excited at the prospect for this.

"It's top secret information." He wink.  

"Why not?" I whine. 

"Because it's a secret." He winks. 

"But why?"

"You'll just have to wait until we get into the studio." He grins evilly. 

"Why?" 

He rolls his eyes playfully. "I told you already, it's a top notch secret, and I cannot tell you until we arrive at the studio." His smile is still bright and mischievous.

"Why?" 

"Do you need to keep saying that?" he ask. 

"Why?" I repeat in the same dull tone. 

"Fine, I'll tell you who it is." 

My eyes go wide open with excitement, and I lean in closer. My heart begins to race as I patiently wait for him to tell me. 

"... When we get to the recording studio." My face drops into a deep glare.  

"Are you kidding me? You got me excited for nothing. Is this about earlier today? Are you punishing me?" 

"Yes," he simply replies.  

"I love you," I say, blinking my eyelids. 

"Not going to work." 

"Fine, let's go." I pout.