Overjoyed

Chapter 3 - It's not like I'm above you

When Friday morning rolled around, I had to admit, I was pretty amped. I finished my article for Monday’s paper and left work early. My typical rich kid roommate was drifting around the apartment half naked without a care in the world when I stepped in. For three in the afternoon, it seemed to me that the martini’s had already been flowing quite steadily. “You should really get a job” I said, and she giggled. Why get a job when you have an obscenely rich megalomaniac daddy who pays for everything. Except my gas when I’m carpooling his daughter to concert after concert.

I ran myself a bath and turned on some Bastille to ‘get myself in the mood’. I lied there beneath the bubbles allowing Mr British to serenade me from the speakers. I will try to love you, it’s not like I’m above you…

I woke up with a start. “Eliza! It’s fucking five o’clock and you’re still in the bath!” Courtney was fuming, stomping her little feet in her Louboutin heels. Shit. I’d fallen asleep. “Get out! We have to be there at six!’ she chastised. I got out of the bath and hastily dried off. I finished my makeup, light eye shadow to hopefully make my light brown eyes stand out a bit and opting for a nude shade on my lips, unlike Courtney’s bright pink, and then stepped into my little black dress. My dark auburn curls hung just past my shoulders. I stared myself up and down in the mirror, not bad at all. I smiled as I slipped my heels on. I sashayed into the living room, proud at having gotten dressed in just twenty minutes. “Let’s go!” Courtney yelled, halfway out the door already. Gees, you’d swear we weren’t taking my car.

The venue was packed. This was something I had never experienced with Courtney’s usual under-the-radar bands. There were girls everywhere. This was not what I had expected.

The tickets Courtney had won allowed us to stand right up front and after a wait of a good solid forty minutes the name ‘BASTILLE’, with a triangle in the place of the ‘a’ illuminated the large screen behind the four band members on stage. The upbeat music started, which I recognised to be ‘Bad Blood’, and the ever so energetic Mr British began jumping around clutching the mic, ready to belt out those opening notes.

Gees, he had great hair.

And then he started singing.