Smashed Pianos ~ Liam Gallagher

THE LADIES' BATHROOM

I feel stupid in my lemon dress today; I bought it from the vintage store down the road from my flat and instantly fell in love with it. It's a bright white shade with a little round collar and cuts just above the knee, but the lemons scattered over the white background don't really match the grey July clouds forming in the rain speckled sky today.

I stride into the building through the double doors, saving myself from the rain, and say hello to one of the editors, Pete White, before taking the stairs to my office; I never use the lift, especially since I hardly have enough time to cook tea let alone join a gym!

Mel immediately hands me my schedule and coffee and I thank her, attempting to close the door when she shoves her foot in the gap. "Arden, this manager is really persisting-"

"Which manager?" I let her in the office and swing myself up onto my desk. I hardly ever actually sit in the desk chair, it makes me feel too professional.

Mel shrugs, "He hung up before I could take a name. I do know the name of the band-"

The phone on my desk starts ringing sharply and I quickly apologise to Mel and she leaves me in peace to answer the phone call (which tunes out to be some delivery guy).

I'm heading off this evening to Southampton for Isabella's wedding tomorrow but first I have to review the final draft of the magazine. It honestly must be hard to believe that I play such a vital role in this company, especially since I'm sat here on my desk wearing a lemon dress whist having a conversation with some dumb delivery guy who seems to think I'm some seventy-year-old widow instead of a independent woman in her mid-twenties.

Mel returns shortly after I hang up the phone whilst I'm double double checking my train tickets, and she looks seriously concerned.

"Is everything okay?" I stand up from the desk, putting the train train tickets back inside my sleek black wallet. "Has Bill eaten the last custard cream again?" I say more jokingly, hands on hips, but Mel doesn't laugh.

"The manager- he's in reception... With the band."

I furrow my brow and shake my head, "How? I thought you told them-"

"I did, I did." Mel sighs.

"I don't have time Mel! The draft needs looking over before the issue goes out in two weeks time; I can't juggle all of this!"

Mel puts her hand on my arm and shoots a sympathetic look my way, which I hate, showing weakness isn't really my style. "What do you think I should do?" I query, biting my lip, hard.

Mel only shrugs and takes a few steps back, peering down at her bright red ballet shoes that match the redness of her cheeks. "Their album release is causing a lot of fuss among fans, almost everyone is talking about it! I think it would be a great opportunity to put them in the mag personally, but it's not my call." She lays her hands in front of her in a surrendering motion, awaiting my decision.

It's not even ten in the morning, my train doesn't leave until four. I have so much time, I'm practically swimming in it! "Okay, let's do it."

Mel grins and is about to leave the room hurriedly but stops when I say, "But I want you to conduct the interview, I don't have time. Then send it down to Pete, you know, editor Pete? We can whack this out in no time and slip it into the draft before tea time."

"Me?" Mel looks worried. "I'm your assistant-"

"And now you're a music journalist." I stand up straight and fold my arms, handing her a notebook and pen. "Knock 'em dead."

:-:-:-:

Mel drags me by the arm to the interview room. "Mel, calm down, I'm sure it's fine-"

"It's not fine! He asked to speak to the manager. What was I meant to say?"