Lonely People

To Battle

"I can't believe it," I muttered.

Molly, Janice, and I all stood in a line along the pavement. We all stared up at the bleach white building. It was several stories, and taller than any building I'd ever been in. Each window was covered with blue curtains, and trees lined the outside of it. It stood over us like a stern school teacher, ready to send us to detention for being unruly. 

"It's so big," Janice muttered, "We might get lost in there."

Molly gulped, "We won't get lost, but we might get tired trying to climb all those stairs."

There were tall buildings in Liverpool, but none of us had any reason to go in them before. The tallest building I'd ever been in was Ellen's office. This seemed like a tower compared to that.

"Come on, girls, we best not be late," Ellen walked around us.

She strutted to the door with power in her walk. Molly and I did our best to copy Ellen's power strut. Janice, however, meekly followed us like a lost kitten.

The inside of the building was just as large as the outside. Abstract paintings hung off the wall to give the entire room a modern feeling. The walls themselves were an ugly color of brown, but the rest of the room was beautiful. I felt out of place in my old blue jeans and tattered cardigan. We should have listened to Ellen and worn our stage clothes. 

"We have an appointment with producer Markus Beckham," Ellen told the woman behind the desk.

She glanced over her glasses at us, "Name?"

"Ellen Marie."

"Alright, follow me."

The woman stood and began to lead us down the halls. She took us to a lift. All of us piled in, and we rocketed to the top floor.

"Right this way."

Markus Beckham was hidden away in the back corner of the building. His office was larger than any of the flats in Liverpool. Just the walk from the door to his desk was enough exercise to last months.

"Mister Beckham, a Miss Ellen Marie to see you," the woman announced.

A gruff voice replied, "Alright, send her in."

The woman gestured to Ellen. We followed her into the large office. The moment my eyes landed on Markus Beckham, I knew we were in trouble.

He was the sort of man that you looked at and immediately flinched. His very breathing was aggressive as if he were punching the air with every exhale. Muscles rippled under his suit, and a thick mustache hung over his lips. He reminded me of American action stars; full of muscles and anger.

"Markus Beckham, it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," Ellen extended her hand.

Markus simply stared at her, "Where's the band?"

"What?"

"Where's the band?" Markus repeated, "You and I spoke on the phone about a band, a trio, calls themselves Revolution. Where are they?"

Ellen gestured to us, "Markus, meet Revolution. Molly Mackenzie, Amelia McCartney, and Janice Hallieford."

Janice was halfway hidden behind me as Molly kept her hands latched to one of my arms. I could feel they were nervous just like me. Something about this man seemed off; almost as if he would get us to sing then force us to plow a field.

"This is the band?" Markus began to laugh, "A group of girls? You're joking, right?"

Ellen frowned, "No sir, I am not. This is Revolution, and they are here to record."