Salvation: a Saula story

How I Met Your Mother

Day 10 of America, and nothing.

Simon slammed down his cup, a drop of liquid splashing over the side. "Refill!"

He scanned the floor for the hundredth time that night, not knowing exactly why he'd come to a run-down bar in a crime-filled part of New York to find the talent he was searching so desperately for. Actually, he knew why. The past days of searching premium clubs had given Simon exactly nothing, and he was willing to try anything now. The strange nagging feeling that there was an incredible undiscovered talent somewhere in New York just wouldn't go away. Simon's gut feeling had never been wrong before, and he didn't see why that should change now.

He'd long gotten used to the stench of unwashed bodies and sweat. He watched as another wave of neon lights swept across the dance floor, lighting up the dim room for a second. People crammed together like sardines in a can packed the confines of the bar, dancing and grinding lewdly. Simon was too drunk to care about the peeling paint on the walls and the screaming music, too drunk to do anything except scan the room again.

Simon downed another cup of amber liquid, having forgotten what was in it.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and he whipped his head up, the silence filling his ears.

A man walked on the small stage. "This next girl is a singer from a small town in California. Long way to travel, eh? Welcome on stage, Paula Abdul!"

A girl - no, woman - came onstage. Simon was too far, the room too dark, for him to make out anything about her features except that she was definitely petite. And had a nice figure.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Thank you. I'll be singing Isn't She Lovely by Stevie Wonder."

A wave of deja vu washed over Simon, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the stage as she sang the loveliest version of the song he'd ever, ever heard. This was a sign. He didn't believe in signs, but this was a bloody sign from the heavens. Simon couldn't stop himself as he slipped off his chair, weaved through the crowd slightly drunkenly, and got to the foot of the steps to the stage just as the woman - Paula - started descending down them.

"I'd like to speak to you," he said, trying to will himself sober. She was even shorter up close.

"Speak to me?" she repeated, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. All of a sudden, Simon took in her facial features, the stunning, exotic beauty that she was. Soft brown eyes were framed by loosely styled chestnut hair, minimal makeup and lip gloss only highlighting her natural looks. Startled, he took a step back.

"Yes. You. I have an offer for you."

"An offer? I mean, yes, of course. Uh, let's speak somewhere where it's more- how about that room?" she yelled back over the din, giggling lightly at her own stuttering, and Simon couldn't tear his eyes away. It had to be the alcohol.

"Let's go then."

He closed the door lightly behind him, but it wouldn't have mattered if he slammed it because the crowd was so loud. The room wasn't much at all - he and Paula could stand at opposite sides, reach out their arms, and have their fingers almost be touching. Faded yellow cushioning spilled out of the three metal chairs' ripped seats. The whole place smelled vaguely like smoke, and the pounding and music from the outside could still be heard, just barely quieter. Simon heard the door rattle as the music hiked to a crescendo.

Paula sat lightly down on a chair, tucking her dress underneath her and brushing back a strand of sweaty hair from her face. Simon sat opposite her and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"I want to sign you to my record label," he started. He was never one to beat around the bush.

Her eyes went wide, taking in his appearance for the first time. He was wearing dark blue jeans, pulled up high, and a black shirt that was wet in a couple places. Simon could only imagine how red his face was from the heat and beer. The fact that he was a bit drunk probably didn't help either.

"Oh, that's- you own a record label? That's cool," Paula said awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

A wave of anger rose in Simon. "Yes, in fact, I do. Do you have a problem?"

She snorted, then covered her mouth, an apologetic expression on her face. "It's just, never mind. Nothing. Thank you for the offer, really. What's your name?"

"Simon Cowell." He waited for the recognition. None came.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Paula Abdul."

"I know. I watched your performance, I'm not stupid."

Paula frowned. "You don't have to be so rude. God."

"Are you talking to me? Do you even know who I am?"

Ire flashed in her eyes, and a dark part of Simon jumped with glee. "I don't know who you are, Simon Cowell, and I don't want to either." She pointedly looked up and down at his disheveled appearance.

Simon narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms in front of him. "Really? Who are you? Wait, don't answer that, I already know. Some crazy wannabe singer who thinks she's all that. Well, have a dose of reality- you're never going to make it."

She laughed. Laughed. "Who are you to decide if I'm going to make it? You came in to make an offer to me. You're in no position to be saying this."

"Well, I take back that offer. Absolutely no one would bloody sign you after meeting you. I mean, look at you!" He looked up and down her body, mimicking the way she'd done the same to him. His gaze snagged on her cleavage and fishnet tights.

"I don't- there's nothing wrong with me. But your attitude is so, so rotten. Get out."

"No."

"Then I will!" she yelled, standing up so fast her chair banged against the wall.

"Like hell you will." Simon stood unsteadily and leaned against the door. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do at this point.

"Get out of my way! Bastard. I feel sorry for whoever has to deal with you."

"Haha, that's real funny. You know, I'm actually successful, unlike you. How old are you? Thirty? With no success and no partner, either. I bet your Mom and Dad are really proud back in California, huh?" He was just guessing, hoping to hit a nerve.

Paula's gaze turned to fire. "You don't say a fucking word about me or my parents because you have no idea what I have been through. No idea. And I'm thirty-two, by the way."

"Why are you still singing, grandma?"

"I wish I'd never met you."

"Oh, you'll want to know me soon enough."

"Goodbye," she seethed.

Pushing him out of the way with considerable force, Paula slammed the door behind her as she left.

Simon's chest heaved as he stared daggers at the place where she'd been standing.