𝗗𝗲𝗺𝗶 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼: 𝗨𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱

Sexy Dirty Love: Original Opening

This is what I originally wrote for Chapter 1 of SDL. For some reason, I didn't like it enough to use it so I rewrote it.

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"Can we try that again?" my assistant asked the producer who was in charge of my recording session.

I was in the booth, on a stool, headphones on and in front of the mic. I turned my head and sighed. Janie had been wanting me to sing the same verse over and over, because I "could do better."

The producer, who went by the simple name of DJ, looked just as fed up as me.

"I think we're gonna have to wrap up," he said. "It's been-" he checked his watch, "-about five hours now. I'm sure Adrienne would love to be here longer, but she looks worn out."

Relief washed over me that he was looking out for me. Then again, he probably just wanted to leave and was acting like it was about me. But anyway, I appreciated it.

I heard Janie sigh, arms crossed as she tapped her fingers on her arm. I hung up the headphones and slid off the stool, pulling my hair tie out of my messy black hair. I redid my bun, exiting the booth, and Janie shoved my purse at me.

"What, no "you killed it'?" I asked.

"You know you can do better, but you're not trying," she whisper-shouted as we made our way outside to her car.

"You're forgetting I barely got any sleep last night and I am worn the fuck out. So excuse me for not trying as hard as you wanted," I snapped, waiting for her to unlock the car. She glared at me over the roof before clicking the button.

I climbed in, checking my phone for messages while Janie threw some trash in the back and got seated.

"I have work tonight," I said, groaning.

Janie didn't reply as she drove me to my apartment building.

When I got inside, I looked around the mostly bare space. I had a small blue couch in front of a 30 inch flat screen. The kitchen had a stove, refrigerator, and microwave, but almost nothing else on the counters. My room was just a white box with a box spring and mattress in the middle of the floor with half a wall of boxes and a few suitcases.

I sighed, throwing my bag down on the couch, going to my room to grab some clothes for work. I sat on the floor, pulling one of my suitcases in front of me.

Inside, were several wigs, sealed up in plastic bags, and the skimpier clothing I owned.

The thing about my move to Los Angeles is that I was completely broke and sold most of my furniture. I lived on Janie's couch for a few months while I worked enough to get my apartment, and tried to get my music career off the ground.