Lessons Learned, Healing Hearts

Operatic Pop? (Chapter 2)

"Thank you," Marlow said, taking the sealed yellow envelope from the UPS courier. Dropping it on the kitchen table, she grabbed herself some breakfast.

Called late last night and asked to take over for Mark; she had expressed hesitancy about taking on a full-time, 12-day commitment. Concerned with how it would look for the company if she weren't available when needed, receiving reassurance that the itinerary fit with her school schedule, she accepted the assignment.

Ripping the envelope open and pulling out the summary page, she read Il Volo, an operatic pop trio from Italy. Members, Piero Barone, Ignazio Boschetto and Gianluca Ginoble. Management: Michele Torpedine and Barbara Vitali.

"Italy? Cool," she mumbled.

What on earth was operatic pop, and how old were the people who listened to it?

Finding six to eight hours each day centred around the Blue Light Recording Studio, Marlow felt satisfied that there would be plenty of time to study or do homework. Thursday was the only day packed with a video shoot, followed by a Sunday performance at the Orpheus Theatre. Dispersed throughout the other days were a few TV/radio interviews, and both Saturdays were a day off. So long as the clients themselves didn't add additional restraints to her time, this would work.

Required to wear company uniforms when on driving duty, Marlow threw on the navy dress shirt and tan pants. It was a boring uniform and did nothing to flatter her curvy figure. Dressing it up with her favourite navy sweater and silver butterfly pendant, she headed for the washroom. Applying her makeup and French braiding just the top half of her hair, she let the rest of her beachy caramel brown curls hang down her back. Satisfied, Marlow ran downstairs. Snatching her car keys from the front entrance and grabbing her company jacket and purse, she headed to work.

***

Early enough to beat the morning traffic, Marlow listened to her favourite radio announcers banter back and forth. After discussing various traits they loved about themselves, listeners were asked to text or call in their thoughts.

Somewhere in the middle between an extrovert and an introvert, she liked to sit back and observe before jumping into anything, but given the proper context, she was all in. Her friends knew her to be trustworthy and someone who would go to the ends of the earth for them. Often thought of as a prude by those who did not know her well, she dressed modestly but still with fashion, did not drink alcohol or smoke, and stayed clear of drugs. Staying true to who she was no matter what, fate never closed its windows to her.

Hearing the announcers ask what traits they would change, Marlow huffed. She had two, struggling with verbal and physical triggers that, like a nagging little demon, sat on her shoulder; it was sometimes too easy to put up barriers. The second flaw was connected to the first. She loved the idea of being in love but didn't trust it.

Pulling up to the Quest fleet lot, Marlow parked her car and locked it up.

***

"Morning, Malcolm."

Old enough to be her grandfather, at 6'5" and a bit on the heavier side, with a bald head and full beard, Malcolm was an intimidating man, scaring away many a lousy boyfriend with a clamp of a baseball mitt-sized palm on their shoulder.

"Morning. Are you working today?"

"Yup. I'm taking over for Mark."

Dropping his glasses from the top of his head back onto his nose, Malcolm went to the counter. Flipping through his bookings, he raised a heavy brow questioningly.

"So, he must have got the call to come home?"

Lowering her head, Marlow replied, "I think so, as. I'm filling in for the next 12 days."