The Music to His Lyrics

~Saturday, March 31st. 7pm~

“What am I supposed to do?” Vicky snapped, as she slid into the passenger’s seat of Bobby’s 1990 Chevrolet Iroc Camero, and threw Emma’s outfit, hung on a hangar and wrapped in a plastic bag, in Bobby’s lap. She also tossed him a shoebox with Emma’s heels, and a makeup bag.

“Could you please stop shoving a bunch of garbage into my car?” Bobby retorted, placing all of the bags in the backseat. “I just got it cleaned this morning.”

Vicky smacked his arm, and demanded his attention through enunciating the word, “Focus.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is, Vick.“ Bobby commented, while pulling out of the driveway of Vicky’s house. “You guys are best friends. You’ve known each other forever. Why don’t you just go up to Em and ask her what’s up?”

“I don’t know,“ Vicky sighed, as she looked into her compact mirror and began to curl her eyelashes. “I can usually tell when she’s upset about something, but this time it seems different. It’s almost like she’s been secluding herself from everyone else for the last three days.”

“Has Travis tried talking to her about it?” Bobby asked. He knew that if there was anyone who knew what was going on with Emma, it would be him.

“He tried, and failed. All she told him was that she was just thinking about something. He thinks she’s got a lot of things on her mind.”

“Maybe she’s just worn out,” Bobby mused, “Joanna has her working like a friggin’ maid every day of the week. Not to mention all of the part times she takes on herself to pay for college. We were lucky enough to be able to take her to the diner for her birthday.”

“I think you’re right,” Vicky agreed. “To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure I want to go to Night of Dreams tonight.”

“You’re not serious!” Bobby bellowed.

Vicky laughed and shook her head, “You know I’m going to support your band, but I’m not too thrilled to see Downhill Mystery perform. You remember what I told you about the e-mail.“

“Emma’s a smart girl,“ Bobby assured her, “She’ll have him all figured out before you know it. Let her enjoy it while it lasts.”

“I know. I’m kind of going to the performance tonight for her too. I think she needs a break. It sucks though, because after the e-mail incident, I don’t feel the same way I did before when I watch their music videos or listen to their CD,” Vicky sighed, “I think I’m gradually losing my fan girl obsession.”

“Is that why you’re putting pounds of makeup on your face?” Bobby laughed.

Vicky closed her compact mirror shut and put the cap on her lipstick case, shooting Bobby a look so cold, arrows could have been shot out of her eyes. “No comment,” she muttered.

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and said, “I’ll text Emma and let her know we’re almost at her house. Travis told me that he’d have Joanna and the step-sisters out before we got there.”

***

Joanna scooped Lulu into her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter as she droned on about how she wanted the house spotless when she arrived home with the girls from the concert. Emma was in front of the stove, stirring up a pot of pasta for herself.

“Vacuum the driveway, make sure to wipe the mirrors of the master bathroom down with windex and wash all of the whites that you separated from the rest of the laundry yesterday,“ Joanna continued, as Emma nodded her head and pretended to listen while Travis simply rolled his eyes and began to eat the large pizza he’d ordered for himself from the family-owned Italian restaurant down the street.

“I’ll need you to try and get that worthless brother of yours to go out and fix the screw for the pipe connected to the fountain in the front yard. He owes me after mooching off us instead of getting his own place for the last two years,” she said, shooting Travis a disgusted look as he finished downing his first pizza slice.

Travis scowled, wiped his chin with a napkin, and retorted, “This has freaking been my house, since way before you decided to come into the picture.”

Joanna ignored Travis‘ s statement and continued, “I would have texted you the entire list, but I just didn’t have the energy. I got back from the treatment I had scheduled with Angelina at Sands of Time Spa, and just wanted to do nothing but relax. But I did go through with dictating all of the tasks to Audrey who wrote them down on those pink papers by the mail basket.”

Emma looked over to the stack of pink notepapers. There was no mistaking it, for it was a pile that just about the height of the coffee mug resting on the counter beside it. Her face fell.

“You can’t say I don’t make sacrifices for you, Emma. I had to undergo an hour of listening to Audrey’s complaints about her hand cramping up, and it was just so excruciating to watch. I’ll never put myself or her through that kind of pain again. I’ll just stick to sending BBMs every ten minutes. Now that I think of it, it would probably save me more time with the size of that list.”

Travis then muttered something under his breath that was unintelligible to Joanna’s ears, but nearly sent Emma into a fit of laughter. Emma bit her lip as hard as she could, and attempted to keep a stoic expression on her face. Travis didn’t bother stifling back his chuckle.

With a flip of her hair and the turning of her heel, Joanna looked to the top of the stairwell, and yelled, “Girls! If you’re not down here within the next ten seconds, I’ll reduce your allowance to one hundred dollars a week, and hand your backstage passes to the first two girls we see when walking into the concert.”

In moments, the two stepsisters came bustling down the stairs in a rush, standing before their mother, their skirts far too short, their heels too many inches high, and their make-up too heavily applied. Each had pinned buttons with the band’s pictures onto every area of their handbags.

Joanna planted a kiss on Lulu’s nose, and placed her on the ground, saying, “You’ll be a good watchdog for Mommy, now won’t you? Yes, you will! There’s a good girl.”

“Uh, Mom. Let’s go.” Claire demanded, with a cross of her arms.

“Now,” Audrey insisted. “We want to be there early enough to see them setting up the stage.”

Joanna walked over to the armchair by the front door, and slung her Chanel purse over her shoulder. Audrey and Claire walked out of the front door, and hobbled down the front walkway ungracefully as they made their way to the car, with Joanna following close behind them after she turned and yelled over her shoulder, “Have everything finished by midnight Emma, or I’ll revoke your school privileges.”

“Good luck with that!” Travis yelled across the lawn before shutting the front door closed and locking the latch before muttering, “Thank God she’s gone.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to do this?” Emma asked, nervously biting her lip.
“How many times have I managed to sneak out of this house since Joanna first started acting like she owned the place?” Travis asked, his arms crossed.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ve lost count.”

“Then what are you worried about? Go on up and get ready,” he encouraged her, and glanced at the staircase.

Emma slowly ascended the stairwell, and opened the door to her bedroom, no bigger than a ‘large’ closet. She slumped down on her bed, and glanced up at the ceiling, letting out a long sigh.

Suddenly, a quick buzzing noise could be heard. She turned on her hip and reached for her cell phone at the edge of the night table near her bedside. Flipping open the cover, she read the following:

12 new voicemails. 15 new text messages.

For the last three days, Harry had been texting and calling her multiple times. Each day since the argument, she would hear his sincere voice playing after the beep of her answering machine:

‘Emma, it’s Harry. I’m really sorry about yesterday. What I did was stupid, and random, and probably offended you. Well, of course it freakin’ offended you, but… I just wanted to tell you how very sorry I am. Really, I was a jerk.’

‘Hey. Uh, it’s Harry again. I’m just calling to see how you’re doing. I know I’m probably the very last person you’d want to hear from right about now, but I wanted to let you know, that despite the way you feel, I’m not going to stop caring about you. I’m here for you if you need me.'

His voice became more strained and desperate sounding with each voicemail he left.

‘Em, it’s Harry. Look, could you please just take a minute to hear me out? I know you’re not picking up this phone on purpose, but I’m going to keep calling until you do. You can’t just pretend like all of the time we spent writing music together was just a mistake'.

‘Aw, come on Em! Would you please just talk to me? I would never try to mess around with you for the hell of it. I’m not that kind of guy. I wouldn’t lie to you. I swear I meant every word I said-’

Emma closed her phone before she could finish listening to the last voicemail. She didn’t know if she was ready for this.

She was going to see Jared, the boy that stole her heart with his gaze. In attending the performance that night, she would be sneaking away from her obedient and work-filled days around the Sinclair household under Joanna. It would be a night to remember, but Emma didn’t know if she would be able to bring herself to face Harry. Not after what was said between them last, anyway.

A knock came at the door to Emma’s bedroom, and Emma muttered, “Come on in.”

Vicky walked into Emma’s room, carrying a shoe box and her dress on a hangar in her arms. It was just as beautiful as the sketch.

“Slip those heels on and touch up your eye make-up! We have fifteen minutes to get ready, and Bobby’s waiting downstairs. There’s no time for moping around,” she encouraged her, playfully throwing a pillow at her face.

Emma groaned, and hopped off of her bed, taking the dress out of Vicky’s hands. “This has just not been my week. I’m hoping that everything works out when we get on stage for Bobby’s performance.”

Vicky scoffed, “Please,” as she tossed Emma her dress, “You’re going to blow people’s minds.”

“I’m going to have to go on stage first,” Emma muttered.

“Oh, you will. Even if Bobby and I need to drag you up there.” Vicky replied, applying another coat of lipstick while glancing into the mirror of Emma‘s dresser.

“I‘m not entirely used to being onstage, so the faster it ends, the better,“ she sighed, while unclipping the pin holding her hair up in a loose bun and removing her socks to slip into her heels.

Vicky completely stopped what she had been doing. “You don’t really believe that, do you?“

Emma shrugged her shoulders, “I’ve already told Bobby I‘m not so sure how well the song we wrote is going to turn out. He said we should try it out anyway.”

Vicky placed her hands on Emma’s shoulders and turned her to face her. “Listen to me, girl. You’re not just helping Bobby out as a favor.“

She turned to the shoebox she had brought along with the dress, and pulled out a beautiful handcrafted masquerade mask. It had golden swirls along the holes for the eyelids, and was painted red, black, and white. She placed the mask on Emma’s face, and told her to look in her mirror.

“This is your night,” she continued, giving Emma’s shoulder a squeeze. “And it's your chance to take. Forget Joanna, forget all of the work you're always doing to make ends meet. You’ve got talent hidden inside of you, and you should be proud to share it with others. Now, you get up there. And show ‘em what you’re made of.”