Status: active.
Harmonies
Two.
The obnoxious melody that her cell phone produced when it rang was the last thing Arabella wanted to hear at twelve forty-seven in the afternoon. The sound echoed throughout her tiny apartment as far she could tell. With a groan as she rolled over and blindly reached out her arm, tapping along the nightstand, she searched for her phone. Her tiny hand wrapped around the ringing object and drew it to her ear as she lay, eyes closed on her pillow. "Hello?"
Her voice was thick with sleep and Madeline Watson felt terrible about possibly waking the girl up. "Is this Arabella Parson?" Truthfully, the woman had never spoken to the girl before. She had heard her playing during the Evans' party a few nights previous and was impressed that a girl so young could play so well.
"Yes, it is," Arabella answered. She was a disheveled mess having just been woken up. The sleep-induced fog was beginning to clear as she spoke to the woman. She had never heard the voice before and her phone did not recognize the number, but she seemed to be a woman of standing.
"Hi, my name is Madeline Watson. You're the young girl that played piano for Cyndy Evans' party Tuesday night, correct?" the older woman asked.
"Yes ma'am, that's me. Can I ask why you happen to be calling?" At one in the afternoon, she wanted to add, but seeing as she was the only person who's normal sleeping time was during the day, she bit her tongue.
"Well, you see," she began. On the other end of the line, Madeline Watson stood ringing her hands. She felt uncomfortable asking someone she knew absolutely nothing about to come on such short notice. "I would normally give more time but it seems that my piano player for the party I'm hosting tonight, has run into some unfortunate situations."
When Mrs. Watson had recieved the call earlier in the morning from Ray Thompson stating that he was no longer in the condition to perform, she instantly panicked as she needed a pianist for her party. After calling around, the name that she heard the most was Arabella Parson's. That had ultimately led her to this, in her mind, extremely awkward situation.
"What time did you say this party started?" she asked. This was the brunette's way of accepting her offer.
Madeline Watson let out a breath with relief. "Oh, thank God, sweetheart. I'm so glad you can help me out. The guests will begin arriving around seven, so I need you there by six thirty, if that's possible."
"Of course. I usually charge about one hundred dollars an hour," Arabella stated, knowing she should include that, though she was sure it made no difference to the woman.
"I don't know how long the party is going to last, but I was planning on paying my previous pianist two thousand dollars. Since you are doing this for me on such short notice, I'm going to just say that will cover the night, correct?"
Arabella smiled. This woman was offering her more money for this simple party than she usually received. "Yes, that's fine. Although, you really don't have to."
"Nonsense, honey. I'll see you at six thirty then. Wear something elegant." With that, the phone clicked and the call had ended.
Arabella grumbled as she slipped out of bed about how people should not be so rude and wake up girls that work all night. After she had gotten home from the diner the previous night, she had been so tired that she only had enough strength to pull off her shorts and change into sweats; she had discarded her shirt into a laundry hamper in the corner of her room. She saw that the light signaling she had a new message on her apartment phone was blinking and she pressed it.
Immediately, the automated message stating she had four new messages came over the speaker. The young girl was making herself a pot of coffee as the messages played. The first three were just rustling and then a beep signaling the message was over.
The fourth, however, shocked Arabella.
"Arabella, this is Andrew Preston from Child Services. We understand that you received emancipation at the age of sixteen and you no longer would like to have contact with your mother, but we would like to speak with you. Our office hours are nine to five, Monday through Friday but our phone lines are online twenty-four seven. Contact us, ASAP." The message ended with a phone number and then a beep.
Her eyebrows were knit together as she pushed the button to replay the message. As the man recited the number, she dialed it into her cell phone and pressed the call button. What had her mother gotten into now that Child Services had to get involved?
"Hello, this is the Child Services office. Where can I direct you?" a secretary greeted.
"Andrew Preston."
"One moment while I transfer you."
Her voice was thick with sleep and Madeline Watson felt terrible about possibly waking the girl up. "Is this Arabella Parson?" Truthfully, the woman had never spoken to the girl before. She had heard her playing during the Evans' party a few nights previous and was impressed that a girl so young could play so well.
"Yes, it is," Arabella answered. She was a disheveled mess having just been woken up. The sleep-induced fog was beginning to clear as she spoke to the woman. She had never heard the voice before and her phone did not recognize the number, but she seemed to be a woman of standing.
"Hi, my name is Madeline Watson. You're the young girl that played piano for Cyndy Evans' party Tuesday night, correct?" the older woman asked.
"Yes ma'am, that's me. Can I ask why you happen to be calling?" At one in the afternoon, she wanted to add, but seeing as she was the only person who's normal sleeping time was during the day, she bit her tongue.
"Well, you see," she began. On the other end of the line, Madeline Watson stood ringing her hands. She felt uncomfortable asking someone she knew absolutely nothing about to come on such short notice. "I would normally give more time but it seems that my piano player for the party I'm hosting tonight, has run into some unfortunate situations."
When Mrs. Watson had recieved the call earlier in the morning from Ray Thompson stating that he was no longer in the condition to perform, she instantly panicked as she needed a pianist for her party. After calling around, the name that she heard the most was Arabella Parson's. That had ultimately led her to this, in her mind, extremely awkward situation.
"What time did you say this party started?" she asked. This was the brunette's way of accepting her offer.
Madeline Watson let out a breath with relief. "Oh, thank God, sweetheart. I'm so glad you can help me out. The guests will begin arriving around seven, so I need you there by six thirty, if that's possible."
"Of course. I usually charge about one hundred dollars an hour," Arabella stated, knowing she should include that, though she was sure it made no difference to the woman.
"I don't know how long the party is going to last, but I was planning on paying my previous pianist two thousand dollars. Since you are doing this for me on such short notice, I'm going to just say that will cover the night, correct?"
Arabella smiled. This woman was offering her more money for this simple party than she usually received. "Yes, that's fine. Although, you really don't have to."
"Nonsense, honey. I'll see you at six thirty then. Wear something elegant." With that, the phone clicked and the call had ended.
Arabella grumbled as she slipped out of bed about how people should not be so rude and wake up girls that work all night. After she had gotten home from the diner the previous night, she had been so tired that she only had enough strength to pull off her shorts and change into sweats; she had discarded her shirt into a laundry hamper in the corner of her room. She saw that the light signaling she had a new message on her apartment phone was blinking and she pressed it.
Immediately, the automated message stating she had four new messages came over the speaker. The young girl was making herself a pot of coffee as the messages played. The first three were just rustling and then a beep signaling the message was over.
The fourth, however, shocked Arabella.
"Arabella, this is Andrew Preston from Child Services. We understand that you received emancipation at the age of sixteen and you no longer would like to have contact with your mother, but we would like to speak with you. Our office hours are nine to five, Monday through Friday but our phone lines are online twenty-four seven. Contact us, ASAP." The message ended with a phone number and then a beep.
Her eyebrows were knit together as she pushed the button to replay the message. As the man recited the number, she dialed it into her cell phone and pressed the call button. What had her mother gotten into now that Child Services had to get involved?
"Hello, this is the Child Services office. Where can I direct you?" a secretary greeted.
"Andrew Preston."
"One moment while I transfer you."