Chapter 5 #2
She laughed as a memory came to her. ‘One day, your mommy said to me, “Do you know why I love you, Ros?” She said exactly these words: “Because your mom is a supermodel, your dad is a music industry giant, you are beautiful and you’re dating a budding rock star. You have every reason in the world to be fake, but you’re real. ”
‘She meant it as a compliment. Oh, and my momma was a supermodel, that’s how she met my dad, at an awards bash.
But she’s had so many injections now her face doesn’t move any more.
Let me tell you, Teej, there’s a fine line between growing old gracefully with a little tinkering and turning your face into a distorted Barbie doll.
‘Oh, but I do love her, and Daddy adores her.’
Rosalie finished her latte and beckoned over a waitress with the universal sign for ‘Check, please’.
‘Right, little man, we need to leave, we have people counting on us today. Should we go buy Aunty Andrea something fabulous to wear to the concert? We might find something cute for a handsome baby, too,’ she said, winking at TJ.
He giggled and hiccupped simultaneously, making Rosalie laugh. Hanging with TJ was really a heck of a lot more fun than taking coffee alone.
* * *
Hours later, Rosalie dropped TJ and Hannah back home in New Jersey.
‘Are you sure you won’t come in?’ Hannah asked, holding TJ on her hip as Rod carried his car seat from Rosalie’s car into their now clean home.
‘I’m good – thanks, though,’ Rosalie said. ‘Oh, don’t forget Andrea’s dress. She’s going to look fierce in that, I promise.’
‘Thanks, Ros, for everything. You’ve been a lifesaver these last two days.’
Rosalie shrugged. ‘My pleasure.’ And it really was. Her days had seemed to fly by looking after the baby. ‘Goodbye, Teej. Have fun at nursery tomorrow, buddy.’
As she drove away, Rosalie watched Hannah and TJ in her rearview mirror. Hannah kissed his brow then held him high in the air. Rosalie knew he’d be laughing that hearty man-baby laugh of his.
That strange feeling came over her again but this time, she knew what it was.
Jealousy. Unconditional love and that whole life in her hands, depending on her every day.
Rosalie was totally, completely jealous of Hannah.
She wanted what Hannah had – only with more money in her savings account and a better zip code.
She wanted to be needed like a baby needed its mommy.
She wanted a family, love, like her parents had.
But finding a good man like her daddy was proving impossible. That she was going to fix with a recording label of her own, where people would look up to her, admire her and take her seriously. It was about time she started implementing her plan.
* * *
It had been a while since her last visit, but Rosalie left New Jersey and found her way through the streets of Williamsburg to Sanfia Records with ease. She killed the engine of her Porsche, slung this season’s signature Gucci purse over her wrist, and twisted elegantly out of the car.
She tended not to double-brand but today she had teamed her Gucci purse with a Gucci red belted crepe dress that came to the top of her knee – sophisticated business length – and a painfully stylish pair of Valentino rockstud sandals.
As the car beeped to lock behind her, Rosalie pinned her shoulders back and strode up to the door of Sanfia Records, where she used a tissue over her fingertip to press the door buzzer.
‘Come in,’ Sofia’s voice called over the intercom. ‘We’re in the sound booth.’
Rosalie remembered her way along the bland corridor that looked magnolia, as opposed to white, more due to years without a refresh than by design.
She wasn’t surprised as she approached the sound booth to hear country music – a male voice singing soft rock.
Sanfia Records took on a range of artists, but there had always been a preference for country music, which Rosalie suspected came from Andrea and Sofia’s father and the fact their mother, God rest her soul, had been a country musician of the Eva Cassidy ilk.
Whilst Rosalie preferred to put her feet up on a pouffe with a glass of something chilled and effervescent with smooth jazz playing on her home speakers, she would happily listen to the dulcet tones of Brett Eldredge or the soothing lyrics of Carolyn Dawn Johnson.
Using her tissue, she pressed down on the handle of the door to the sound booth, which stuck as she pushed, pushed and pushed again, eventually stumbling into the room on her high heels.
‘Ros, are you okay?’ Sofia asked, standing from her leather stool in front of the room-width mixing board.
Rosalie waved away her blushes. ‘You need to give this place a facelift, sweetie.’
‘Top of my list when we strike gold, Ros,’ Sofia said in good humour, though Rosalie had been entirely serious.
Everything from the dark wood old-style mixing board to the chipped laminate flooring that screamed 1990s, to the tatty leather sofa that wasn’t helped by beer bottles sitting in holsters on the arm rests, to a lingering smell of cigarette smoke – it all needed a refresh.
Nevertheless, Rosalie wasn’t here in her capacity as an interior designer; she was here to learn.
She kissed Sofia on the cheek and held up a hand to Sofia’s father, Jimmy, who she wasn’t surprised to see. Despite retiring six years earlier, Jimmy had music in his blood, like his daughters.
‘How’re you doing, darling?’
‘I’m good, thanks, Jimmy,’ Rosalie said, looking around between the sofa and the spare stool between Sofia’s and Jimmy’s, wondering which would be least likely to leave a stain on her two-thousand-dollar dress.
Through the glass wall of the room, Rosalie saw the source of the country music she was hearing as three men played, one of them singing, in the studio beyond.
‘So, you said you had a favour to ask?’ Sofia said, returning to her stool and pulling one knee into her chest.
‘Oh, mmm, yes,’ Rosalie said, forgetting the state of the worn leather in her excitement and taking a seat on the sofa. ‘It’s very exciting. So, Daddy is giving me my own label at XM.’
She tried not to be irritated by the scrunching of Sofia’s brow, followed by the raising of her eyebrow in the direction of Jimmy, choosing to believe it was confusion.
She wafted a hand. ‘Let me take a step back. I’m going to be in the music business now.
You know, I have experience, what with running my design projects and things, and I’m ready for a new life challenge, you know?
So Daddy said I could have my own label, but there’s a catch.
First, I have to get a little more experience in the industry, behind the scenes stuff. ’
‘Ah, and that’s where I come in?’ Sofia asked.
Rosalie smiled. ‘If you’ll have me, I would like to be, like, your apprentice, or understudy even, for, maybe a couple of months, until I really get the hang of all the’ – she gestured to the mixing board and the hundreds of nodules and flashing lights – ‘digits and gadgets.’
Jimmy chuckled, stealing Rosalie’s attention.
‘Darling, it’s going to take longer than two months to crack music production.
It’s not just something you do with these,’ he said, holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers.
‘It’s what you hear with these.’ He tugged his ear lobes.
‘And what you feel in here.’ He held a closed fist to his chest.
‘Sure,’ Rosalie said. ‘I totally get that. But will you show me a few things, Soph?’
Sofia shrugged. ‘Ah, yeah, sure.’
At that moment, the music coming from the studio stopped. Sofia turned on her stool, pushed a button and said, ‘Great job, guys. Come on out and we’ll listen back to it.’
Moments later, two session players Rosalie recognised and a tall, buffer than average, scruffier than average man with the bluest eyes she had ever seen stepped into the sound booth.
‘You smashed it, guys,’ Sofia told them, giving each of them an unladylike fist bump.
Jimmy stood and went to the scruffy blue-eyed guy and said, ‘My daughter told me you were good, son. She wasn’t wrong.’
As the men did variations of fist bumps, back slaps and handshakes, Rosalie stood from the sofa, straightening her dress, and subtly cleared her throat.
‘Guys, this is Rosalie,’ Sofia said. ‘Billy, Frankie, you might remember Ros, she used to come here a lot when?—’
‘Yeah, I do. The cupcake lady,’ Frankie said, winking distastefully.
Rosalie smiled. ‘Well, cupcakes were very on trend a few years back. We’re really in more of a veggie phase now but I’m sure I can find some treats for you guys over the next couple of months. I’m going to be hanging out here, whilst Sofia shows me the ropes.’
The exchanges of questioning looks didn’t escape Rosalie’s attention, but Billy said, ‘Well, nice to have you onboard, Ros. I, personally, am a carnivore, though I can make an exception for waffles.’
Rosalie giggled. ‘I’ll remember that.’ As she did, she looked around the five other people in the room and it occurred to her that every one of them wore some variation of ripped stonewash jeans – some intentionally ripped, others not – dirty boots or sneakers and flannel shirts.
‘This, erm, isn’t a compulsory uniform, is it? ’
As the others laughed, Rosalie’s panic was alleviated because she had been truly concerned that she might have to dress like them to ‘fit in’.
‘Phew,’ she said, wiping her brow.
Then Scruffy Blue-Eyes stepped forward and surprised her with a southern twang as he said, ‘Just stay away from the kick drum in those weapons,’ he said, gesturing to her sandals. ‘If your foot slips off the pedal, you’ll pierce the head.’
His lips curved at one side into what could have been a deadly half-smile, if it weren’t for his snide remark and the fact he looked like he hadn’t showered…
ever. Who was he to talk about fashion, in his scuffed suede boots, shaggy jeans, open farmer’s shirt, that tight white T-shirt and hanging dog tags that were soooo ten years ago?