Rose'cliffs_(1) by Misty_Tiratzo

Her thirty second birthday had been a blast, it lasted three days. She couldn’t remember the last twenty four hours of it, but she knew that she had had a good time, if hangover was anything to judge by. Then add she couldn’t find the underwear she had worn at the beginning of her party; in fact she woke up from her drunken stupor on the floor of her bedroom in an ill-fitting man’s shirt half buttoned and at least two sizes too small for her 34C breasts, one of which lay unrestrained and exposed, from the tight shirt, and someone else’s way too short skirt that had rucked up, exposing the bare fact she was without any underwear at all. She peeked in at her roommate; Shelly was passed out naked on her bed three naked guys were arranged artfully around her. Obviously she had enjoyed the party too.She was thirty two! Well actually thirty two and two days. Arleen looked at herself in her full length bedroom mirror. She was tall at 5’10”.Her cornflower blue eyes were bloodshot and the lids puffy, the long lashes that shrouded them, normally making her eyes appear mysterious were matted and clumped. The eye shadow was smudged and her eyebrows had been plucked to thinnish arches above her enigmatic eyes. Her cheekbones were high and complimented her eyes. Her face was heart shaped, her nose was straight and slender with narrow nostrils, her mouth was wide, with sensual lips, her chin was sharp but slightly rounded, making her appear determined rather than darn right ornery, which she knew she could be.

She staggered to the bathroom and managed to stumble into the shower without tearing the shower curtain down. In her borrowed clothing she let the warm water cascade over her. She slipped out of the sodden clothes, turned up the hot water and stood as the almost scalding water stung her naked body, what was left of her make up ran down her cheeks in twin grayish rivulets she guessed she looked like a raccoon. She stood letting the water soothe her soul for at least fifteen minutes before, gingerly, she applied soap, shampoo and moisturizer and cleaned herself.

After drying herself with a big fluffy towel and brushing her teeth she walked to the kitchen still wrapped in her towel, the apartment was a mess, bottles everywhere, some quiet full but mostly empty, and overfilled ashtrays were strewn carelessly everywhere. Her answering machine had been destroyed by some maniac with a baseball bat and lay in two hundred unfixable parts in the center of her bed. Someone was thoughtful enough to drink all the coffee cream as well as the milk, when they raided the fridge, leaving it bare except for three empty beer bottles and half a bottle of Russian Vodka. Well with the way she felt it would be wise to drink her coffee black, she went about the complicated task of filling the coffee maker and switching it on.

Thank God the coffee maker still worked; scalding black coffee and the handful of Advil she took began to deaden the dull throb behind her eyes. Within an hour she was almost capable of rational human thought, and simple coordination like getting dressed and brushing her long dark hair.

It had been more than a birthday bash; her birthday had coincided with the end of the tour. She had spent the last year touring with singer-songwriter Harry Hamilton as one of his back up singers. They had toured every major city in North America, now he was headed to Europe, but, because of some complicated union rule he was not able to take his back up singers to Europe and would audition for European back up singers once he landed.

She was out of a job, her agent had mentioned some commercials where she might be able to get her an audition for, but there was nothing ‘concrete’ on the horizon for her. Being on the road had been hard, it drove the final coffin nail into her nearly four year relationship with Bradley, he had, she found out waited at least a week after she left to go on tour, to fuck her best friend. They were still together and blissfully happy, or so she had been told. She’d miss Angie! She sighed and sipped her third mug of the now overcooked stale black coffee.

She searched for her purse, and found it stuffed behind the sofa with her mail, and latest copy of Variety. Bills, credit card statements nothing of interest, no Hi Arleen your long lost Uncle has named you the only heir to his multi million dollar estate, please contact us at 555-1234 …. Blah, blah…..

She refilled her coffee mug with the dregs of the pot, and thumbed through Variety, noting who had shafted who, who was sleeping with whom, who was hot and who was not. When at the back she saw a square bordered advert:

COUNTRY SINGER NEEDED

The World Famous (one day)

ROSéCLIFFS TAVERN

Seeks

A TALENTED COUNTRY MUSICAN

Entertainer

Contract will be discussed after audition

Send CD or DVD to……

It was a Canadian advert. Ah what the hell, she had nothing on the horizon, right? There was nothing to loose. She dug through her closet, finding a copy the blurb she had printed on her computer and a promo CD and she had cut a few years before, when she still had dreams she’d make it as a headliner, in Nashville. She sighed self pityingly, yet another steppingstone to mediocrity. Still singing back up and making jingles beat waiting tables or taking off your clothes for a living, right?

On her way to meet her agent, she popped the CD and blurb into the post and promptly forgot about it. The meeting with her agent led to a little work over the next few days singing jingles for under arm deodorant and dog food, which helped pay the rent and restocked their depleted refrigerator. There was also talk of some radio work.

A week later she had been asked by KLXJ to do some commercials. It turned out to be a bitch of a day, the radio station for which she was doing a jingle had a manic art director and he demanded that he sit in on the takes. He was short and obese; he had tried to rub up against her and it had taken all of her tact to keep him away without ruining her chances for more work at the radio station.

The traffic home was bumper to bumper her nine year old Nissan constantly threatened to overheat, typical of any bored nine year old she reckoned. She looked forward to getting home, sprawling out on the sofa and watching the CMT awards.

Shelly, her roommate was doing a short stint as a replacement in a musical, and she had the place to herself. She had kicked off her sneakers and just opened her second beer, and watched while Toby Keith took a jibe at Natalie Mains of The Dixie Chicks before telling everybody he was just a working stiff, like everybody else, and who cares if he owned two mansions, his own jet and about a dozen sports-cars, his success had not spoiled him or his family, and while they were thinking about buying a small Caribbean island, they still considered themselves white trash.

The phone interrupted the pontificating white trash, Arleen who normally would have let the answering machine pick up the call, but of course some demented idiot with a baseball bat had destroyed it, she hit mute on the remote and picked up the phone.” Hi Arleen Armstrong, speaking to you live from her sitting room!”

A female responded at the other end. “Um, hi Arleen this is Thelma Verren, from the Rosécliffs Tavern, my sister and I really liked your promo CD, would you be prepared to come up to Ontario Canada for a final audition? Well gladly meet your expenses.” She added. “If you like we can have a return airline ticket waiting for you at the airport.”

Arleen did not understand and stammered. “Huh? What CD, what audition, what are you talking about?” she said warily suspecting Shelly or one of her friends was pulling a prank.

“Is this Arleen Armstrong the country singer? You sent us a promo CD in answer to our advert in this month’s Variety.” The soft spoken woman on the other side of the phone continued.

Vague memories of posting off a CD and publicity blurb while hung over after her birthday party surfaced. “Oh yes.” She responded. “That’s right, yes,yes,yes, I’m Arleen Armstrong, sorry, I was watching Toby Keith being an asshole to Natalie Mains on TV it threw me for a sec, but yes of course I’ll like to come on up there, I’m free after next week, I can fly up either on the Friday night or Saturday morning, if that suites you?”

“Oh that’s so cool, let me see what I can arrange with the airline, can you hang on a sec?”

Arleen could hear Thelma Verren’s muffled voice even though she held her hand over the phone. “Mel, she says she can come the weekend after next, its two weeks before we open, its perfect, get hold of Air Canada see when you can get a ticket, she’s holding on.”

After a minute or two, Thelma spoke to her again. “Hi again. We can get you on the Friday night flight; it leaves Nashville at 6:00 PM you have to change planes in Rochester New York, and should arrive at Toronto 10:00 PM. My sister will drive down and meet you at the airport. When you get to Nashville airport, just give the Westjet counter your name and this code RC46732, they’ll have your ticket, transfers and stuff, is that ok?”

Arleen was all professional by that time.” That sounds perfect, I will contact my agent and see about a work permits and what documentation I’ll need in the mean time, I look forward to meeting both you and your sister the weekend after next, thank you both for giving me the opportunity.”