Monday mornings are awful. They're like my personal hell. Every time something bad happened to me, it was on a Monday. I lost my songwriting book on a Monday, I had to deal with kangaroos and other chaos on a Monday, I broke my favorite cup on a Monday, my boyfriend broke up with me on a Monday, the list just goes on and on.
So, the morning of April 15th, 2019, had always been set to be hell for me— it was a Monday morning, after all.
I woke up late by half an hour, so I had to hurry with everything. As a result, my hair got hastily put into a messy bun, I threw on a simple skirt-and-top combo picked in the heat of the moment, and I lost a contact lense. I wear nighttime contact lenses, that I take out in the morning, and then my eyesight is perfect(1). Of course, these contacts aren't one-time use, so I spent an extra minute looking for the lense.
Then, while I was eating my hurried breakfast (which consisted of cup of YoCrunch(2) yogurt, a pickle, and a can of Nestea(3)), my manager/best friend called and told me that she had arranged a meeting with a prospective collaborator for my new album, Better Than Ever. I was supposed to be at the private VIP room at The Lounge in ten minutes.
Quick geography/math lesson: I lived about twenty minutes away from The Lounge. I was supposed to be at The Lounge in ten minutes. In conclusion, I was very, very late.
Can somebody say, oh, shit?
On my way to The Lounge, Trish called.
"Ally, hurry up; you're going to be late!" she cried.
"I know, I know, sorry! Oh, I'm going to make such a bad first impression on the collaborator!" I panicked, letting a swear loose as someone beeped at me.
"Yeah, 'cause it's definitely your first time seeing each other, duh! Why would you think otherwise?"
"Trish..." I let out a sigh. "What did you do?"
"Well..."
"Trish!"
"Gotta go; bye!"
"Trish!" -beeeeep- "Damn it!"
Austin Moon was not a happy camper on the morning of April 15th, 2019. First of all, his manager/best friend had called to tell him that he had arranged a meeting with a prospective collaborator for his new album, Loud and Proud. Austin was supposed to be at the private VIP room at The Lounge in twenty minutes.
Quick geography/math lesson: Austin lived about fifteen minutes away from The Lounge. He was supposed to be at The Lounge in twenty minutes. In conclusion, he did not have time to get his daily coffee fix at Angela's Café. And an Austin without coffee is a very cranky Austin, indeed.
So, when he arrived at The Lounge, he was extremely irritated as Dez informed him the collaborator would be late.
"Late. Late? Are you serious? He gets to be late, but I can't?" complained Austin.
Dez shrugged. "Heh, what can you do? You know what I mean? Whatever, oh well."
"Dez? Are you okay?" Austin peered concernedly at him.
"What? Yeah, I'm fine! Just a little tired's all," assured Dez.
"Dez, you were never any good at lying."
"What makes you think that I'm lying?"
"Your nostrils flare when you lie(4)."
"What? No they don't!" Dez watched himself carefully in the mirror as his nostrils flared. "No way, they really do! That's so cool! Austin, do yours do that too?"
"Don't change the subject. Dez, what are you so nervous about?" Austin looked at him suspiciously.
Fortunately for Dez, the collaborator arrived just then.
"Sorry I'm late, I had a late morning and I was caught up in traffic—" Ally stopped short. "A-Austin? Dez?"
"Ally, wait up—! Oh," said Trish quietly, upon entering the room. "Um... Ally, this is Mr. Moon, our new, prospective collaborator!"
"I know who he is, Trish!" snapped Ally. "Is this what you were so nervous about?"
"Ally? And... Trish?" Austin gaped at the two of them. "Dez!" He turned to his best friend/manager.
"Well... our collaborator isn't a he; heh heh!" Dez laughed nervously.
"Is this what you were so nervous about?" Austin repeated Ally's earlier question.
Meekly, the two best friend/managers glanced at each other, bowed their heads, and replied in unison, "Yes...?"
"Trish. Can I talk to you for a second?" Ally grabbed her friend's arm and dragged her outside.
Meanwhile, Austin crossed his arms over his chest and glared pointedly at Dez. "Well? You wanna tell me why Ally is my new collaborator and you didn't tell me?"
"Um... Trish and I thought it would be a good idea! You two are both at the top of the charts, and a collaboration would shoot you off the charts!" Dez started to slip into manager mode. "Right now, you've become old news, Austin! People still love you, but you've gotta do something new so they'll pay attention to you, more than they do to the new star-of-three-years— Ally Dawson. And she needs an extra boost to her already-booming career, so it all fits perfectly."
As much as Austin hated to admit it, Dez was right. But he would only do it if she agreed to do it first, and he told Dez so accordingly, to which the ginger replied with,
"Real mature, Austin."
"You're one to talk."
"Oooh, ouch! But so true."
"Yeah, I know."
I stood outside the door of the VIP room of The Lounge, fuming at Trish. She knew about my bad history with Austin— hell, she had been part of that history!
"Look, Ally, before you say anything, just hear me out, okay?" Trish held up her hands, pleading.
Narrowing my eyes, I nodded. She deserved that much, at least. "Explain," I said tightly. "You have five minutes."
"Dez and I thought it would be a good idea to do a collaboration with you two. You're still fairly new to the music scene, and a collaboration with Austin would boost your career by far. Plus, Austin's got experience with dealing with fame, and that's experience you need!" exclaimed Trish.
What? So I might've been a little careless with my words about my last ex (Logan Freeman— who is, by the way, a cheating bastard) to the papparazzi at my last red-carpet event, and now it's all over the news, but that doesn't mean I need Austin's help!
"Ally!" Trish prodded me.
Sighing, I told her, "Fine." As she reached for the door handle, I added, "Trish?"
"Hm?"
"You so owe me for this."
"Let's go on with the meeting as planned," said Ally stiffly, once they were back in the VIP room.
"So, are we all up for a little collaboration talk?" Dez smiled brightly at them.
Trish snorted. "Collaboration talk? Dez, that's the lamest thing I've ever heard of."
"Nuh-uh!" Dez scoffed and turned his head away haughtily. "You're just jealous! Austin, isn't she just jealous?" He pinned the blonde down with a righteous glare.
Austin looked indecisive. Hm, have Trish get mad at him for saying she was jealous, have Dez get made at him for saying she wasn't jealous, or don't give a definite answer at all? He held up his hands in defense. "Don't look at me!" he exclaimed. Don't give a definite answer at all was definitely the best choice.
"Trish has convinced me," began Ally, interupting them sternly, "that the collaboration would be a... good idea." She scrunched up her face, as if the words had left a sour taste in her mouth. "So, by the end of today, I hope to have a plan to take to my people, and by tomorrow night, everything should be in a contract."
Dez spoke up, already in manager-mode. "Alright, first of all, that's a little optimistic. Planning out collaborations usually takes weeks, if not more. There's legal issues, artist issues, money issues— too many issues to count. Second of all, why are you talking so formally? We're all friends here." He smiled obliviously.
Ally glared. "No. We are absolutely not all friends here. Dez, I'm willing to start over with you, because I know that when Austin left, you had no choice but to go with him as his best friend. But, that doesn't mean I'm going to start over with Austin. Actually, it's much too late for that now." Gingerly, she sat down on one of the leather couches. Crossing her legs and placing her hands delicately in her lap, she said, "Let's start talking."
An hour later, Ally had snapped at Dez four times, glared at Trish three times, and ignored Austin the whole entire time. A frustrated and quickly despairing Trish called for a five-minute break. Ally had excused herself to get a drink downstairs, so it was just Trish, Dez, and Austin left staring awkwardly at each other in the VIP room.
"So..." Dez trailed off, rocking back and forth on his heels.
"Yup..." Trish fidgeted with her hands.
Austin rolled his eyes. "I'm going to go get a drink. You two can stare at each other in an awkward silence for ten more minutes." And with that, he left, the door swinging after him.
"Wait! I only called for a five-minute break!" Trish called helplessly after him. Defeated, she dropped her hands back down, sighing. "Well, I guess that means we're going to have a ten-minute break, then."
I left the VIP room to escape from Austin, but if my eyes aren't decieving me— which I'm pretty sure they're not, because I just got an eye exam two weeks ago—, he's walking down the same staircase I was on a minute ago. Quickly, to avoid eye contact, I twirled myself around on my swivel stool so that I faced the bar and the bartender. "Can I have a Shirley Temple, please?" I asked, trying to look busy so that Austin wouldn't come over.
"Yo, bartender. Champagne; your best."
Damn. He found me.
"Coming right up, miss and sir." The bartender turned around and began making the drinks. A few moments later, he slid our drinks across the polished, marble countertop to us. I stared away from Austin into the opposite direction. Hopefully, if I just ignored him, Austin would take the hint and leave. Or at least leave me alone.
"Wow." He slipped my glass out of my fingers. "A Shirley Temple?"
So, ignoring him wouldn't work...
"I don't drink," I replied. "Now get out of my face." Maybe I needed to be more blunt...?
"You don't drink," Austin repeated, ignoring my last statement. I shook my head no, and Austin let out a short bark of laughter. "Ally, you've gotta be able to drink. I'm not saying you have to drink at every party, but there are occasions where even you have to lift up a glass of champagne and toast. C'mon, you have to be able to hold your liquor, at least."
"Don't tell me what to do," I snipped.
"You need my help— ah-uh!" He wagged his finger at me reprimandingly when I opened my mouth to retort. "I hear about what happened with Logan Freeman," he continued, smirking as I grimaced. "That had 'bad press' written all over it. I can't believe you said all those things about him on camera."
I winced, remembering that night, not-too-long-ago. Actually, if I remember correctly, I believe the incident happen a little over two weeks ago...
I smiled and posed, stopping for a moment so that the cameras could flash their bright lights at me and take a picture— which was, no doubt, going to be on the cover of some magazie or the other by tomorrow. When I figured I had been stationary for a sufficient amount of time, I pivoted on my heel and kept my slow, model-walk down the red carpet. Posters and banners all along the walls of the theater announced the premier of Project X. I'd heard from a friend of mine who was a movie producer that Project X was an awful movie— he said that he had looked over the story outline and politely declined the invitation to be the producer. Unfortunately, my duty as Ally Dawson, singer-songwriter extraordinaire, top of the charts, required me to be present at at least five or six big premiers a month, and this was one of them.
When I neared the entrance to the theater, I braced myself for more pictures— that was standard; I wasn't even bothered by being under such close scrutiny anymore— and questions about my ex-boyfriend-of-two-days, Logan Freeman. The truth of it was, we were over long before the general public knew about it. He had cheated on me, I ended the relationship. End of story— easy, smooth, and simple. But of course, the rest of the world wants drama, so if it's drama they want, then it's drama they'll get.
"Ally! Ally!" called the reporters. I pivoted to face them— well, perhaps pivoted wasn't the right word, seeing as how I was in sky-high Jimmy Choos. "We want to know about your breakup!" they called. "What happened? Why did you break up?"
I dropped my camera-ready, model-worthy (model-worthy, except for the fact that I was so short) smile and instead, the corners of my lips lifted up to shape a sly, all-hell-will-break-loose-when-I-say-this-and-I-know-it kind of smile. Loudly and clearly, I said, "Logan Freeman is a cheating bastard. The kid thought he could go to a Russian stripper during the day then come back to me at night, and he thought he could do it without repercussions. Well, I gotta say, I'm sorry, sweetheart, 'cause repercussions are best served publically and humiliatingly." What? So it was a little cheesy; the papparazzi loved it!
As the papparazzi snapped more pictures, I caught sight of Logan's dark hair and characteristic golden eyes. He was staring intently at me, although his stare was more of a cross between a hungry, lustful gaze and an angry, ready-to-set-the-world-on-fire glare. The lustful part was probably— no, it was most definitely because of my dress. The angry part? Well, I'd bet my career that he had heard what I told the papparazzi about him. But at the moment, he couldn't do anything, because Sissy LeBlanc (the girl he cheated on me with— okay, so maybe I was stretching the truth a little when I said he was cheating on me with a Russian stripper. Sissy LeBlanc— worst name ever, I'm not sorry to say— is actually a French model.) had latched her little claws onto him and was currently dragging him away.
Ah, good memories, I thought. Trash-talking Logan was fun.
"Fun?" spluttered Austin. Evidently, I had said that aloud. "You call that fun?" He shook his head admiringly. "You've changed a lot, haven't you, Ally?"
I made a noncomittable sound and sipped my Shirley Temple. The sooner this conversation was over, the better.
Austin's eyes were intent on my glass. "I still can't believe you're twenty-three, a celebrity, and yet you still don't drink. It's not a bad thing, but people will look down on you for it. Which is why," he smirked, "you need my help."
"What, so now you're saying that you drink beer and knock back shots every night?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah, right."
"Actually? I'm kind of girly when it comes to drinks," he admitted. A lot has changed about Austin, but his open honesty with his true friends hadn't faded away, and that made me happy, for some reason. "I only drink champagne, wine, cocktails, and, like, that hard-lemonade-slash-beer stuff." He smirked at me, again. "Not that you would know how any of that tastes like. A little birdie told me that Rihanna is hosting a party where drinks are law, and we're both invited. Now do you want my help?" He leaned back against the table, smug.
Suddenly, a cold fury took over my emotions. I may have been civil towards him for— I flicked my eyes over to the clock and almost choked when I saw what time it was— almost half and hour, but that didn't make things between us any different. How dare he try to mentor me. He doesn't know anything about me. With those thoughts in mind, I set my glass back down on the countertop and slipped off the barstool. Austin made to follow me, but I held up a hand, signaling him to stop. I walked closer until we were chest-to-chest (thank god I was wearing my five-inch pumps today— this way, I could make eye-contact without looking like an idiot) and bit out, "You don't know what you're talking about. You have no idea what I went through after you left. If it came to it, Austin Moon, I could probably hold my liquor longer than you, so don't assume anything about me. You don't know me anymore." I sneered in his face, then turned and made my way up the staircase and back to the VIP room. Dramatic exit, check.
Austin stared after Ally's slightly-swaying hips with something like awe in his eyes. His smile took up a kind of admiring curve. Ally had come a long way since the stuttering, I-mix-up-my-words-in-front-of-cute-boys girl she was at sixteen. As she disappeared behind the doors of an elevator (probably headed back to the VIP room), Austin thought about her last words to him. They hurt him more than she knew, but that was good. It meant that Ally was stronger now— strong enough to maybe start a relationship with him. Perhaps they could rekindle their fire. Then, as he considered the conversation they just had, he thought that maybe the fire had never died out. With that thought in mind, he started to make his way back up to the VIP room.
"... Uh, no! Mushrooms are just stupid."
"Nuh-uh! Pepporoni is just gross."
"Well, mushrooms are—"
Ally cut the arguing pair (Trish and Dez) off with a, "Guys! Are you done yet?" She looked at them expectantly.
"Oh, um, yeah." Trish offered the other brunette a sheepish smile. "Dez was just being silly."
"Me?" Dez pointed to himself, outraged.
"Yeah, you," Trish fired back.
Ally face-palmed. There was no way they could agree on a plan in five hours. Not with this group.
When Austin returned to the VIP room, he was not expecting a furiously-arguing Trish and Dez, or a defeated Ally. On second thought, the arguing part wasn't so strange. A defeated Ally, though... That was weird. She seemed more like an I-will-succeed-or-die-trying type of person.
"Hey." Austin sat down on the couch next to Ally.
"Hi," she replied, her tone implying exhaustion. "Nice of you to show up. It's been," she checked the clock, "two hours since I left you down there in the bar. Where have you been?"
"Well... I got a little distracted." Austin showed her a slip of paper with several phone numbers on it.
Ally rolled her eyes knowingly. "And the player is back in the game." She paused and stared at his cheek, then raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you did a little more than get a couple of numbers." She pointed to his cheek, where a bright red lipstick print was clearly visible.
Austin shrugged. "I may or may not have made out with a hot chick." He grinned and winked. "Can't deny the ladies."
Ally rolled her eyes again, letting out a soft sigh. "'Course not. You were always the ladies' man, weren't you?" There was a hint of bitterness to her tone. However, Austin, oblivious as ever, didn't take notice of it.
He simply pointed to Trish and Dez and asked, "So, what's up with them?"
Ally groaned. "I have no idea." She surveyed the VIP room morosely. "One of us is going to end up at the bottom of a cliff by the end of this collaboration."
Austin snorted. "One of us is going to end up at the bottom of a cliff by the end of today." Shaking his head, he turned to face Ally. "On three?" He pointed to two guitars that were plugged into amps in the corner of the room— why they were there, he had absolutely no idea.
Without having to ask what he was talking about— they were so well attuned to each other from the many years of best friendship
—, Ally nodded and picked up a guitar. "On three. One."
Austin grinned, picking up the other guitar. "Two."
In unison, they said, "Three." Then two jarringly discordant chords (not really— all they did was strike the strings of the guitar without actually playing any real chords) flooded the room as Austin and Ally struck the strings of their guitars.
Trish and Dez clapped their hands over their ears, not putting them down until Austin and Ally turned the amplifiers off.
"What was that for?" exclaimed Trish indignantly.
"Getting you to stop arguing," replied Ally coolly.
"And getting you to slip into manager mode," added Austin. Bringing his hands together in front of him, he said, "So, are we ready to talk collaboration?"
About two hours later, they were all asleep, exhausted and collasped on top of each other. Dez was hanging half-off the couch, and Trish was splayed across the rest of the couch. Austin and Ally, however, were in each other's arms, in a position that they hadn't been in since they were eighteen— young, happy, and... together. Ally was leaning against Austin, snugggled into his chest, her head tucked under his chin. Austin was leaning against the couch, his arms wound loosely around Ally's waist.
Suddenly, Ally's iPhone rang, startling everyone awake. Blearily, Ally rubbed at her eyes, then realized the position she was in, and scrambled to stand up. Her phone was still ringing as Austin muttered an awkward, "Er... Sorry about that. I, um, didn't notice I was... kind of holding you— hey, you should probably get that." He pointed to her phone.
Still slightly shaken about the position she had woken up in, Ally only nodded meekly. "Hello?" She answered the phone. "Oh, hi, Alec!" She seemed to light up as she chattered on to whoever "Alec" was.
"Who's Alec?" mouthed Austin.
Trish rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's just Alec Roulanger. Ally's 'friend'." She put finger-quotes around the word "friend". She leaned in and whispered, "Honestly? I think they're just the next cutest couple-to-be, but Ally insists they're 'just friends'." She laughed. "Oh, Ally. That silly girl, she thinks I'm not going to meddle in her relationship with Alec!"
"Wait." Dez held up a finger. "Alec Roulanger, as in the French-American actor? The one that moved here five years ago?"
Trish nodded. Neither of them mentioned what happened five years ago, and an awkward silence filled the air, only broken by the sound of Ally's rapid-fire chatter. Clearing her throat, Trish said, "He just started working in big movies three years ago and he's been the male lead in, like, the top 5 biggest movies of the season. He's another rising star, like Ally." She smiled proudly at the last statement.
"Wait, I'm confused." Dez scratched his head. "Did we finish planning the collaboration or not?"
Rolling her eyes amusedly, Trish handed him a file. "Yeah, we finished. And don't look so surprised; this is how we do things. We're fast." She pointed to the file. "Bring it to your people and have them draft a contract. We'll meet again; tomorrow, the same time to exchange contracts and draft a final plan, then we can go to dinner with our people and get everything finalized. The contract should be ready to sign by Wednesday morning."
Austin stuck his hands in his pockets, watching as Ally picked up her bag and started towards the door, still on the phone. Without breaking his gaze on her, he asked, "Where is she going?"
Trish shrugged. "Probably to meet Alec. I, on the other hand, have an official date, so I'll be going now." She smirked and blew them both a kiss as she left. "Ta ta, boys!"
"Who's she going out with?" Dez was suddenly interested to know.
Austin shrugged. "What's up with that Alec guy?"
"Why are we answering questions with questions?"
"I have no idea."
A/N: Thank the lord. Seriously. You have no idea how long I've been working on this. I won't ramble on like I normally do, but there are important updates and even juicier GOSSIP on Austin & Ally on my blog, under the post ROSS LYNCH? SAY WHAT? You can access my blog/Wordpress through my profile page.
Anyways... (1) These contacts do exist, in fact, I use them myself. (2) YoCrunch does not belong to me. No copyright infringement intended. (3) Nestea does not belong to me. No copyright infringment intended. (4) Sorry kids, I just had to include that. That's from the Princess Diaries series by Meg Cabot.
Also, if you were confused by the POV's throughout the story, just remember this:
Normal POV: Third person writing.
Character POV (Ally's POV, etc.): First person writing. You'll be able to tell exactly which character's POV it is, I promise.
See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!
~ Sabrina
P.S. Just kidding.