They say the rockstar life is the best around, well whoever said that was obviously stupid, or drunk. Maybe both, but that doesn't really matter, now does it? I'm Trista and I'm trying to be a rockstar. The keyword is 'TRYING' here, folks. I put out a demo a couple months ago and it's been making its way around. I never had what you could call a 'typical look' for the music I sing, hence why I never have many deals. Long dark brown locks that just swept across my forehead, heavy eyeliner that contrasted my bright green eyes and vibrant clothing that even Boy George couldn't handle. Granted I'm 19, but I have the right to do whatever I please. If there's one thing about being a rockstar, you're always waiting. Waiting for a shot, a deal, a contract, maybe a nasty rumor, anything to get your name out. Well, welcome to my waiting game.
"Here I've wrote this little love song for you. It's not much, but I hope it gets the point across. Just three minutes trying to say three little words, I lo--, on second thought, I'll wait." Trista sang into the mic, recording yet another song to put on her new demo, she'd been in there for what seemed like hours trying to perfect the verse of her song.
"That was great, Trista, take five and come in here, we have news." Her producer, Rich buzzed in from the other side of the recording studio. She forcefully through down the headphones and stomped into the studio.
"Are you kidding me, Rich? That sucked! I found like twenty spots where my voice cracked. I'm never gonna get a deal if you keep on mindlessly interrupting me." She placed her hands on her hips and shook her head violently.
"Who knew someone so young could have so much knowledge of musical sound, that it even escapes the ears of a seasoned veteran in the business?" He said sarcastically, putting the teen in her place.
"You had news…"
"Yes I did, if you'd just sit down." Trista rolled her eyes and obeyed the command, crossing her legs and arms, waiting for the announcement.
"Well you remember David Pierce?" She furrowed her eyebrows, her memory escaping her. "Balding guy, coke bottle glasses, talked like Peter Griffin?" Trista slapped her knee in discovery and nodded. "Well, he has this band recording a new album and on tour…"
"At the same time?" She asked.
"Yes, at the same time. And he thought your voice suited a quartet with the band and your, and I'm quoting this, 'fresh, edgy look', appealed to the opening act position he's trying to fill." Trista's eyes got wide and she drew in a loud breath.
"You're not fucking around with me are you, Richie? Please tell me you aren't." She collapsed to her knees and brought her hands together at his feet.
"Have I ever lied to you Trista Leigh?" He smiled slyly. She jumped up and wrapped her arms around him tightly, barely letting him breathe.
"Never call me that ever again!" Trista said gleefully. She normally contained her excitement for everything, but something as big as this, she felt needed to be expressed.
"Do you know what this means Richie?! Everything's gonna happen! Everything!!" Rich pulled out of her near death grip and smiled at her.
"This is good for you, Trista, amazing. Do you wanna know who this band is before you start up the parade?"
"Cobra?" Her voiced perked up at the thought of her opening for her favorite band.
"Nope, think less hardcore."
"Panic?"
"Hm, think more Disney."
"Hannah Montana?" Trista said, clear hesitance in her voice.
"The Jonas Brothers." Rich said. Trista slumped into the couch beside her.
"It's not bad, Trista, it's a shot. A big one at that, do you know how huge they are?"
"I know, along with every other prepubescent teenage girl on the face of the earth. It's a big shot, but it's not my type of mu—"
"Don't even start that, Trista, as much as you wanna deny it, you're a pop singer, get over it. I'm guessing you don't want it?" Rich said, reaching for the phone mockingly.
"I'll take it! Geez, Richie, I'm not retarded!" She threw a spare pillow at his head. Rich grabbed sheets of paper and tossed them Trista's way.
"There's the song you're gonna sing with them. It's a cover of Time After Time." She smiled; at least these guys had good taste in music, either that or their manager, that's for sure. Trista got lost in the lyrics, obviously reminiscing about what it meant to her.
"You're gonna meet them on Thursday, to you know, go over some stuff with the music and the tour and whatnot." Trista swatted her hand to send him away, but he didn't budge.
"You wanna get back to work now, Fuehrer Trista?" Rich said, using her words against her.
"Bite me, alright?! I'm going, I'm going." She slowly got out of her seat and went back into the studio, grabbing her headphones.
"Just do me a favor, Trista." He buzzed in.
"What is it?"
"Don't forget who you are. I know, cheesy, but I've seen so many great people go down the wrong path because of a little bit of fame. You're a decent person, somewhere in your heart and you deserve this more than anyone. You've spent three years living out of a suitcase and on club gigs, but I just don't want you to lose yourself, you're a rare kind, Trista Ryan, keep it that way." Trista wiped away a tear from his speech.
"Aw, Rich, you do care!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I have a heart, now let's go, kiddo." They both laughed and got back to finishing the song.