Chapter 3—Life As We Know It
Recap of Last Chapter: Eve, Beca's Public Representation and voice for the higher-ups, comes in and tells Beca that they're moving her to Barden, Georgia in order to get her away from the flashing lights and irritating paparazzi. Beca is adamant to leaving but when Eve threatens to destroy her career she has no choice but to move to Badren, Georgia within a week and a half.
"Hall of Fame" booms out through my black headphones, protecting my ears from any unwanted noise that could interfere with the amazing band that is The Script. Eyes closed, I let the music take over my entirety. It's just the sensual sound of the keyboard, the inspiring lyrics written by a group of musical geniuses, the violent beats of the backing track, and finally me. Nothing else exists but us.
"MRS. MITCHELL!" The harsh, grouchy voice of my hired chauffer shatters through my world and I'm forcefully pulled back to reality.
"Yes?" I ask, pushing pause and removing a single giant muff from my right ear.
The driver's features instantly relax as soon as I acknowledge him. "Um… we're here," he says with a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed that he had yelled at me. My eyes stray away from his old, relatively unattractive face and look outside the tinted windows. Frick'n hell. I wasn't expecting skyscrapers and I had prepared myself for more green shrubbery than I was used to but this is just… absurd. They don't truly expect me to live here, do they? I had watched Hart of Dixie to prepare myself for a small, southern town but even that didn't prepare me!
Little suburban houses lined the streets, cute flowerbeds outside the house and basketball nets in the driveways. Trees swayed everywhere and it seemed almost 90% nature. I hadn't seen this much outdoors since the last time I watched the Discovery Channel's special on the jungle. "This is Barden, Georgia?" I ask in disbelief, hoping against all hope that this was a practical joke.
"Yes indeed, ma'am," says the driver. "Ain't it gorgeous?"
"Um… not really," I respond derogatorily.
"I used to live in a small town like this, everybody knew everybody, it was marvelous," he replies as though he had not hear my rude comment. It was only until now did I realize his southern accent.
"That's… nice," I say, trying not to further insult his childhood.
"Sure is," he says with a big, bright smile. Clearing his throat, he continues on, "Well, we should really get you unpacked."
He swiftly leaves the car and opens my door as I stow my iPod away in my back pocket. "Wait! This is where I'm staying?"
"Yes indeed," he says jollily. "Right over there!" I look towards where his hand hastily points before pulling my bags out of the small trunk. The house is dull yellow (already a turn off due to it's uniformity to the colors of other houses), with the classic perfect white door, off the side garage, well-kept roses, and even the perfect looking wooden porch with a rocking chair to the right. This house can't scream more 'cliché' if it wanted to.
"You're kidding," I scoff.
"No ma'am," he says with a cheerful smile. "Let's go!" He walks slowly, but still with a joyful jaunt in his step as he carries my few, heavy bags along into my house. I watch in awe as he reaches up over the doorframe, grabs what I presume to be the key, and waltzes in like this is all so normal. "Don't just stand there, Miss!" Closing my mouth, I suck up my pride and walk over to my new 'home' for the next few months.
Within four hours everything was set up. The people that were living here previously took all of their stuff with them, luckily though the company had already sent a majority of my stuff over so it was really easy moving in. I just told them to set it up as much like my old place as possible. The only thing left to set-up was my recording studio, which I refused to let anybody else touch, so within four hours everything was set and I had even mixed a few measures of music.
It was only until the grumbling of my stomach could literally be heard over the sound of my twenty-decibels-too-loud music that I realized I am starving. Pulling off my headphones, I push the pause button on my newest mix. The sound of silence in comparison to the sound that had been blazing through the 'phones only moments ago is startling. Quietly, I turn the music back on to avoid utter silence and turn it down just enough so you could hear it from any corner of the house, even if it did sound only like a soft buzzing lull from a distance away. It's almost like a phobia, being without music. I guess overtime you just grow so used to it being there that it becomes almost sickening for it to be gone.
I trudge around my house looking for the fridge, my stomach growing more impatient by the moment. Victory! I finally see the small, distinct light of the fridge only a room away. Rushing over, I throw it open in hopes to see a mountain of food that I can make in five minutes of less. As soon as I open it a beautiful smell hits my face and a wave of disappointment, soon washing it away. I have a fridge full of food, and have no idea how to cook.
Shit! I remember when I attempted to make myself two eggs at my last house. That night I ate out… after the fire department came and put my kitchen out. Accepting that I'd have to do the same tonight, I close the fridge, silence the music, grab my computer off the desk, and walk out the door.
Thankfully, Georgia is rather warm in the summer so I'm barely cold, even at eight o'clock. I have absolutely no idea where I'm headed. Pulling out my phone from my back pocket, I turn on Andy Grammer's "Miss Me" and bring up a map of the small town. Within fifteen minutes I'm standing outside of a small, local diner called 'Fat Amy's.'
Curiously, I stare through the window to see if anybody was there. Fat Amy's… weird name for a diner. I guess the fat is some sort of 'if you come here you'll get fat because you'll never be able to stop eating' sort of gag. Only a small group of two or three bored teenagers sits inside, gossiping about who knows what? Deciding that this barely populated place might just be okay for tonight I stroll into the diner, the bell ringing a high pitched-tune as I open the door.
Instantly, the gossiping girls look up and their talking turns to low and almost silent whispers. "Um… hey," I say awkwardly, approaching the counter. The large blonde whirls around as soon as she hears my voice.
"Wow! You're weird!" Her Australian accent is apparent as she insults me.
"Um… excuse me?" Well if this is customer service…
"No, I mean, I know everybody in this town and only the locals come here, which means you must be new to town… which is weird… because I don't know why anyone would want to live here," she says, her nose wrinkling up as she thinks.
"Oh," I reply. That makes sense. Wait… "Then why do you live here?"
"Grew up here," she replies with a boring shrug. "Plus this diner is family owned and my mom insisted that I keep it in her will." She rolls her eyes as if it's the worst thing in the world.
"Family owned? Huh… why's it called Fat Amy's?"
"Oh," she laughs. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Fat Amy." I raise an eyebrow as she says it.
"You call yourself Fat Amy?" I ask skeptically. What is she, a future rapper? Actually I'm looking for an up and coming rapper so maybe she's good…
"So twig bitches like you don't do it behind my back." She says it like calling someone a bitch after two minutes is normal. Maybe she's not a rapper…
"Um… ok," I say.
"So who are you, Ms. Mysterious?"
"Beca," I reply, offering a hand for her to shake. She motions for me to say my last name. "Just Beca." Understanding that she's not going to get me to budge on the last name she takes my hand and gives it a hard shake.
"So Beca, are you Jewish, because you look Jewish," she questions. "Then again, you looked deaf when I first saw ya and clearly your not."
"No," I ask, giving her a queer look.
"Are you from New York?"
"California born and raised." Clearly, she was getting annoyed that none of her prophecies were correct.
"Republican?"
"Democrat."
"Scientist?"
"Musician."
"Bieber?"
"Talented." Her nose crinkles in disgust at that response.
"Married?"
"No."
"Gay?"
Pausing a moment, I consider answering falsely. Sure the press is aware of my sexuality and basically the entire world knows but I've never really told anyone because they all already knew. "Yes," I reply truthfully.
"Oh! I called it," she says, fist-pumping up into the air. "You just have this 'I like pussy' vibe coming off of you."
"Um… okay?"
"Yeah, it was so obvious you were hitting on all this." Confidently, she motions down her body. "Sorry to break it to you but I'm straight."
"Riiight." Best just to let people believe what they want. When you're gay it doesn't matter what you say. Anyways, if she's homophobic than it doesn't matter what she thinks.
"It's cool though, the gays and I are tight," says Fat Amy with a smile. "Anyways, so what will you be having?"
"Um… something quick and easy," I suggest. Immediately Fat Amy gives me a look and sends me a wink. What… oh wait! "Not like that!"
"Fine," she says dramatically. "How 'bout a cheeseburger and fries?"
"Yeah, please," I sigh. As 'Fat Amy' walks off to prepare my burger I calmly pull out my laptop and get some basic mixing equipment up on the screen.
Just as I'm about to put my headphones on I hear Fat Amy call out, "Hey, you know what, I'm going to take you around town. You've got to see everything Barden's got to offer." With two fingers she moves them up and down in the air, imitating a sex move that I personally love.
"Um… yeah, sure," I ask, not really listening. I really just want to go back to my music. She's probably just teasing me about sex. She probably responds, but I don't hear her as the music takes over my everything once again.