Happy Quarantine everyone! I'm losing my MIND! Decided on a game called, "Write Based off of the First Three Songs on Shuffle". So here I am. Still, laptopless. Still Obviousless. Even after all this time. I'm still mourning. But- Enjoy!
Despite everything, Chloe Beale was still a little bit surprised that Aubrey remained her friend. And her best friend, at that.
It was a Friday afternoon- they were stuck in LA traffic, as usual, and Chloe had rolled the windows down despite the risk. She could only take the AC for so long- she needed some fresh air. Luckily for her, there appeared to be no paparazzi sniffing around in her general vicinity. She wasn't an A lister- and she thanked God for that- so she could usually get away with a little bit of freedom.
In her passenger side seat, sat Aubrey, who was methodically filing her nails, lost in thought. Chloe was, too- and she was more than comfortable with silence, anyways. The white noise of the radio, barely audible, was filling up the pockets of dead air between every mental sentence.
Chloe, of course, was thinking the whole Aubrey thing- and her endless gratitude, as well as minute awe, that she was still by her side. It'd certainly been a bizarre few years.
"And next up," The radio DJ announces, "Heartless, spending it's fifth week in the top ten!"
Chloe reaches for the knob to turn it up- at the very same moment that Aubrey groans. Hesitating, Chloe only lets her fingertips graze the knob; turning it just a notch, or two- as opposed to the full force bass blasting that she was ready to welcome.
"I am so over this song," Aubrey mutters. "Seriously, how does this get on to the top ten? It's so misogynistic."
This is part of the reason Chloe is surprised. She shrugs. "I like it."
"Never need a bitch, I'm what a bitch need?" Aubrey recites with a roll of her eyes, before returning her attention back to her nails. "Selling dreams to these women with their guard down?"
Everything on the radio was questionable. Chloe just shrugs again, allowing the car to creep forward a few feet where it was due. "Who sings this again?"
"Some person I've never heard of before."
The conversation ends there, Chloe resigning to enjoy it by herself, in silence. Tapping along to the beat against her steering wheel.
Her place is modest. Chloe doesn't feel bad about how she was able to afford it- or her car. She had a penchant for showing up in the right place at the right time, maybe she was naturally lucky, she wasn't sure. The money was still coming in, although she was pursuing different avenues of business now.
It was a spacious apartment on the fourteenth floor of a sixteen floor building- not too bad. She was comfortable. Her funds were starting to deplete a little bit, but she wasn't worrying yet.
After all, she could always fall back to her old ways if need be.
She and Aubrey parted ways as she arrived home; Aubrey lived a few blocks away, also in an apartment- but it was second floor, and half the size of Chloe's.
As she enters her home, Chloe sets her keys in the bowl next to the door, takes off her heels, and lets her hair down. She could use a shower- or a long soak in the tub. Some wine.
LA was killing her.
Sighing, pulls out the bottle of wine she'd opened a few nights ago from the fridge and pours herself half a glass, before returning it to its place and heading to the bedroom. She begins the faucet in the master bathroom and plugs the tub. She should email Gail. She was sort of dancing in limbo of her career right now- with no specific goal in mind, no task. Stagnant. That needed fixing. She needed to put her energy into something before she deteriorated.
Humming to herself, Chloe strips, and lets the hot water of the tub sting her- inch by inch- on her way in. Adjusting slowly, until she was submerged to her shoulders. Sipping her wine, she creates her email, presses send, and then heads to Twitter.
"Hey, Google?" She shouts. She can see in the dark of her bedroom through the open door as the little robot lights up, ready for its request. "Play top forty."
"Playing today's top forty." It responds, and she continues on her merry way. Retweeting a few things, liking a few others, ignoring the weirdo's that try to direct message or tweet her. Its only a matter of time, however- when she's almost at the bottom of her glass- when the opening chords for Heartless begin filtering through the speakers.
Oh, right, she thinks to herself, I wanted to know who this is.
Leaving the Twitter app, Chloe opens her browser and begins typing her question for the internet gods to answer, mindlessly bopping her head to the tune. It was catchy, that's for sure. A great way to enter the scene.
Who sings Heartless?
The browser loads and Chloe scrolls a few articles down- looking for a Wikipedia under Beca M. There wasn't one yet- wow, really a great way to enter the scene. This girl was clearly fresh. Chloe selects the 'Images' option, and scrolls through a few, a deep furrow building between her brows with every one she saw.
Did this girl used to go to my highschool?
With her free hand, Chloe reaches for her glass and takes another sip. "Hey, Google?"
The music ceases as Google asks, "Hmm?"
"Play Beca M."
"Okay, playing Beca M on Spotify."
The opening beats of an unfamiliar song starts to filter through her speakers now. It was nothing like her hit- it was dark, a kind of rap. She lets it play for a minute. "Next song." She commands, and another polar opposite from both begins to play. Underground, experimental kind of music. Somewhere between punk and rap. Lots of guitar in this one. It showcased her vocals more, which Chloe liked. "Next song." She requests again. Piano. A sad song, slow.
"I'm in New York, you're in LA,"
Chloe settles back in, deciding after a few moments that she would let this one stay. This girls genre couldn't be pinned down. She continues scrolling through a couple more photos, before shifting back to Twitter, and typing the girls name into the search bar. She was easy to find, but didn't seem to be very active. After a moment of careful consideration, Chloe hits follow, and then shifts again to Instagram and does the same. The girl seems to be more active on this platform; a post two days ago, and a post a week ago.
She looks so familiar.
As that song ends, another comes on; something else darker and heavily distorted by bass again. I can't believe this tiny girl is putting this kind of stuff out. Chloe finishes her wine, setting the glass on the floor next to the tub. "Google, next song, please." Dark guitar, not her style. "Next song." But for whatever reason, she can't stop. Acoustic, sweet chords. Chloe could tell there was minimal alteration to this one. She lets it play through- contemplating whether or not she was done lingering on this girls page. She skips another, lets another two play. It was like Russian Roulette with sound.
The bath water was starting to become lukewarm, and Chloe expertisely pulls the plug out with her toes; stretching to set her phone down atop of the closed toilet seat as she rose.
And that's when she hears it.
Pausing, Chloe tries to decipher whether or not she was suddenly experiencing some kind of hallucination.
No, she thinks, after a moment, as the dark rap begins to layer itself over the sample- that's definitely me.
"Google?" She asks, bath water dripping off of her. "What song is this?"
"This is Hard to Tell, by Beca M."
She sampled one of my songs. Sure, her voice was distorted and only distantly noticeable; it wasn't like it was a smash hit, or anything. Most people would have no idea. Hastily, she wraps a towel around her midsection and reaches for her phone again; pulling up Spotify and plugging this girls name into her search bar at lightspeed; navigating through her limited catalogue of music.
There it was; Hard to Tell (Chloe Beale sample).
Something in Chloe's chest fluttered; so she had credited her- even if it wasn't a connected feature.
A bubble of laughter escapes before she can stop it- what are the chances?
"Hey Google? Call Aubrey," She steps back- her heel connecting with something that sends a twinkling shatter across her bathroom floor- shit. The wineglass. Craning her neck, Chloe assesses the damage while Google affirms her that it is working on calling Aubrey, a dial tone following afterwards.
Stooping down, Chloe begins carefully plucking through the larger glasses on the floor discarding them into the trash can next to the sink.
"Hello?" Aubrey sounds genuinely confused as to why she was hearing from her friend so soon- and the fleeting thought crosses her mind that she should have checked the time before calling.
"Hey, Aubs," Chloe hollers back, checking the time now. Only a couple of minutes past eight. God, she should've had some food before the wine, too.
"Is everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah," Deciding she had plucked all of the large pieces from the floor, Chloe stands. "The weirdest thing just happened, that's all. I needed to tell someone."
There was static for a moment. "Oh?"
She taps her fingers against the counter, pointedly avoiding her reflection for the time being. "You know in the car, how I asked who sung that song you hate?"
Aubrey hums affirmatively. Chloe can imagine her now, curled up in pyjamas on her bed, with her own glass of wine, waiting for Jesse to get off of work. Netflix paused to entertain Chloe.
It sounds stupid, now, to her. Why was this important? "Well," She clears her throat. "I looked it up. And then I was going through the girls Spotify,"
"Uh-huh,"
"And- she sampled me in one of her songs,"
The silence that follows that seems to last eons. So long, that Chloe wonders if the connection failed, and she detaches herself from her sink to check.
A sharp pain slices through her foot, and she hisses; lifting it up and examining the small bead of blood emerging on her heel. Shit.
"I don't know what that means." Aubrey finally says.
"Shit," Chloe says softly, looking down at the wound.
Neither do I.