Disclaimer: I do not own the characters represented in this fiction. They are the property of the creative minds behind the book and film adaptation.
Rating: T for now, M for later chapters
Pairing: Beca/Chloe
Summary: AU. Beca Mitchell was a simple soul. All she needed was the vinyl at her fingertips and the sound of the rhythm and beat. Or so she thought. When her girlfriend breaks up with her, Beca is left to ponder what went wrong. Luckily, she has some help…and a whole lot of lists.
Alright, everyone! Here we are again. As CJ and I mentioned before, this is a very different story from Stone Hard, but we hope you guys like it. If you've seen the film High Fidelity, this fic has a similar premise. It is a Bechloe, but our girls have a long journey ahead of them.
We hope you enjoy, and without further ado...
WHAT CAME FIRST, THE MUSIC OR THE MISERY
CHAPTER 1
There's something to be said about a good woman. Not just a good woman, but a woman who has such an impact on a person that she is forever immortalized in song.
Think about it for a second.
Artists emote through music and lyrics. They pour semblance of their souls into a track that they hope will connect to the masses. What's more universal than love? What makes you feel more than love?
And, of course, nothing makes a person feel more in the spectrum of love than heartbreak. Misery. Despair.
No one is exempt from heartbreak. It's just as universal as love. And some of the best tracks that have stood the test of time were those inspired by a woman. Eric Clapton's "Layla" is personified in George Harrison's wife Pattie Boyd, Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" was an ode to Caroline Kennedy, and, yes, there was actually a Sharona for The Knacks to call theirs – she's now a realtor in Los Angeles.
And, of course, there's the eponymous Jane whose presence in Adam Levine's life spawned an entire album.
It's gotta be some kind of woman to prompt such visceral emotion – good or bad – from a person to commit those feelings to song. Unfortunately, there is a universal truth when facing a ballad inspired by a woman, even a good woman:
No one writes love songs about the ones that come easy.
xxx-xxx-xxx
There was a lot to like about being a producer. In some ways, a producer had even more creative control than the artist. The producer was the one who made the decision towards the direction of the track and album. The producer was the manipulator of sound and rhythm. The artist may receive the glory, but the producer was the one who constructed the path. One could liken the role of a music producer to a puppeteer, pulling the strings the make the marionette dance.
Maybe it was the need for control that chased Beca Mitchell behind the scenes when it came to music. She had a good voice, had a sense of rhythm, and a strong stage presence that would have propelled her to stardom, but none of that came to fruition. Instead, she stayed in the booth, remaining the musical genius behind the latest albums and tracks.
Gold Monarch Records was one of the top record labels in the country, and Beca had garnered the reputation as being tough to work with. Not in the sense that she was difficult, but in the sense that she pushed and challenged her artists. Mediocrity and laziness were not tolerated in Beca Mitchell's presence, and that nugget of wisdom had traveled through the industry, warning away the artists who were looking to ride the coattails of the Mitchell name to exposure. Beca's tenacity and diligence were appreciated by the ones who wanted to work for their success, and it had made her the most sought-after in the business.
Currently, Beca stood behind the glass in the sound room, shoulders hunched over her ears, fists braced on the mixing board. Her eyebrows were drawn together over a pair of dark navy eyes, mouth pinched in a mild scowl.
In the booth, Beca's given artist, a rising star, self-styled as Lil' Tyke, was crooning out a tune of Beca's creation. He was a young buck, full of bluster and an arrogance his talent had yet to catch up to. The young man had potential, anyone could see that fact. He had the look, the charisma, and the swagger necessary to survive in the shark-infested waters of the music industry. He was certainly a marketable prospect…but he hadn't quite realized where his caliber of talent fell in comparison to the greater musical spectrum.
Presently, Beca was tasked with making sure the talent he did have equated to at least one hit. While Lil' Tyke certainly had tools Beca could work with to push forward a passable hit, his ambition was assuming a range vastly beyond his capability. Prior to recording, he had asserted claims his voice had yet to deliver. Yet as the takes proceeded, the voice he had declared would reach the note he had boasted would be "Girl, no problem" was not living up to his conceited proclamations. And as Lil Tyke failed for the umpteenth time to produce a sound even comparable to the transcribed note, Beca's bearing and demeanor had gotten progressively more irritated.
The engineers around her inched their chairs away from the tiny brunette. They knew that look, that posture.
Beca Mitchell was not happy.
And when Beca Mitchell wasn't happy, the arm of her wrath reached long, forceful, and indiscriminate.
Her jaw ticked, stance tensing even further as they cut the tape. Lil' Tyke crossed his arms, leaning back in satisfaction as his crew behind him whooped it up. He turned to Beca and hitched his chin for her opinion.
"Awesome, right?"
Beca's head rotated slowly to the right, then to the left. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back.
"No," she answered simply.
It was clear he wasn't used to anyone doing anything but singing his praises. Beca likened his expression to something she would have seen if she had smacked him upside the head with a two-by-four. "What?"
"No," Beca repeated. "As in negative," she clarified. "As in I disagree."
"Wait, are you serious?"
Beca looked unimpressed, the expression adorning her face answer enough. An eyebrow arched upward in contention. "Would you like me to tell you that it was good?"
Tyke spread his arms, shaking his head slightly. "Well, yeah."
The second eyebrow ascended to join the first. "I'd be lying."
Beca let that sink in for a long time before she spoke again, her stare never wavering from the incredulous expression Lil' Tyke sported from inside the booth. "When you told me you were going for that note, it was with the underlying assumption that you were actually capable of reaching it," she drawled. "By my count, we've done seven different takes, and you still haven't done so." She leaned forward again, stare intense and full of resolve. "So, why don't you stop wasting my time and my tape and let's find a way to make the same impact but in a manner you can actually sing."
"I can sing it," Tyke insisted.
"Seven takes says otherwise," Beca countered. Her head tilted, mouth set in a pensive frown as he continued to argue with her. She reached over pressing a button, a clear note booming through the speakers, drowning out Tyke's protest. "That's the note I'm looking for." She cued up a sound bite and pressed another button. What came through was certainly a note that could be categorized on a scale…yet couldn't even be compared to the first sound. In fact, it made most people in the studio flinch.
"That's what you just sang." Beca's stare bore into Tyke's. He shifted under her scrutiny. Beca's head hitched to the equipment. "Tape doesn't lie."
She could see Tyke's jaw tense, and he looked away in an attempt to regain his bravado.
Beca crossed her arms. "Look, man, I'm not here to entertain your delusions of grandeur. I'm here to make a quality record. If you can't hit the note, we're not putting it in there, simple as that. Another producer might help you along and manipulate your voice to maintain the illusion, but I'm not that producer. Auto-Tune has no place in this booth. I'm not going to sacrifice my musical integrity to feed your ego."
She could see him clench his jaw, averting his eyes. It was like a shark smelling blood in the water and inching forward for the kill. She knew she had him by the scruff of his neck, and she was looking to tighten her grip and drive the dagger home.
"Say we do a little music magic. Say you miraculously hit the note here," she posed. "People marvel at your vocal gymnastics. You're deemed a musical stud." Beca's eyes glittered dangerously. "And then you hit the live show, millions of people watching, waiting for you to nail the note and leave them breathless in awe…and you don't deliver. What's supposed to be your shining moment, your vocal climax falls flat, splutters, and dies."
Tyke swallowed hard, dropping his head, but not before Beca caught the flash of fear skating through his gaze. She had hit a nerve, as she knew she would. Nothing terrified a performer more than the idea that they couldn't deliver during a live performance.
Beca leaned forward, eyes narrowing, continuing to pour it on, solidifying her point. "You're exposed, laid bare. There's no running, no hiding. People start speculating, wondering how you can hit the note in the booth, but not on stage when it really matters, when you're at your purest form vocally. Are you a fraud? Are you a Milli Vanilli? The whispers turn to shouts, turn to roars. They start peppering you with questions, demanding answers. What are you going to say then? Can you say anything?"
Beca let the notion linger, and it was clear how she became such an influential figure amidst her peers as her posture and expression spoke volumes, never wavering in their strength and tenacity. She stood tall as she issued her final ultimatum.
"The way I see it you've got a choice. Find a way to give me something I can work with or get the hell out of my studio."
And that was Beca Mitchell at her finest.
xxx-xxx-xxx
In the end, he did what she asked. They always did. It was either acquiesce or fire her. While seemingly a simple decision, it was clear Lil' Tyke was unwilling risk the wrath of his business team. Detaching Beca Mitchell's name from any project, regardless of who was walking away, was career suicide for an artist. And Lil' Tyke certainly wasn't established enough to be able to recoup from that sort of hit to his reputation. Beca, on the other hand, could easily replace Lil' Tyke with a number of more prominent artists that promised an even greater return for her services. It was something she relished, that little amount of autonomy to be able to work with artists who truly bought into her organic, raw direction of music.
Finally alone, free from Tyke and his entourage, the suits, and the rest of the staff, Beca reclined back in her chair, her eyes focused on the recording booth. Her fingers cupped her chin as her stare seemed to look although she certainly didn't see. She was lost in thought, pensive and slightly melancholic as she leaned back in her cushy chair, looking at the opulence she was surrounded by. Beca glanced up as her manager sidled into the room, a wry smile on her stunning features.
Elena Holloway was the essence of grace and elegance, an interesting physical foil to her scruffy, gruff client. She represented the perfect complement to Beca in many ways. She softened the hard edges of the prickly, brusque producer, providing the charming, charismatic counterpoint when faced with the task of 'selling' Beca to potential buyers. Often Beca's talent spoke for itself, but not many people understood that working with Beca's talent also meant working with Beca…which sometimes didn't provide as much of a tantalizing option. Elena provided the professional, calming influence to Beca's fiery disposition.
Elena propped herself on the desk, legs crossing primly. Not for the first time, Beca followed the long, tanned lines, entertaining the lustful thoughts that flickered through her mind. Shaking her head to clear the idle musings, she smirked up at her manager.
"Nice of you to join me," she drawled. "Don't know how good of company I'll be."
Elena chuckled. "You're at your best when you're not talking, but I get that's wishful thinking on my part."
"Ha. Ha," Beca deadpanned.
Elena smiled, dark brown eyes twinkling as her dimpled, roguish grin lit up her features. "You were rough on him," she remarked, flicking her wave of raven hair over her shoulder. "I thought he was gonna cry."
Beca smirked. "That would have been awesome."
Elena rolled her eyes. She didn't doubt Beca would have found humor in the predicament. "You're evil."
Beca laughed. "No. I just have don't have patience for that sort of thing. No one is going to be nice to you in this business. Between the critics that will tear apart the record you've put your heart and soul into, the corporate pundits who only look at the numbers, and the Joe Schmoes who can't tell the difference between a large-diaphragm true condenser microphone and a Mr. Mike yet find it perfectly appropriate to presume they have the credentials and the wherewithal to accurately analyze your album…" Beca shrugged. "It's a tough world out there. Anyone with a pen and paper or a phone or a keyboard can say whatever they want to and put it out there for anyone with access to the Internet to see."
"So you took it upon yourself to toughen him up?" Elena surmised.
"No," Beca countered. "I just didn't particularly like him and wanted to be mean." As Elena rolled her eyes, Beca continued. "But, he also needed a reality check. He can't have thin skin, and the people who are going to be the toughest on you are the people with the purse strings. The bottom line is if you can't make them their money, they have no use for you."
Elena eyed Beca closely. There was a gravity to her tone, one that spoke volumes to her intent. Elena cocked her head. "That sounds morbid."
Beca scoffed. "It's the truth. And it's something I battle every day." She lofted her head, chin tilting in defiance. "I'm never going to give them a chance to cut me loose," she vowed. "If it ever comes to that I'm going to be the one to walk away, and I'm going to do it with a lot of zeroes in my bank account."
"Sounds like you're in this for the money," Elena teased.
Beca shrugged blithely. "Maybe I am." She smirked sardonically. "I'd be lying if I told you my intentions were purely altruistic. I love music, but I love what music can do for me a hell of a lot more than what I can do for it."
"Top five reasons I'm in the music industry," Beca lofted her hand, fingers spread wide as she ticked off her points. "One, the money. I make a fuckton of cash. Two, the power. The artist does what I say, when I say it, and how I say it. Three, the fame. It is very cool to have fans and other famous people as fans. Four, the perks. Table at a five-star restaurant? Done. And five, I'm damned good at what I do." Beca smirked, shrugging sardonically. "The end."
Elena chuckled. "You and your lists."
"Lists are awesome," Beca proclaimed. "Neat and succinct. What's not to like?"
Elena inclined her head. "So you're in it for the fame and fortune," she surmised.
"Gotta pay the bills somehow," Beca chided. "May as well be with something at least somewhat pleasurable."
Elena nodded her concurrence. "Don't we all wish money wasn't an issue," she lamented.
Beca chuckled. "Yeah. But it's a necessary evil." She cast a glance around the booth. "I'm not looking to change the world," she mused. "There are people like Macklemore who are using their talent to send a message, to push awareness on a social issue." Beca shrugged. "That's noble, for sure. I wish I had that kind of fire and passion, but I don't. I just make music people want to hear. My audience is the masses."
"Revolution be damned, huh?" Elena stated. "Not looking to rally the troops to the cause?"
"I wish I had that luxury," Beca admitted. "But I've been tasked with making 'fun, marketable music' that's 'designed to sell records and win Grammys'." Beca smirked ruefully. "When that's what I've got to work with…" She trailed off, letting the rest of the statement hang in the air. Beca shrugged. "It is what it is."
Elena's brows drew together. "You sound like you're miserable."
Beca let out a bark of laughter. "I do, don't I?" She shook her head, reclining back in her chair, hands laced behind her neck. "Right? The way I'm talking, it's like this is seriously hard, dismal work." Beca's expression relaxed to a fond smile. "No, I love what I do, I honestly do."
She fell silent, her expression drifting to that pensive lilt, and Elena surveyed her carefully. There seemed to be something right at the tip of Beca's tongue.
"What?" Elena coaxed.
Beca started as though she remembered "I just can't do everything that I want to do."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm handcuffed," Beca explained. "I can work with whoever I want, but it's limited to the catalogue I'm given. I can create any song I want, but it's gotta fit with the label's image."
Elena cocked her head. "And you're not satisfied by that?"
"It does lack a certain freedom," Beca hedged. "I would have never taken on someone like Tyke if it was up to me."
Elena nodded her head. "So make your own label," she suggested. "Cut yourself free from all of that."
Beca sighed. There was a wistful air to her voice. "Yeah, don't know about that." Her mouth curled wryly. "There's something to be said about a safety net."
Elena acknowledged the implication with a shrug. "Maybe. There's also something to be said about taking a risk."
Beca absorbed that for a long moment.
Elena chuckled. "So we've established you're miserable," she chided. "You've got to have something that makes you happy."
Beca leaned back in her chair, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Yeah. I do."
xxx-xxx-xxx
Beca could understand that there was a lot of opulence in her life. She never had to worry about money, she lived comfortably, and she was currently driving a Mercedes SUV. But pulling up in front of her record store provided her more happiness than many of the materialistic things currently in her possession. The front looked like the marquee of an old theatre, highlighted by the logo of the store in the shape of an old LP record. The name "Throwback Vinyl" blinked at her from its spot and she couldn't help the smile from blooming.
Beca threw open the doors, casting a glance at the shelves of vinyl and CDs that lined the wall. Ascending down the short steps to the main floor, she made her way across Throwback towards her office.
A rotund blonde peered up at her from the bangs in her eyesight, offering out a salutation as she crossed in front of the checkout counter. "Hey, Boss," the self-styled "Fat" Amy greeted in a voice tinged with an Australian accent.
"Amy," Beca returned. Her nose wrinkled as the tones of Baja Men's "Who Let the Dogs Out?" registered in her ears. "Get that shit off my speakers," she ordered, gesturing vaguely around the room. "We're a classy establishment!"
"No love for the 90s, eh?" Amy chided, obliging her boss and heading towards the stereo system.
"No love for one-hit wonders whose contribution to popular music involved barking like a canine in reference to ugly women," Beca answered blithely.
Her second employee, Jesse Swanson poked his head out from the storage room at the sound of her voice, a clipboard and pen cradled in his hands. Immediately, he made a beeline to Beca. "Hey, Boss."
Beca indulged him with a smile. "Hey, Jess."
He flipped to a page in the notepad clamped over the inventory sheet, reading from a list. "Okay, so 'Italian Stallion', 'Plastics', 'Human-Cyborg Relations', and 'The Dueling Cavaliers'." He looked to Beca for her opinion.
"No," she answered promptly.
Jesse stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open before he gathered his wits, scurrying after her. "What? Why not?"
It was a long-standing routine between them. Jesse would accost Beca every week to run potential band names by her, wanting the producer's opinion on the different ideas running through his head.
"Because they're lame," Beca returned. "None of those band names would look good on an album."
"Some of the greatest band names and stage names lend reference to songs the performers found inspiration in!" Jesse insisted, following her through the store. "Lady Gaga's stage name was inspired by Queen's 'Radio Ga Ga'; The Killers derive their name from the fictional band in the music video for the New Order's song 'Crystal'; pop punk band All Time Low found their name from a New Found Glory song – 'Head On Collision' if you didn't know…" Jesse gulped as Beca's stare pierced through him at the implication. "But…of course you knew…" He let out a stuttering chuckle, clearing his throat and gesturing to his pad. "These names are homages to some of the greatest scored films of all time!"
Beca groaned, holding up a hand to stop him. "Jesse, I hate movies. That's not helping your case." She leveled a significant look his direction. "Remember, this is the name your fans are forever going to associate with you."
Jesse absorbed that tidbit of information, his eyes dropping down to the possibilities scrawled across the paper. He sighed, hands thrown in the air. "Back to the drawing board," he grumbled, returning to the depths of the store.
"How about back to work?" Beca shouted back over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs to the second story where her office overlooked the main floor. Beca tossed her briefcase on the couch and flopped into her chair. With a hefty sigh, she kicked her feet up on the desk, peering over the railing to her employees below.
This was one of the few things that made her truly happy. She had purchased this shop five years into her career, at a time when she had more money than she knew what to do with. In the age where digital media ruled supreme, her store was a relic. But, against all rational thought, it thrived, consistently turning in profit and ushering in more generations to the forgotten medium of vinyl. Throwback operated as a haven for those who relished in the tangible experience of music, for those people who liked to feel the smooth grooves of vinyl or the shiny contours of a disc.
When she had envisioned this place, she wanted it to be something beyond just a record shop. So, to facilitate that vision, in the corner was a small bar that served coffee and drinks and provided a lounge for sitting around and talking, preferably about music. It was a modern-day salon for the mavens who embraced melodic sound wave in all its form.
It was nice to have this escape away from the studio. It was nice to have place where she could just simply talk bands and tracks with her two insane – yet knowledgeable – employees and other likeminded folks. This was where the images could fade away, and a person could hold an intelligent conversation, no matter what the preferences were, or the perceptions assumed.
One of her regulars, an awesome middle-aged professor of fine arts named Louis, had jokingly called them all music snobs, elitist scholars who relished in putting less educated cretins in the bargain basement dwelling they rightly deserved for not only indulging in crap but also championing it as cornerstones of contemporary melody.
Fuckin' quote it.
And hell yeah.
It was certainly true.
But it spoke of something more. It spoke of a honed appreciation for quality that transcended through different eras beyond the contemporary, something that was often eschewed in favor of marketability.
Beca believed in compartmentalizing.
She knew as a producer for her label that she operated in a very small circumference in the sphere of what she could and couldn't do in terms of sound. It pigeon-holed her from truly experimenting, from truly unleashing the torrent of innovations that resided in the deep, emotional caverns of her brain. That was the stuff that would truly separate herself from everyone else.
Unfortunately, those things didn't fit with the label's image. So, she was forced to exercise the little autonomy she had to bring a diverse experience that screamed of the creativity that was stifled beneath expectations.
Paradox?
Yeah.
Slightly hypocritical?
Probably.
But it was survival, in a manner of speaking.
…At least for now.
She was shaken from her ruminations by another song booming through the store in the form of Katy Perry's "Wide Awake". Beca groaned, tipping her head back.
"C'mon, Amy!" she howled, standing from her chair. "Not Katy Perry, either! That fucking song always gets stuck in my head, and I refuse to spend the rest of the afternoon humming that godforsaken lyric!" She stomped down the stairs, heading to the sound system, and cued up a playlist that better represented the musical tastes of Throwback.
"Seriously," Beca growled. "I hired you because you exemplified musical taste. Don't make me regret that."
Amy backed away from their system, hands held aloft. "Sorry, Little Boss Lady," she apologized. "I was blinded by my ambition and enduring love for Miss Perry who is considered an honorary Tasmanian deity. One of the few with teeth."
Beca shook her head, turning her attention to the monitor and clicking on a song. Within seconds, Imagine Dragons' "Radioactive" thumped through the speakers.
"Bow to my musical superiority," Beca commanded, sweeping her arms out wide as she clambered onto the desk, lording over her minions.
"So…but do you guys, like, actually sell records. Because I gotta tell you, I've never seen anyone actually purchase merchandise from you guys."
Beca glanced up at the voice drifting from the entrance of the store. The first thing she saw was the boobs.
But that was normal considering that was Stacie Conrad's most recognizable feature.
And they entered the room way before the rest of her did.
Beca hopped down to sit on top of the counter as her best friend descended the stairs and strutted onto the floor, long legs quickly traversing the distance between the door and Beca. Stacie greeted her longtime friend with a kiss to the cheek and a flirtatious wave to the smaller brunette's two employees.
"Hey, guys."
Beca rolled her eyes. "Of course we sell records," she differed. "How else do you suppose I've kept this place open for so long?"
Stacie laughed, making her way over to the bar and hopping up onto the counter. Leaning back over the side, she helped herself to a soft drink and a small dish of pasta salad. As she straightened, Beca cocked an eyebrow.
"You gonna pay for that?"
Stacie scoffed, forking a bit of salad into her mouth. "I know the owner," she teased, continuing to eat.
Beca laughed, shaking her head. "Well, if we go belly-up, it'll be because someone never paid for any of her drinks or food."
"Please," Stacie countered. "I've been in your life longer than this store. I take precedence."
Beca snorted, shooting a teasing glance to the tall brunette. "Please," she mocked. "The only reason you've been in my life for so long is because you never left. It's hardly a matter of choice."
Stacie finished the pasta salad and her soda, placing the dishes in the bin for dirty plates and cutlery and the empty can in the recycling bin. She strutted over to Beca draping herself over the smaller woman.
"C'mon, Becs," she purred, sexuality oozing from her tone and posture. "It was a matter of you can't quit me."
Beca laughed but didn't deny Stacie's assertion, her arms looping around the other woman's waist. "Hey, hey, hey, Conrad. I'm a taken woman. People could get the wrong idea about us. Besides," she hitched her head to Jesse, his mouth agape at the display. "We might break Swanson."
Stacie giggled "Let him look," she teased. "Might be the most action he'll see in awhile." She winked, blowing a kiss to the awestruck college student.
Beca rolled her eyes fondly, directing her question to her best friend. "Don't you ever work?"
Stacie giggled, sliding off Beca and perching herself beside the producer on the countertop. "Of course I do." She poked Beca's side. "You're just jealous I have awesomely flexible hours."
"'Flexible hours' implies that you actually have an office you return to," Beca remarked. "And you spend almost all of your time here. When was the last time you were even in the building?"
Stacie shrugged. "I stop by for the staff meetings," she defended. "Not my fault I can work from anywhere."
"Hard life," Beca teased. "LA's premiere sex columnist has to tear herself from the torrent of letters and emails from her adoring followers and make an appearance with her lowly brethren."
"It's no cakewalk being the highest rated sex columnist in the state," Stacie lamented with a grin. "Everyone wants their advice from 'Sensual Secrets with Stacie Conrad'."
Beca laughed, nudging the other woman teasingly. "Not me."
Stacie giggled, throwing her head back as she kicked her legs. She leaned in, her voice dropping to that sensual tone Beca knew so well. "That's because you have first-hand experience," she husked.
Beca smirked. "So I do," she concurred. Her smirk softened as she remembered the years she and Stacie dated. It was hot and passionate, fiery when it began. The fire continued to rage in the duration of their relationship, and when it finally dissolved, their breakup was as explosive as the inferno that characterized their time together. Their greater connection, however, came when they had restructured their relationship into a strong, genuine friendship.
"We were good together, but, we're better as friends, huh?"
Stacie's smile froze slightly on her face. It was too quick for Beca to notice. She slung an arm around Beca's shoulders, pressing a kiss to the producer's cheek. "Of course we are."
Beca's eyes met the bright aquamarine of the taller brunette's, and a candid smile curved her lips. Outside of her family, there wasn't anyone she cherished more than Stacie.
The taller brunette glanced over Beca's shoulder and perked up as she spotted a hapless teenager wandering through the front doors. "Oooh!" she squealed. "A newbie!" Her gaze sparkled as she hopped off the counter. "Wanna bet I can make him think I work here?"
Beca slid off the counter, scrambling after her best friend. "Stacie, I swear if you lose this customer…"
Stacie's giggles trailed after the long-legged writer as she scampered off.
xxx-xxx-xxx
Beca huddled at her desk, hunching over her laptop as she read over one of the many emails overflowing her inbox. Unfortunately, it wasn't one she could ignore. Rubbing her hands over her face, she leaned back in her chair, head lolling back against the seat.
Ten years.
She had been in the business for almost ten years. At eighteen, Beca had arrived in LA a wide-eyed teenager, full of piss and vinegar, with dreams reaching from Georgia all the way to the west coast. Ten years ago, Beca Mitchell knew exactly what she was going to do with her life. She just didn't know how to get there.
She had never been more appreciative of her father than those first couple of months. Dr. Alton Mitchell, beloved professor of English, specializing in Comparative Literature at Barden University, career scholar and literal bookworm, supported his daughter's ambition to take the music industry by storm. Alton agreed to help Beca financially while she got her feet up under her. Conversely, her stepmother had called a couple of favors in and found Beca a few job possibilities that would allow the teenager to pay her dues.
They may have given her the nudge through the door, but Beca had been a student of the school of hard knocks to get to her current position. She was just lucky her parents were there to soften the blows.
Beca glanced over to one of the few pictures adorning her desk. It was a family portrait, taken not too long ago. She remembered the day with a fond smile. The intention had been to take a formal, family photo. In the middle of it, Sheila had thrown up her arms, proclaiming the idea "Complete and utter bollocks" and waved her hand at the photographer to simply keep taking pictures. She then proceeded to pinch her husband on the butt, prompting him to jump with a rather girlish squeak…which then resulted in Beca's older sister doubling over with laughter, Beca starting in surprise, and her younger brother getting tossed from his chair when their father's flailing hand caught him heavily on the shoulder. The result was a candid shot that simply radiated the affection the family held for one another.
Beca leaned back in her chair, eyes lofted to the ceiling. It was hard to have the family so spread out. Her father and stepmother were in Georgia during the school year while Alton conducted his classes at Barden. They came down to LA for the summers, but that seemed to be such little time to spend with her parents. Her sister lived and worked in LA as an editor for a prestigious publishing company, but between her busy schedule and trying to plan a wedding, Maggie was stretched a bit thin. And, of course, her younger brother Dillon was too busy being his university's star quarterback to think about anything other than football or school.
For some reason, today was emotionally exhausting. Maybe it would be alright to doze for a bit. She closed her eyes, shifting to find a comfortable spot…
…Only to bolt upright as the sharp ring of her office phone pierced through her silence. Snatching up the handset, she righted herself, speaking into the receiver.
"Throwback Vinyl, this is Beca."
"You're too good to answer your phone now?" The voice on the other end chided, humor clear in the tone despite the words.
Beca frowned. "Huh?"
"I've called your cell phone twice!"
Beca scrambled for her phone, pulling it out of a pocket in her jacket where it was slung over her chair. Sure enough, there were a few missed calls from various family members. She tilted the device to the side and cringed when a strip of red greeted her. She thumbed the switch, taking into her handset. "Aw, crap. Sorry, Dad. I was in the studio this morning and put it on silent."
Dr. Alton Mitchell chuckled. When trying to contact Beca, it was always a prudent decision to try all avenues of communication. It was not an uncommon occurrence that she failed to answer one of her many devices.
"Not surprising, Bec," he drawled. "It's why I called the store."
"Yeah, yeah," Beca chided. "So, what's up, Dad?"
"Unfortunately, your sister doesn't quite have the patience or fortitude to exhaust all avenues the way I do," Alton remarked. "She's been trying to get a hold of you for hours. She called me in a panic thinking you had been abducted by the mafia or something equally tragic."
Beca sighed. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shook her head. It was just like her older sister to immediately jump to that conclusion…as overly dramatic as it appeared. "Maggie needs to chill before she pops a brain vessel."
Alton laughed his agreement. "Well, she is trying to plan a wedding, but I honestly have no idea where that high strung personality came from," he admitted. "Just a warning, she probably assumed the worst and is on her way to the store to check up on you. You might want to take her out to lunch to ease her worries."
Beca huffed. "Of course she is." Beca rolled her eyes. "Noted."
"Speaking of erstwhile siblings," Alton continued. "I'm sure she also dragged your brother with her."
Beca groaned, scrunching a hand through her hair. Awesome. Just what she needed. Her lunkhead – albeit adorable and charmingly goofy – little brother around to irritate the ever-loving shit out of her. "Doesn't he have practice or something? Doesn't some meaty lineman have designs to knock him flat on his back for fun?"
Alton chuckled. "Sorry, champ. They're taking a break before fall camp starts." There was a rustling on the other end of the line. "Hang on. Sheila wants to talk to you."
"Beca?"
Beca grinned. "Stepmonster," she drawled, utilizing the affectionate nickname for her father's second wife.
Sheila Mitchell chuckled, her rich British accent making the sound all the more pleasing to the ear. "Oh, darling, it's not monsters this week," she corrected, the smirk clear in her voice. "Aliens actually."
Beca relaxed into her chair. Her father's second wife never failed to make her smile. A prosthetic makeup artist, Sheila had an endless supply of creative energy and innovative ideas when it came to artistic expression, and she often served as a sounding board when Beca was stuck in her own ventures.
"Anything gruesome?"
"Naturally," Sheila quipped. "You know that's my specialty." She laughed. "Anyway, darling, I did have a teensey-weensey favor to ask of you…"
Beca groaned. "Sheila, c'mon," she grunted. "I'm not going to listen to your cousin's daughter's best friend's boyfriend's demo because you think he's a promising young talent. I trust your judgment, but the label already has me in a chokehold."
"Flattering, Beca, but I was actually wondering if you could book a couple of plane tickets for me and your father. Our anniversary is coming up, and I wanted to surprise him. I just didn't want him to find out when he looks at a bank account statement or a credit card statement."
Beca chuckled. "You got it, Sheila. That I can certainly do."
"Alright then. I will text you the details soon." Sheila paused before venturing forward with her next question. "How are you, darling?"
Beca could hear the underlying question in Sheila's tone, and she paused before answering, knowing that there wasn't much she could mask from her stepmother. "One day at a time," she answered.
This time it was Sheila who paused. She hummed, a clear sign of her dissent.
Beca knew that tone and huffed out a sigh, throwing her head back. "C'mon, Sheila," she groaned.
Sheila mirrored Beca's sigh, the manner slightly more placating than her stepdaughter's. "Alright, alright, darling. I won't push. But don't think I'm dropping this for long."
"I expect nothing less."
Sheila chuckled. "Alright, baby. Lots of love."
"Bye, Momma Monster," Beca returned. She waited a moment as Sheila passed the phone to her husband. Alton's voice came back over the speaker. "Becs. Everything okay?"
"Everything is everything, Dad," Beca hedged.
Alton sighed, catching the same hesitation as his wife. Still, he also knew better than to push. That was Sheila's arena. "Alright, champ. I love you."
"Love you, Dad."
For better or for worse, she loved her family. Her father and stepmother were the rocks of her life, the pillars of support that often eased the burdens that ailed her.
She smiled, returning to her work. Okay, so there were more than a couple of things that made her happy.
xxx-xxx-xxx
Beca grinned, carefully handing the wrapped package to the customer with the receipt. "Good to see you, man."
The young man on the other side nodded his thanks, snagging the handles of the paper bag. "Thanks for the recommendation, Beca. This will be an awesome addition to my set."
Beca smiled, hopping the counter and clapping the budding DJ on the back. "No problem. I liked the mix you gave me last time; I just figured it needed something to switch it up. Can't go wrong with a solid throwback."
He grinned, heading towards the door, nodding to Amy and Jesse as he passed on his way out.
Jesse shuffled over, absently kicking his boss's sneaker as she hopped onto the counter. "Oh, so you'll listen to his stuff, but you won't listen to my band?"
"You know the difference between you and him, don't you?" Beca didn't let Jesse answer, merely continuing. "He's just looking for an opinion. You're looking for a record deal."
"What and he's not?"
Beca laughed. "No. He just wants my opinion on the flow and his song choice. Not everyone wants to be a Guetta, Jesse."
"Oh, c'mon."
"No, really," Beca insisted. "Some people are more than happy in the clubs. They don't see it as a stepping stone to a greater platform."
Jesse sighed, returning to the storeroom. Amy shook her head, hefting a crate of new records to catalogue. Beca chuckled, crossing to the front of the counter. She leaned against the front, crossing her arms with a smile as she took in her baby.
There was a moment of silence before the door flew open with a crash and a whirlwind of red hair and bright blue eyes charged in.
"What the hell, Beca?!"
Beca took a moment to marvel at the vision that was Chloe Beale. Her rich, copper hair flowed like a wave of flame behind her, her lithe, slender body encased in a power-cut skirt suit. The clicking of her Jimmy Choo stilettos echoed like thunder as all sound faded into nothingness in the wake of her entrance.
Ah. There was another thing that truly made Beca happy.
…
Who looked decidedly unhappy at the moment.
And that unhappiness seemed to be directed at her.
Just as the vision of a tranquil Chloe Beale could be the epitome of loveliness and beauty, the vision of an incensed Chloe Beale was the epitome of fury and vengeance.
Chloe was often underestimated in her given career. It wasn't easy navigating the sharks of the mass media, but Chloe was the type of publicist you wanted in your corner. Her eternally perky and demeanor lulled the ignorant or arrogant into a false sense of security before she brought the hammer down with that beaming smile on her face. This was not a world for the faint of heart, and Chloe Beale played the game effortlessly.
Clearly Beca's lack of response was not pleasing to her russet-maned lady as Chloe stormed through Throwback and grabbed Beca by the open lapel of her Henley shirt. She didn't miss a step as she made a sharp turn towards the stairs, tugging Beca along with her.
Stumbling over her feet in an effort to keep up, the pace of her steps hindered by the unrelenting cadence of Chloe's longer legs and the vice grip the redhead had on her collar.
"Geeze, Chloe! What the hell?"
The moment they eclipsed the threshold of Beca's office, Chloe let go, whirling to bear down on her girlfriend.
"I asked first," she seethed, bright blue eyes narrowed to icy slits.
"And I'd have the answer if I knew what you were talking about!" Beca countered.
"You keep doing this, Beca!" Chloe raged, throwing up her hands, clearly infuriated with whatever Beca had done. Beca wracked her brain, trying to figure out the reason for Chloe's ire, but she came up empty. Then again, maybe the ignorance to her actions equated to something she hadn't done.
Still nonplussed to the situation, Beca shook her head. "Doing what?!"
Chloe's glare intensified and she spoke one name. "Diedrick Hale."
Beca craned her neck forward, waiting for further explanation concerning one of the artists she had discovered, brought up, and referred to Chloe as a client. She shrugged when she didn't receive any. "What about him?"
"It's not about him," Chloe shot back. "It's about his album."
Beca nodded slowly. She was aware of that fact. She hadn't exclusively produced his album, but she had contributed to a couple of tracks. "Yeah, isn't it dropping this upcoming Tuesday?"
"Yes, it is," Chloe concurred. "And the label was so nice in splurging on a launch party yesterday."
"Okay…"
"And the label's president was even nicer in acknowledging that one of their own, Beca Mitchell, was responsible in bringing up such a promising talent." Chloe's face arranged itself into quite the scary glare, and Beca reflexively gulped, waiting for the hammer to fall.
She didn't have to wait long.
Chloe's posture tensed as her voice lowered to a veritable rumble. "Too bad Beca Mitchell wasn't there to accept such platitudes. Surprising since I expressly extended the invitation."
Beca's lips tightened as she glanced down sheepishly. "…Oh…"
Chloe's gaze was pure steel. "Right. Oh."
Beca sighed, scrunching a hand through her hair. "Look, Chloe, it wasn't like I had to be there."
"No, Beca, you didn't have to be there, but have you thought about what it looked like that you weren't there?"
"It looks like I have another artist that needs my attention because I'm in such high demand?" Beca ventured innocently.
Chloe blew out a slow, leaking breath, clearly trying to compose herself and not fly off the handle. "Look, I'm not your publicist, but even I know it's not a good idea to slight the label's president, regardless of the reasoning."
Beca rolled her eyes. "Babe, I was working. I was making the label more money. I'm sure he'd rather I'm doing that."
"It's not about the money!" Chloe answered hotly. "It's about the image and what your presence represents towards the support of the label and the artist."
"What I represent to the label?" Beca echoed. "As in their patsy. Yeah, okay, like I really want to be seen that way. Maybe the president can give me a pat on the head for being such a good minion."
That was clearly the wrong thing to say as Chloe surged forward, one finger insistently extended. "Are you serious right now?" she growled. "You act as though you have it so hard. You're successful, Beca! You have the opportunity to become the label's top producer, and yet you seem hell-bent on biting the hand that feeds you from the wrist down."
"Look, I'm not ungrateful," Beca snapped. "I'm very grateful. I'm just tired of them holding me in a chokehold."
Chloe paused, crossing her arms. Her chin tilted upward in a clear challenge, and her eyes narrowed as she readied herself.
"Well, there's a very clear solution to that," she stated plainly, leveling a significant look at Beca. It was a conversation they had many times before, and each time, Chloe pushed for Beca to take action.
The producer's jaw ticked, and she tensed. Her navy eyes belied the turmoil raging within her. She canted her head. "You know I can't do that."
"Why not?"
Beca bristled. Millions of reasons flickered through her brain, but each one seemed feebler than the one prior. "I…" she blew out a breath and deflated. The bluster escaped her. It really came down to one thing, but she would never admit to the prevailing motive aloud. "I just…I can't."
Chloe absorbed that for a moment. Her eyes glittered, and her nostrils flared as she caught the underlying sentiment. She nodded slowly. "I figured you would say that."
Beca's lips pursed, and she rolled her shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the tension. She knew better than to relax.
Sure enough, Chloe spoke again. "And what about the fact that I wanted you there? That I was the one who sent the invitation."
And there it was.
Beca swallowed hard, eyes plummeting down to the ground. Despite Chloe's hard tone, Beca could sense the redhead was truly hurt at the slight. And she cursed herself for the oversight. Still, any attempt to talk her way out of the situation with empty excuses would not help her in the least.
"I didn't think about that," she admitted through gritted teeth.
Chloe's lips pursed, and she nodded once. Her tense and aggressive posture seemed to deflate. It was as though the revelation had finally wrested the fight from her. "You didn't think about that," she repeated. "Well, I'm sorry that my feelings and wishes are so far down your priority list." Her shoulders straightened, and she shook her head. "And I think I'm tired of that. I can't do this anymore."
Beca's eyebrows drew together at the declaration, and she opened her mouth to respond, but found that words failed her.
"You need to look at yourself, Beca," Chloe stated, and it was clear she was struggling with her emotions. "I'm tired of you sabotaging your relationship with the label. I think you need to really figure out why you're not happy."
"I am happy," Beca insisted.
"Are you really?" Chloe posed. She leveled a significant look at Beca but didn't wait for her answer, merely turned towards the exit and walked out the door.
Beca's mouth fell open as she watched Chloe go. Her head swiveling from side to side, she addressed everyone and no one at the same time.
"What the hell just happened?"
xxx-xxx-xxx
Like I said, it takes quite a woman to inspire a song. Nothing lasts like music, and some songs can stand the test of time, because the material has the ability to transcend generation after generation.
And what's more universal than love?
Music can sometimes talk for people when they can't find the words. It has the power to move, to inspire, to evoke. The people immortalized in song have the ability to live forever.
Nothing speaks to you like a song lamenting heartbreak. It's like the artist is slinging an arm around your shoulders, patting you on the back, and saying, "No worries, man. I've been there too."
Granted, some of these guys are writing songs about, like, supermodels or famous actresses.
But heartbreak is universal, just like love is universal.
The honest truth? Straight up?
It doesn't really take a special woman to cause someone to experience heartbreak. That's more common than a woman committed to song.
Doesn't make it hurt any less though.
BECA'S TOP 5 SONGS INSPIRED BY WOMEN
"Layla" (1971) - Derek and the Dominos (E. Clapton and J. Gordon)
"My Sharona" (1979) – The Knack (D. Fieger and B. Averre)
"Athena" (1982) – The Who (P. Townshend)
"Cry Me a River" (2002) – Justin Timberlake (J. Timberlake, T. Mosley, and S. Storch)
"Burn" (2003) – Usher (U. Raymond, J. Dupri, and B.M. Cox)
Don't hate us! It had to be done! Don't worry, this is just the beginning to an amazing journey. You're just gonna have to trust us. Hope you guys liked it! As you can see, this is not going to be easy for our girls though. Luckily, Beca and Chloe have some help. As usual, feel free to let us know what you think.
Until next time,
*ISP
