Sighing, I glued a hopeful expression on my face, half appreciative for his compliment while at the same time making it clear that I needed the work. "Maybe if you could, see if there is a spot for a session player at the label? I'm not really in a position to bitch about getting credit on the sleeve of the CD or not."
The manager nodded in understanding. Like I said, he looked like a decent guy, not mixed up in drugs or anything like that, and he had probably seen a dozen guitarists like me trying to make it on their skills in the city. "I'll see what I can do. Listen, if it were up to me I'd have you shredding tomorrow night, you have talent, and I started with a classical background too, so I know you know the ins and outs of music theory. But you know how the industry is right now. Unless your name's Taylor Swift or Katy Perry, you better be a lot raunchier than you come off as."
I wasn't sure if I should take his comment as a compliment or an insult. I knew I wasn't built like the girls mentioned by the manager, but I wasn't exactly making Courtney Love look like Marilyn Monroe either. Five eight, decent figure, I could still wear leather pants or tight jeans and not feel like an overinflated balloon. I've been complimented on my eyes and especially my hair, which is kind of a slightly reddish brown, darker than auburn but not quite chocolate. I decided to play the polite role and let it slide off my back. "Just trying to make it on my skills first, then tart it up later if I need to. Okay well, thanks for the audition, and I hope I can hear from you."
On the way out of the venue, I sighed miserably. It was a rare rainy day in Los Angeles, and I didn't have enough money to pay for gas for my car. Glad that I at least hadn't hawked my guitar case on Craigslist, I walked through the rain for a block and got to the bus stop. While I waited, I thought about my life, wondering if I was making the right decision still trying to make it as a professional musician. In an era where autotune and electronic backing was standard, was there still room for someone like me? It wasn't like I could wait forever for rock to have another resurgence, either. At twenty-five, I was reaching the age for female singers where either you made it, or you never did. The music industry, since the rise of MTV, was based as much on looks as it was talent, more so for female musicians. If you weren't popular by the time the high school guys stopped hitting on you in public because they thought you might be in their age range, you were pretty much out of luck.
The ride back to my apartment was bleak, and things didn't improve when I got home. My roommate, a new girl named Scottie who was supposedly a literature major at UCLA, was crashed face down on the sofa, her pants halfway down her legs and her ass poking up in the air, snoring loudly. I'd have worried about her if it wasn't that it had happened four times previously in the two months we'd lived together. She seemed to major less in the works of Steinbeck than she did in trying the entire Kama Sutra, most often when stoned out of her mind. Even still, all of that wouldn't have been a problem except that she was late with her half of the rent.
"Scottie? Yo, Scottie!" I said, shaking her shoulder. I could smell the weed and sex drifting off of her, both disgusted and jealous at the same time. I had been busting my butt for too long to have more than the occasional hookup, and it had been a long time since one of those, even. I wasn't quite sanctified yet, but occasionally nuns would pass me on the street and give me a commiserating look, like they knew what was going on for me. "Scottie, wake the fuck up!"
She rolled over to the side, mumbling incomprehensibly. I shook her shoulder again. "Scottie! Where's your half of the rent? I had to pay the office this morning, and I'm down to three bucks in change. The cupboard is empty, and I need some food."
She smacked her lips and waved with her hands. "I'ma geddit furya," I think she said before rolling over, snoring as sleep overtook her again.
At least with the way she turned I didn't have to look at her ass any longer. I pondered going into the kitchen and getting a glass of water to pour over her, but realized I'd just be left with a wet couch and no money still. Sighing, I went back into my bedroom and pulled up my computer. It wasn't top of the line, hell it barely kept up with modern websites, but I could do e-mail and try and make contacts. Besides, it kept me out of the kitchen, where we truly were down to a box of cheap macaroni and cheese and half a carton of milk. I'd been hoping to save that for when times were tough, but that time was looking more and more likely.