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Bad For Me (My Forbidden Rockstar)

By:Dara Bowman

Chapter One


“Thanks so much for coming by.”

Her voice is too cheerful, and sickeningly sweet.

I force a smile as I make my way out of the stifling recording office, and once I’m out of view, I stalk across the baking parking lot to my car.

This is such bullshit!

Another rejection, and the stupid girl barely even listened to my demo tape.

I toss my raggedy blue bag into my equally beat up car. The door opens with a loud screech, and I plop down onto the scorching hot seats. As I put the key in the ignition I close my eyes and turn the key, praying that this damn car will start.

C'mon, C'mon, C'mon.

Of course it won't turn over.

“You have got to be kidding me!” I scream into the steering wheel.

If I don’t get out of this parking lot soon, I’m going to lose it. I’ve had about as much as I can handle for one day, and what I really need is to get home, put my sweats on, and pour myself an extra large glass of wine.

Or vodka.

Vodka would definitely do the trick.

I try the key again and after much protesting, my car finally roars to life. I throw it into reverse to get out of the parking spot. I back out, barrel around the corner, and once I’m on the main road, I feel my shoulders relax and the stress begins to slowly melt away.

My car shakes as it moves sluggishly down the street and I know that I’m going to have to eventually give in and allow my father to buy me a new car. I’ve been holding my ground for as long as I possibly can. Everyone else takes advantage of my father, but I try so hard not to. I love my father for who he is, regardless of his mountain of money, and I want him to know that. I don’t like lavish gifts, and I try to accept things only when I really need them.

Unfortunately, I think I’m going to need to accept his help with a new car soon, which makes me feel even lousier right now.

To add to my pissy mood, LA traffic is at its finest. We're practically at a crawl and now my car is beginning to overheat.

I take stock of my shitty day so far.

My mother called me in the morning to complain about my father’s upcoming wedding. How my mother even knows these details, I’ll never know. I swear she’s hired a private detective to follow my father around. Once I finally got her off the phone, I had to rush around to get ready for my audition.

It’s a record-breakingly hot day in LA, and my car has no air conditioning, so I arrived at my audition looking like I had just ran the entire way there. My carefully straightened auburn hair was thick and frizzy and I had pit stains on my dress.

It was fantastic.

Not surprisingly, the audition was a nightmare, and I didn't even meet with a record executive. It was just one of their assistants; a clear indication that I was not a priority by any means. The girl I met with was a frothy little thing with a tan that was way too dark. She also happened to have bleached-blonde hair and big fake breasts. How unfortunate. The disingenuous little skank barely even listened to my tape before she ushered me out of the room and thanked me for my time.


And now my car troubles.

I sit in traffic and look around at all the nice cars. Part of me feels envious, because I know if I wasn’t so damn stubborn, my dad would buy me any car I like. He would probably weep with joy if I told him I wanted a Mercedes, Lexus, or something similarly ridiculous.

I look over at a couple in a cute little white convertible. That looks nice. Maybe I’ll ask my father for one of those and then I will really be breaking all my rules.

Since I have nothing better to do, I let my mind wander.

I wonder if I should give up my dream of working in the music business. My father has been so supportive of me while I purse my passion, but my passion hasn’t seen much success. At twenty-four years old, I’ve spent the last few years auditioning and waitressing, and I've only been able to land an occasional singing gig in local clubs. My father insists that I don’t need to wait tables, but I can’t let him pay all my bills, it's hard enough accepting what he already does for me.

As if she knows I’m thinking about my father, my mother calls. Again.

“Hi Mom.”

“Hi Annie, honey. How was your audition?”

I grit my teeth. “They passed. No surprise there.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry.” She pauses. “Do you have any more auditions lined up?”

“No. I’m going to have to call Jane when I get home.”

Jane is my semi-agent, and lately she seems to be less and less interested in working with me.

“Sweetheart, have you thought about, you know, giving it up?” My mom asks delicately.

“I don’t know, Mom. This is what I feel like I’m meant to do. What else would I do?” I ask fiercely.