They walk through the big, tinted glass doors into a modern styled waiting room, sleek metals and marble tables and leather chairs that look anything but comfortable. The recording studio is beyond massive, with its floor to ceiling windows, marble fire place and numerous framed records hanging from the walls; everything screams rock star. Sunlight bounces off of the perfectly clean windows; dazzling both Sam and Melody to the core. The smell of pleather and nerves hangs in the room, hovering in a thick mist above tense rock star wanna-be’s who glance up at Sam and Melody as they make their way to the receptionist’s desk.
The young, blond woman behind the desk, barely looking up at Sam as she speaks to him, her French-tipped fingers click the keys of her computer with perfect precision. “Down the hall, second door on the left, they’re waiting for you.”
Melody studies Sam’s profile as he stares down the hall towards the audition room, gripping the wooden neck of his guitar like it can save him from the nerves that are eating away at his stomach. He takes two steps forward before realizing Melody isn’t following, he cranes his neck around to look at her.
“Do you really think I can do this without you?” He says, half laughing with nerves.
The receptionist snorts, making some snide remark under her breath as Melody jogs up to Sam’s side. He hangs on to the neck of his guitar in his right hand, but it was Melody’s hand that he held the as the most fragile object at the moment.
Sam sits down in the soundproof audition room with Melody to his right, smiling with the confidence that he needs so desperately. The young talent scout comes into the room, sipping his coffee. He extends his free hand to Melody. “Good morning, you must be Sam. What are you going to play for me?”
She laughs, pointing to Sam. “Trust me, me singing is the last thing you want to hear. I’m Melody, Sam’s girlfriend.”
The talent scout is a skinny, short man, maybe a few inches taller than Melody, which isn’t tall, and couldn’t be a day over twenty. His round face reddens from embarrassment as he looks over at Sam.
“I'm so sorry; I saw Sam on the file name and thought it was short for Samantha or something.” It is blatantly obvious that he is new.
Sam smiles, pulling his guitar into his lap. “Can I play now?”
The talent agent nods and pulls out his recorder.
Sam strums his guitar softly, before letting his callused fingers pluck the D and G strings in a rocking motion as he begins to sing his slow, heartfelt words. After Sam lets his guitar ring out into a dull hum, he sits back. The young talent agent smiles ear to ear as he reaches for Sam’s hand.
“That was beautiful! Let me talk with rest of the team and I’ll get back to you!” he says.
Sam smiles, grateful for the talent scouts time, but the words have almost come to mean nothing to him. He thanks the nervous young man one more time before walking with Melody back to his car.
Sam sits in the driver’s seat of his orange Station Wagon in silence, neither one of them know what to say. Melody stares down at her feet at a brown stain by her right shoe that still smells of espresso. Sam has never been the biggest fan of cleaning things, for all she knows that espresso stain has been there for the past month or so.
She tentatively looks him over; she thought the audition had gone well. She hasn’t seen the crushed side of Sam in such a long time; she doesn’t know what to do.
“That’s exactly what the last label said.” Sam whispers as he leans his forehead against the steering wheel, his hair hiding his face.
Melody runs her fingers up and down his spine, the way she used to when his parents would visit. Sam leans back into the headrest, his head falling over to look at Melody, his hand reaching out and tucking the few loose ends of her hair behind her ear. Sam’s long fingers lingering on the soft patch of skin on the crook of her neck where her shoulder and collar connect.
“I love you.” he whispers
She blushes; no matter how many times they say it or how much they show it, it still feels like the first time. Sam’s lips lift into a smirk, his heart fluttering at the sight of her rose colored cheeks,
“Who knows, this could be it. He may have actually liked my music.” He says in a breath, shrugging his broad shoulders.
Sam reluctantly slides his fingers from Melody’s shoulder before riffling through his black leather jacket for his keys. He pops the key into the ignition, jiggling it a few times before the car coughs and starts up.
They drive down to his apartment, Sam’s hand holding hers, brushing his fingers back and forth in her hand, his calluses tickling the inside of her palm.