𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄
𝒓𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅
𝔅𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 quiet studio nestled in the bustling city streets of New Orleans, Louisiana, the bell above him chiming softly. A red headed receptionist with a name tag reading LINDA greets him with a polite smile when he steps up to the long mahogany desk and drums his fingers, feeling his heart rate beginning to spike.
"How may I help you today, sir?" Her heavy Southern drawl makes her words hard to discern but he clears his throat, hoping that his nervousness wasn't evident in his voice.
"I'm Blade Campbell...I, uh, have an appointment." Well, there goes any shred of confidence he has left.
The receptionist nods and blows a pink bubblegum bubble before smacking on it loudly. Her fingers rapidly tap the keyboard in front of her, her eyes scanning the bright computer screen. She clicks the mouse a few times and then looks up to meet his eyes. "Mr. Svengali is in the studio now. You can wait in here or walk on in."
Blade straightens his tie and heads for the door marked STUDIO. "Great, thanks." There was no way he could wait, especially when she was just beyond that door, recording a demo with her band. His palms start to sweat and he wipes them on his black slacks before opening the large wooden door.
"Why don't you track her—"
"Play the fucking song," a female's voice snapped in response, her voice shaking and on the verge of tears. Blade's heart nearly skips a beat. He recognized that voice from anywhere. Sheva. And when he spots her, standing in front of the studio microphone with her band surrounding her, he was absolutely mesmerized.
Levi Svengali, the producer known in the rock industry as using artists' darkest secrets to create masterpieces, stares up at Blade with a raised brow. "Who the fuck are you?"
Blade doesn't dare to look at him—instead, his eyes are still on her. "I'm here to see someone."
Levi is confused by this for a moment, but when he sees Sheva's gaze meet the stranger's and her tear-filled eyes narrow fiercely, he knows that this new surge of anger would make for a stellar performance. He already had her riled up, and the arrival of this stranger seemed to irk her even more. He smirks, and presses a button on the soundboard. The band begins to play their instruments and Sheva steps up to the microphone, her eyes never leaving Blade's.
The cream colored floral shawl she wears accents her pink tiger striped top, along with the black denim shorts and tall cowgirl boots. She was a model, a goddess, and as Blade continues to watch her emotional performance, he realizes that she was still as beautiful as he remembered. Not only that, but she changed up her hairstyle, her once long blonde locks traded for a killer bob with long bangs. Her doe-like green eyes never leave his, anger swimming in the deep emerald pools, and somehow, he can't seem to take his eyes off her either.
When the song ends, Sheva steps away from the microphone and snatches up a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. "I'm going to take a smoke break," she mutters to her bandmates before walking out of the small space, allowing the heavy glass door to slam shut behind her.
"Take five," Levi calls, causing the rest of the band to grumble under their breaths.
Sheva passes Blade on her way out and doesn't even spare him a second glance, instead ramming her shoulder into his. She was angry, and he could tell. So, he decides to follow her.
He finds her leaning against the brick wall of the studio, her eyes shining under the dull lamp glow above. She holds a cigarette between her fingers as she watches passing traffic, blowing nicotine smoke from her lips.
Her eyes finally meet his and she tosses her cigarette onto the sidewalk, snuffing it with her boot. Then, she stalks over to him, nostrils flaring.
A long manicured fingernail jabs his chest. "Why the fuck are you here, Blade? You gonna talent scout me or something?"
He shakes his head, somewhat hurt by her words. He worked for Akkadian Records in Los Angeles, a job that he had since they met. "I'm not here as a booking agent, Sheva. Or as a lonely ex. I'm here as your friend."
Sheva scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I don't need a goddamn friend." She lights another cigarette.
"Look, I just want to apologize, about everything," Blade admits, his voice wavering. "I was so stupid to leave—"
"And you know what fucking happened when you left?" She spat. Her glower makes him want to shrivel up. Then, she plasters on a smile. "I met a nice guy. He was so sweet. Well, he was sweet when he wanted sex, but you know what happened when I stopped giving it to him? He cheated on me, screwed my friends right behind my back."
She laughs, and takes a drag of her cigarette. When she smoke billows from her lips and disappears into the cool night air, she continues. "Then, when he found out about my night job, he told me that I was a fucking whore and that I deserved to crawl on that stage, that I deserved to have my tits and ass groped by my clientele. And what did I say to him? Absolutely nothing, I couldn't say a damn thing because I knew he was right. I deserve everything I've ever gone through." Hot, salty tears start to stream down her cheeks but she doesn't wipe them away. Instead, she allows her makeup to smear, to let Blade see what he put her through.
Blade listens intently, and feels his heart start to break. He reaches out a gentle hand to stroke her cheek but she turns away from him, grabbing the long ends of her shawl and wrapping it around her torso. "But I didn't want to dwell on that. So I kicked that son of a bitch out and left him to rot on the streets. I decided enough was enough and grabbed the world by the fucking balls. I started to write music, to sing, all the while dedicating myself to that strip club. The best thing you ever fucking did was leave me, because it made me realize that I needed to get my shit together."
Sheva breaks down almost instantly. Blade is frozen, he doesn't know how to react to her sudden change of emotions. But when he takes the chance and pulls her into his arms, she doesn't fight back. She instead cries into his suit jacket, crumpling the soft material in her tattooed hands. "Goddamn it," she whimpers.
Blade holds her for a few moments, smoothing down her blonde hair and ignoring the stares they were getting by passerby's. A police siren blares from far off in the distance and she yanks herself out of his grasp, sniffling and wiping her eyes. Her eye makeup had only become more smeared, the once perfect eyeliner becoming an awful, streaky smudge.
Sheva walks back into the studio, as if nothing had ever happened. Maybe she wanted to forget that moment, to forget her sudden display of emotions. He's not far behind her, and somewhat hopes that she will let him watch the rest of her band's performance.
The blonde singer notices his presence and wheels around. Her eyes were glassy, and the sadness in her expression surprised him. Maybe coming to this place was a bad idea after all, Blade thought.
Her voice trembles with each word. "Get. Out." Sheva seethes through clenched teeth. She storms into the studio and slams the door shut, leaving him behind in the lavishly decorated waiting room. The receptionist looks up from her computer and gives him a sympathetic smile.
Blade decides to do exactly what Sheva told him to do. He uses a pay phone outside of the studio and calls a taxi, telling the driver to take him back to his hotel.
He gets in the taxi and slips the driver a twenty dollar bill. As they start on their journey, Blade thinks about what had just happened with Sheva. He hated to see her heartbroken, especially because of him. He had messed up. Maybe it was selfish to walk back into her life so suddenly and expect her to accept his presence. She was still hurting because of their breakup, two years later.
But all Blade knew is that he wanted to get to know this new version of Sheva—this strong, independent side of her that he had never seen before. And he would do anything to do just that.
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