Of Eons and Stars Part 005: Angelica’s Thereafter
Angelica steps out of her motel room into the morning sun onto the warmed asphalt of the motor lodge’s expansive parking lot and eyes for the location of her brown beater. She is buzzing with excitement. It’s been a wild few days. Her first byline writing gig, the revival show of Ivan Rocket and the Blackness Between the Stars, two days holdup in a shitty roach motel writing and drinking coffee, and now this. Today is the day. Today she is no longer Miss Whateley. She is Angelica, music journalist extraordinaire. Today her story is published.
She practically skips down to the lobby, grabs a muddy cup of coffee, and steps to the news rack. She looks at the papers. The liberal news one, the conservative news one, the money one, ah yes, The Arkham Music Review. She picks it up and to her astonishment the cover says. “Rock n’ Roll’s New Revival: Ivan Rocket and the Blackness Between the Stars by Angelica Whateley”.
“I got the cover,” she whispers to herself. She tosses two quarters onto the counter and hovers to an empty table by the window.
Not the most creative title, but isn’t pandering to the lowest common denominator part of a journalist’s job? She starts to read but is stopped by the jingle and buzz of her phone. She answers.
“You got the cover,” the voice says over the phone. The voice is August Tierney, Owner-Editor of The Arkham Music Review and Angelica’s boss.
“I got the cover,” Angelica repeats back to him with unmasked satisfaction.
“You did good, Girlie. Ready for another?” August affirmatively asks.
“Yes I am, Mr. Tierney,” she gleefully declares.
“Good. Booky’s sending you the job now. He says. “Keep moving this fast and writing at this quality and you’ll have all the work you want, Girlie. Call me after the show.”
“Thank you,” she acknowledges, hearing the hang-up click halfway through, then a new alert ding from the phone’s speakers.
She opens the email from Booky, Mr. Tierney’s assistant. The email is basic and to the point as they always are. It reads: “Show in Bolton. Prep Goth Band. Down the Drain.”
She taps the screen off and heads to the brown beater, coffee, and paper in hand.