Unfinished Greentext

>There's no business like show business.
>Unless, of course, you count every other business out there.
>Because it's literally all the same.
>Phone calls, paperwork, shaking sweaty hand after sweaty hand.
>I should know; Been shoveling this bullshit since the end of college.
>And yes, it is bullshit.
>But damn, I'm good at it.
>Call me Anon.
>Head of the PR department for a huge-ass music company.
>Hear that?
>That was me cringing.
>I've worked with a lot of companies, and I don't think all the optimists in the fucking world can find something decent about the music business.
>The suits have no souls, and that's coming from a suit.
>Not to mention, the CEO is a fucking pig.
>Literally.
>Like, pink skin, snout, cloven feet, everything.
>From my foggy memories of high school history class, we've always lived with these animal...people.
>Humanimals.
>Animans?
>Fuck it.
>Point is, this job sucks, but I kick ass.
>There's your summary.
>Questions?
>Moving on, then...
>Initial briefing is probably the best part of my day.
>Yeah, I have to get up early and drive all the way to the damn studio, but it has its perks.
>Sit in an air conditioned room, free donuts and coffee, gossip about our weekends...
>Of course, in PR, our 'gossip' is just complaining about living in Hollywood.
>I digress.
>"Look alive, people!"
>Oh, fuck.
>Not the CEO, but not much better.
>Some sleazy agent of some shitty popstar or something.
>I forget which one.
>Actually, getting a better look at him, he might be new.
>For one thing, he's actually human, which is a good sign.
>Not that I'm racist or anything.
>Speciesist?
>Whatever.
>Anyway, guy's gotta be no younger than 45, pinstripe suit, ugly tie, slicked-back hair, the works.
>Definitely an agent.
>"I've heard several good things about this group, so I expect no less than what I've been told. I have a very important client flying in for her first North American tour. I want her to feel as welcome as possible, so I'm counting on this team to make sure she gets everything she needs."
>The fuck?
>We're PR, not a waitstaff.
>The hell does this guy think he is?
>Y'know, forget what I said about the CEO.
>THIS guy's a pig.
>Client probably is, too.
>"You'll be working with our security team to make sure she gets where she needs to be, and look as good as possible getting there. I know plenty of you in this room have quite a lot of power. Use it. I'm looking at you, Mr. Moose."
>I always hated my last name.
>All the actual moose looked at me funny.
>"The tour schedule will be e-mailed to you. Leave your travel expenses to me. Any questions are to be directed to me. It's not like anyone else knows anything around here."
>Like how you're a tool?
>Agent Shit finally leaves the goddamn room.
>This is gonna be a tough job, but like hell we're not even gonna fucking try.
"Alright, clearly we're the smart ones, so here's what's gonna happen."
"I couldn't give any less of a shit who this artist is. I'm sure you feel the same way. But let me remind you that our actions have consequences. If this client is as important as he says, we can't afford to fuck up. So I'm gonna need every last one of you on your A-game. We pull this off, who knows? Maybe we'll come out of it with a sense of pride. Probably not, but a guy can dream. You with me?"
>Mumbles of 'yeah,' 'sure, whatever,' and 'I guess' echo in the room.
>Good enough for me.

>5 hours later, we're driving from the airport in Houston.
>It's hot as fuck; for me, at least.
>Other guy in the car, big tiger dude, doesn't seem to have a problem.
>Real fair.
"Jesus, why'd this bitch have to pick such a hot place to start her tour?"
>Tiger shrugs.
>"Maybe because she's used to it. Schedule started with her flight to here from Australia."
>I perk up.
>Oh, listen.
>I'm cringing again.
>I'm remembering high school.
"Yeah? I knew someone from Australia back in the day. Sat in front of me in math class."
>"What's an Australian doing in an America school?"
"She was an exchange. Only there for most of junior year."
>"Care to elaborate?"
>Not really.
>Dark times, junior year.
"Not much to say. Just some hedgehog chick in math class."
>"Any good-looking?"
"Fuck no. Coke-bottle glasses, brightly-colored braces, and a lisp that'd drive you insane. Not to mention she was a fucking hedgehog."
>It's not like interspecies is frowned upon.
>But it's really fucking weird.
>I try not to judge, but-
>Well, that's a lie.
>I just try not to think about it too much.
>"Just a question, man. You seem kinda hostile, you okay?"
"What do you think? We're playing babysitter to the 'oh so fabulous...'"
>Fuck, what was this chick's name?
>"Spike?"
>That was it.
>Stupid name, but it's to be expected.
"Yeah, her. We're businessmen, for crying out loud. We should be in New York trading stock or something. Like..."
>"Arriving at the hotel?"
>Yep, we're there.
>Nearly midnight.
>Been one hell of a day.
>Spent the last few hours making phone calls, organizing tour events...
>Even decided to call my mother.
>Told me some story about running into an old friend at the grocery store.
"Yeah that's great. Listen, I gotta get to sleep, I'll talk later."
>I don't even remember who she was talking about.
>Nor do I care.
>Finally get settled into bed.
>This is the only solace I have from this shitpile of a job nowadays.
>Close my eyes, wait for sleep to take me.
>...
>I hear music.
>The fuck.
>Get out of get and put my ear to the connecting door to the next room.
>Someone's playing fucking guitar.
>At midnight.
>Knock knock knock.
"Hey, some of us are trying to sleep, here!"
>No response.
>Just more guitar, song sounds like a waltz.
>I'm ready to call the front desk when I hear it.
>Now they're singing.
>If I have to break down this fucking-
Are you lonesome tonight?
Do you miss me tonight?
Are you sorry we drifted apart?
>...
>Um.
Does your memory stray
To a brighter sunny day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?
>Can't move.
>Just stand and listen.
Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain,
Shall I come back again?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?
>Guitar continues.
>She's humming now.
>Find myself sitting up against the door, just listening.
>Why do I suddenly feel...conflicted?
>Furthermore, why the fuck is the voice of an angel coming from the room next door.
>I didn't even know it was booked.
>Don't have much time to speculate before my eyes drift shut.
>Had a really weird dream.
>Someone I knew from high-school came to visit me.
>Can't remember who it was.
>All I knew was that they had some kind of significance.
>Like they were there for more than just catching up.
>Like I needed to see them again.
>Also, chimes.
>Very happy, upbeat chimes.
>Wake up.
>My phone's ringing.
>I'm leaning up against the door the singing was coming from.
>Bed's not even turned down.
>Answer the phone.
"Hello?"
>"There you are!"
>It's the tiger.
>"I've been trying to call you for an hour! What gives?"
>'Oh well I was listening to some magical lady with a guitar sing outside my door and I fell asleep.'
>It's even crazier in my head.
"I just...overslept."
>Good enough excuse for now.
>Tell Tiger the whole story later.
>"Whatever. Spike's rehearsing for the show tonight, and we need you down here to go over some ticket stuff. You coming or what?"
>Has he forgotten who the boss is?
>Of course, he's probably had to handle a lot of stuff this morning, given I was asleep.
>Best not to call him out.
"Alright, I'll be there in a few."
>Hang up.
>Stand in front of bathroom mirror.
>Song and dream replaying in my mind.
>Before I always told myself that I was fine by myself.
>Relationships weren't as important as everyone made them seem.
>But that song...
>That VOICE...
>AM I lonesome?
>I'm not even thirty yet, and I'm having a mid-life crisis.
>All because of some singing bitch.
>I need coffee.
>Later that evening.
>Telling story to Tiger about why I overslept.
>I never bothered to get his real name.
>Calling him Tiger for now.
>"Playing guitar in a hotel room? How pretentious do you have to be?"
>Well for a pretentious bitch, she sang and played like a fucking goddess.
"I dunno, man. I'm still trying to figure out who the fuck would sing that song in the middle of the night."
>"Who knows. You said it made you feel weird? Weird how?"
"Like...torn, I guess? It's hard to explain."
>Tiger pats my shoulder gently.
>Because he's a fucking tiger and doesn't want to break my arm.
>"Maybe sleep early tonight. Get some ear plugs if necessary."
>Where the hell am I gonna find ear plugs.
>Whatever, I'm at least going to bed earlier.
>Maybe I'll fall asleep before she sings again,
>Assuming it's a nightly thing.
>"Hey, before you go..."
>Tiger slides some huge boots my way.
>"Spike left those in her dressing room."
>Spike wears these?
>They look like something a lumberjack would wear.
>"Do me a solid and just drop those off by her hotel room, alright?"
>Shrug.
>Might as well, Tiger worked his ass off today.
>So did I, but he wasn't the one who got an extra hour of sleep.
>Grab the boots.
>Christ they're heavy.
"Where's she staying again?"
>"Room 303."
"Why not a suite? She's a celebrity after all."
>"Have you met her? She's actually really humble."
>Great.
>Don't really care.
>Although, it did occur to me that I've been so busy with PR that I haven't gotten to meet Spike yet.
>Let alone SEE her.
>Whatever.
>Say our goodbyes and I drop by room 303.
>Knock Knock Knock.
"Uh, Spike?"
>Is that seriously her real name?
>High school must've been tough.
>No answer.
>Fuck it, leave them in front of her door.
>Finally time for bed.
>Thankfully room is nearby.
>Good ol' 304.
>...
>Holy shit.
>Sitting by the door between our rooms.
>Listening intently.
>Mainly for the sound of a guitar.
>How fucking pathetic does that sound?
>I can't believe this is me right now.
>I'm a goddamn puddle just because of some bitch's voice.
>A very smooth...alluring voice...
>I need help.
>And sleep.
>Nearly midnight; no music yet.
>She might not even be here.
>She's probably out partying or doing something else celebrities do.
>Who fucking knows.
>All I know is that I'm getting tired.
>Screw it, I'll just rest my eyes for a few seconds.
>It's not like I'm gonna
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
>...
>Knock knock knock.
>I stir.
>The noise registers, and I look toward the front door.
>Hop up to check the peephole.
>Nothing.
>Knock knock knock.
>The connecting door.
>"'Scuse me?"
>Woman's voice.
>Australian accent.
>It's her.
>I didn't even hear her door open and close.
"Y-yeah?"
>Honestly a little startled.
>Didn't expect her to knock on MY door.
>Honestly didn't expect to hear from her at all during this shitfest.
>"Did you happen to see anyone put some boots outside my room?"
"Yeah, uh, that was me. Said you left them in your dressing room."
>Felt weird not introducing myself properly.
>Or shaking hands.
>"Oh. Well, thanks, I suppose. You one of those PR blokes?"
>It's weird.
>I feel like I've heard her voice before.
>Not just last night, either.
>Speaking of...
"Yeah, that's me. Hey, were you...singing last night?"
>I can barely make out her cursing.
>"You could hear that? Sorry, it was sort of an in the moment thing, y'know?"
"I guess. How's everything so far?"
>Conversation-wise, it's going okay, but I'm prepared for it to go south at any moment.
>"Oh, it's bloody ripper, it is!"
>Groan.
>Again, feel like I've heard that before.
>"S'been so long since I've been to the states. Even then, only stayed in one place. This way, I get to see it all."
>I crack a smile.
>For some shitty popstar, she's not all that bad.