‘Smart.’
‘I think Dolly Parton patented the system. If you look like a painted clown on stage, real life doesn’t have to change that much off it.’
Norah laughed. Poppy was glad to see her friend look happy again. She would help her find that laugh every chance she got.
Twenty Years Ago
Poppy couldn’t understand how she’d gotten here. Stuck in a drafty rehearsal space, practising with two other girls she didn’t know well, dressed like this: belly top, high heels, and a skirt that was more in line with the definition of a belt. She felt almost naked. All she had to protect her was her guitar. It was all that stood between her bare midriff and the rest of the world.
The other two girls, Rebecca and Annalise, didn’t seem unhappy. They both seemed fucking jazzed, actually. Annalise was on lead guitar, Rebecca on drums. Everyone sang. Though Poppy didn’t think Rebecca had been playing for very long. Poppy was pretty sure she’d been hired based on her looks and not bad singing, and the drums had been thrown at her quite recently. Rebecca was decent on guitar, though her singing voice was a little weak. Again, her looks probably went a long way to making up for that lack.
And then there was Poppy. She didn’t think she matched the prettiness of the other girls, but she could play better, sing better, and she wrote the songs that weren’t covers. It was important that they had their own songwriter. It was part of the ethos of the band that Jeff had designed. The band built the music in every way—music, vocals, lyrics.
Jeff said a certain kind of demographic would be into this corn-fed organic pop. They needed to seem raw and real. People were getting a bit tired of bands slapped together by cynical labels, he said. So the members of Velvet Smack were supposed to have found each other without any kind of label interference. The band had been formed as a result of friendship and a shared feeling that they wanted to sing slightly angry yet catchy music about how they were going to live on their terms, and boys could get on board with that or get out of the way.
Poppy had been working on some stuff for them with Jeff’s direction. He wanted ‘love songs with attitude.’ He suggested that the influence for these songs should be in the vein of Sugar Babes, All Saints, The Pussycat Dolls, and Girls Aloud.
Those bands were not Poppy’s cup of tea at all, but she’d tried to write stuff in their vein. She’d composed three songs for Velvet Smack (she hated that fucking name so much), and Jeff said they were good, but they were only album songs. They didn’t have their debut single yet. Poppy didn’t know if she was going to be able to produce what he was asking for. Was she gonna get kicked out before they’d even released the first album?
In a way, that might have been better. Poppy wasn’t happy. She wanted to throw it in. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. The same thoughts kept bouncing around her brain. This is your start. And if you leave now, nothing else will come your way. Take the gift.
But it didn’t feel like a gift. Poppy wanted to be home with her mum, playing in her bedroom, rehearsing with the band who no longer talked to her. And more than anything, she wanted to see Norah. That fever had yet to break.
As the rehearsal ended and everyone began packing up, Poppy grabbed her guitar case and headed towards the door, ready to escape for the day.
‘Hey, Poppy! Wait up!’ Jeff called out from behind her.
She turned back, trying to hide her annoyance with a fake smile.
‘Just wanted to say, great job today,’ he said with a pat on her shoulder. ‘I know it's not exactly your style, but you're killing it. Could we have a quick chat about something?’
‘Umm, what about?’ Poppy asked.
‘I wanted to ask about something,’ Jeff said with a grin.
‘Yes?’ Poppy asked anxiously.
‘The songs you’ve done for Velvet are solid. But I want to talk about that debut we need,’ he said.
Poppy nodded, thinking, If you’re gonna kill me off, at least make it quick.
‘The thing is, I think we could have it. I want your demo track. “Norah’s Song.”’
Poppy’s stomach turned like a pre-pubescent gymnast. ‘What?’
‘I know you said it wasn’t something that you wanted people to hear, but I think it has hit potential,’ he went on. ‘I mean, we’d have to change the lyrics for a male name, pump up the rhythm a bit, but I think it could be a hit.’
‘It’s... I wasn’t... It’s not for people to hear,’ Poppy stuttered.
Jeff looked at her, puzzled. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s just... personal,’ she mumbled.
‘Poppy, you have to understand, we need a hit, or no one buys the album and all this collapses,’ Jeff insisted.
Poppy felt like she was backed into a corner. After all the pressure and insecurity she had been feeling, this was the last thing she needed. She couldn’t give him that song.
‘Jeff...’
‘Look, there’s going to be other opportunities around the corner for you if you can prove yourself now. You can produce anything you want after this is done. If we make this work.’ His voice dropped to a more confidential tone. ‘You know how every band has one member that makes it solo. In this band, that’s going to be you.’
Poppy couldn’t help but roll her eyes. ‘Jeff...’
‘Poppy, I want you to hear this. You might not see your potential, but I do.’
God, this was awkward. She was looking down on this whole situation, and here Jeff was saying he believed in it. She felt ungrateful.
She wondered what her mum would say. She wondered what her dad would have said. But she couldn’t ask him, and she was embarrassed to go crawling back to her mum for advice. She was an adult now. She was in the world. It was her choice.
‘You think the song’s a hit?’ she asked.
‘With the right producer, I feel it could be. It’s hooky, with a good riff and catchy chorus.’
‘But you want to put in a male name?’ Poppy checked.
‘Just to make it saleable to a large cross-section of the audience,’ he said like it was no big deal.
Poppy paused. ‘You know I’m gay, right?’
