Blur (Changing Colors Book 2)
Blur (Changing Colors, Part Two)
Copyright © 2015, N.A. Alcorn
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This is a work of adult fiction. The author does not endorse or condone any of the behavior enclosed within. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity and explicit sexual situations.
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Table of Contents
Blur (Changing Colors, Part Two)
To anyone who doesn’t believe they’re good enough,
You. Are.
You are worthy of love, acceptance, affection, and friendship.
You are worth it all.
Blur
The secrets weren’t mine, so I hid them.
My heart wasn’t supposed to fall, but it did.
The lies weren’t meant to hurt, so I told them.
Two men own my heart, but not all love is the same.
This isn’t a love triangle, it’s something different.
How could it be a
love
triangle when it started out with so much
pain
?
-Brooke
Revenge of the Record Labels: Trio green with envy, while Wallace & Wright show the world they’re still the best in the industry
MusicStone.com
Alistair Wallace is back at it, folks. He continues to prove time and time again why Wallace & Wright is the best in the industry. After a last-minute trip to London, with the original intent of buying out Trio—one of UK’s highest-selling labels—he ended up coming back with something even better.
After they refused his proposal, Alistair snatched up the band Trio was hell-bent on signing. A source close to the music mogul says, “Alistair doesn’t like taking no for an answer. It’s why he’s gotten as far as he has. It’s why Wallace & Wright are still at the top of their game, despite the numerous indie labels that continue to pop up. Even though Trio refused his buyout, he found something better, something that will come back to bite Trio in the proverbial ass.”
The label is being discreet, refusing to let the world know what new band they signed, but a rep from Wallace & Wright put out their statement yesterday morning. “The world will find out soon enough, but prepare yourselves. This band will be the next big thing. They will change the face of music. They will raise the bar on what true talent really looks like in this industry.”
If that doesn’t get you curious, we don’t know what will.
Although this appears like a good old-fashion pissing match between two labels, we’re all left wondering the same thing; Will Wallace & Wright’s new band live up to these expectations? Who knows? But we can’t deny that we’re on the edge of our seats in anticipation.
One Month After Paris
Brooke
Discovering new talent is sometimes more of a challenge than you’d think. Since the day I got back from Paris, I’ve been on a mission to find my own band to sign, work with, and help produce an album. This is extremely ironic, considering the label has its own scouts, and I’m not one of those scouts.
Compartmentalizing, Party of One!
Needless to say, I’ve immersed myself in work. If I’m not in the studio, I’m catching live shows or open mic nights at local bars and clubs. I even flew to New York last week to catch up with Lindsay and check out an indie band that had sent a demo a few months prior. Eternal Refuge was good—not great, but good. I think with another year or so under their belt, they’ll probably be ready, but right now is not the time for them to sign a contract. If it was up to Alistair Wallace, he would have pressured them into a contract, but luckily, I was on my own for that trip.
After the show, I sat down with the band and gave them their options, along with some of my own advice. They could sign a contract now, before they’ve really formed their own sound and let a record label mold them into what they want them to be, or they could wait, keep playing shows, keep tweaking their sound and finding their voice, and sign when they know without a doubt that they’re ready, know what kind of records
they
want to make, and have no problem telling a record label to fuck off if they’re not given the right amount of creative freedom.
They went with the latter. I gave them my contact info and told them to keep in touch. I know one day they’ll be great, and hopefully, when that time comes, Jamie and I will sign them to
our
label.
“
I’ll take one latte and one coffee black, no sugar, no cream,” I tell the barista behind the counter at The Grind. Her nametag reads ‘Fiona.’ She gives me an odd look from behind the counter, but proceeds to write my name on both cups and take my credit card to swipe. Once Fiona hands me the receipt, I stand off to the side, eavesdropping on other customers’ orders while I wait for mine.
When I was at NYU, I worked as a barista at a mom and pop coffee shop not far from my apartment. Four years of watching hundreds of different faces order their coffee every morning made me realize a person’s coffee order can say a lot about their personality.
Black coffee drinkers (Jamie) tend to be straightforward, no-nonsense, and can be very resistant to change. Whereas double decaf, almond milk, soy, and extra-foamy folks tend to be more obsessive and controlling. The latte drinkers (that’s me) swing more towards the neurotic and people pleaser side, while the instant coffee drinkers are usually the most laid-back people you’ll ever meet. They could make a career out of procrastination.
And, finally, the men and women who order the sweet drinks topped with caramel and whipped cream are generally overgrown kids who’ve kept the taste buds and sensibilities of a ten-year-old.
Obviously, these are all assumptions on my part, and we are no more defined by our drink choices than we are our astrological signs. It’s quite possible someone could be a controlling black coffee drinker or a neurotic decaf drinker. I know better than anyone else that we can’t be pigeonholed into one specific set of personality traits. I’m the queen of the pendulum personality.
“I’ll take a café au lait,” a thirty-something woman orders. She smiles at the man beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. “We just got back from our honeymoon in Paris.”
“Oh wow, I bet it was amazing!” Fiona exclaims.
The couple starts gushing about all of the gorgeous things they saw, and I do my daily routine of losing myself to thoughts of Dylan.
I miss him. I miss him dreadfully.
Four weeks, and the man had ingrained himself into my mind, my heart, my soul. It seems every little thing brings him to mind—a song on the radio, a photograph inside a shop, a couple walking hand-in-hand along the street. In an instant, we’d had too much together, felt too much, and every one of those feelings has a memory. At first, I started locking away any song or show or movie that would bring him to mind, but it was a fruitless effort—memories of him were unavoidable. He had become such a huge part of me in such a short amount of time. Nearly everything brought him to mind—my favorite bands, my favorite songs, my favorite TV shows.
You name it, and it reminds me of Dylan.
That’s probably why I’ve fallen back on survival mode. My mind going to that blank, robotic-like place it did when pink polka-dots meant a different kind of pain. I’ve kept so busy with my job that I’ve given my mind little time to dwell or pine or second-guess on what I did. I’m convincing myself that I’m strong enough to move past this terrible place. Strong enough to move on, even when huge chunks of myself are missing.
“One latte extra foam and one black coffee!” Fiona startles me. She slides my cups across the counter, eyeing me with a questioning edge. I’ve seen that look. I’ve given lots of customers that look. She’s trying to figure out which coffee is mine.
“Thanks,” I say. What I really want to say is ‘
Yeah, sweetheart, the black coffee isn’t for me, but it should be.
’ Black—
just like my soul
—would suit me better right now than my usual lightly sweetened latte. At least, I’m sure Dylan would agree.
I grab the cups, head to my car, and start the engine. My phone pings with a notification.
‘You headed our way? Meeting is at 10.’