#merpgstarter

I was on leave for five days and I think it’s shameful how much I missed my job.

“Our bassist just fucking quit and it feels like I haven’t left the studio in days. And people say musicians don’t work hard, eh?”

When one door closes, another will open. That’s what I told my junior PA this morning when I fired her... It’s been two months and we’ve had no improvement and if you know me at all, you know I can’t deal with incompetence. I feel awful. But if you know anyone seeking a junior PA position...

Lydia perused the shelves of the bookshop quietly. It was one of her favourites in London. First editions, signed copies... expensive, beautiful books with price tags she paid no mind to, her black Amex card burning in her purse. She spied a first edition copy of Jane Eyre in one of the glass cabinets, and crept over to get a better look at it. As she gazed at it appreciatively, longing to get her hands on it, she heard a familiar voice and turned to find its source. “Oh, hello,” she murmured awkwardly.

Rose took the steps one at a time as she headed up them. “I mean you can follow me upstairs,” she said with a smirk. “But no promises on what will happen once we get up there.”

“This is not a very good party!” the middle of the York sisters proclaimed. Rose had, at this point, quite of a bit of wine in her, enough to make her happy and feel free. She wasn’t drunk enough that those who didn’t now her would notice but she was a bit tipsy. “Why is no one dancing?”

The great thing about playing swanky places like The Dorchester was that she didn't have to drag along her PA. They already had a nice fat sound system wired through all the ball rooms and even a technician to go along with it. All she had to do was show up an hour before the event started to program in her sound cues and set up her deck and records. Simple really. Unless you're Stella Steel. As a rule she was always ten minutes late to being thirty minutes behind and as such the event had started ten minutes ago. It wouldn't have been an issue if this were one of her normal bookings. Usually she could throw on a few party jams to get a crowd going while she set up her own tracks, but she couldn't see the fine people of London's fashion world getting down to Party Rock Anthem any time soon. Instead she brought every smooth jazz, instrumental and easy listening record that she had in her collection. She'd have these people schmoozing to the song stylings of Burt Bacharach in no time. If only she could get inside the building. She'd been instructed to use the back entrance where event staff normally came and went. Her arms were loaded with two crates of records, with her laptop perched delicately on top. And the door was locked. She gave it a swift kick with the toe of her boot praying that she wouldn't lose her balance beneath the weight of her equipment. "Hello? A little help here, please?"