• Previously Featured on Wattpad • Everyone dreams of becoming the next big thing in the music industry because who wouldn't dream about enjoying the luxuries of fame? The most common issue is that period of waiting, waiting for someone to discover...
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Our taxi parks in front of a tall slender building with an extravagant water feature out the front. I bet the top office overlooks a magnificent view of the city and the bright colourful lights at night. This view already gives me tingling hopes of happiness. This place feels right already.
"Are you ready?" Dad asks.
I slip out the taxi and head straight inside with Dad flanking behind me. I'm nervous about not wearing my mask in front of other people while discussing this, but honestly, if I sign a contract with them, then I'm going to have to produce my name. Perhaps this will be my beginning step towards letting more people know me.
The outside of the building gives of a sophisticated feel, while the inside speaks more character and refines their sense of funk and good music. The room is painted a soft cream colour and is decorated with mismatched chairs, music magazines, along with record and large print magazines and articles about their musicians. There's some soft music playing in the background which instantly makes me feel at welcome.
Dad and I walk to the desk placed in the centre of the room. The man sitting behind has sun kissed skin, stocky shoulders and a black band t-shirt on. When he sees us approaching, a glowing smile appears on his face.
"Hi, welcome to Del Ray Recordings, how can I help you?"
"We're hoping to have an audience with Mr. Portman," I explain.
"Mr. Portman has a solid booking today, his next free appointment is in three weeks."
"When we spoke previously, he insisted I stop by his studio for a tour," I lie.
Mr. Portman and I haven't talked directly, but his message to me seems like it would favour my visit to his recording studio. I really want to join here, and I bet Mr. Portman would be excited for my name to be printed on his bill.
"I don't have anyone printed down, but I will call Mr. Portman and see if he wants to see you. Can I have a name?"
"The Masked Singer."
The man's face flickers with emotions, but there's a small smile edging onto his lips. He grabs his cell phone out of his pocket and taps away at the screen before pressing the device against his ear.
"Do you have a free moment, I have The Masked Singer waiting for you," he says.
He falls silent and that sends me panicking. I look towards Dad, but his expression is blank and not reassuring in the slightest way.
"She seems like the real deal this time, come and check it out." More silence is followed until the man hangs his phone up.
"So?" I prompt.
"Mr. Portman isn't seeing walk-ins at the moment," he says with a grim face. "But."
"What?" I'm in the middle of wanting to fall into the earth and explode.
