C-Flat to C-Sharp (PR Girls & Instalove 3)

Corina: No – I checked her out. She’s new, but she has a great reputation, and she’s already worked with a couple of rock bands. No sequins, I promise. But you two should get it locked down this afternoon.

Me: OK, sure. Set it up.

Corina: I’ll send the details in a few minutes.

Me: Did you know that you are incredibly beautiful, even through text?

Corina: I assure you, I’m not. Especially when I’m working.

Me: I can’t wait to see you again. I’m sorry I’m booked with rehearsal tonight, but maybe Saturday?

Corina: Please never apologize for working. That always comes first.

Me: You come first. But I know it will make you happy for me to focus completely on this concert, so that also comes first. Right?

Corina: Precisely.

Me: Don’t work yourself to pieces, angel.

Corina: I won’t. I have the power of great tea.

Me: xox

Corina: You always make me smile.

I could’ve kept chatting forever, but let her get back to work.

After a quick hour of vocal training, I dashed downtown.

Meeting up with a stylist felt like the antithesis of independent music, somehow, but if Corina thought it was important, I would give anything a shot.

Walking into a blinding white clothing store that looked more like a modern museum, a perky girl with pink streaks in her blonde hair bounced over to me.

“Ethan!” She practically squealed, giving me a giant hug. “I’m Karli.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, looking around suspiciously.

She held up her hands. “I know what you’re thinking, but I swear there are some great base pieces here. We’ll find you a few glamorous things, then go down the street to a basement secondhand store I love.”

I blinked, surprised. “The sketchy one with the big black and white spiral at the bottom of the stairs?”

“That’s it,” she nodded. “We need to mix high-end pieces with a bit of grunge and rock. Don’t worry – I’ve listened to your album and studied what few photos there were of you online. You don’t have to wear anything you don’t want to.”

I honestly just wanted to wear my usual stage outfit of my better jeans, a decent t-shirt, and maybe a leather wrist cuff, but I would take her word for it.

Karli looked at me carefully. “I see you’re worried,” she said, stepping closer. “But listen to what song just came on. That’s gotta be a sign.”

Although it was an odd jazz version, I could still make out the eighties blues rock tune about every woman loving a sharp dressed man.

Three hours later marked the end of my longest shopping excursion ever. By the time I made it back to my loft with five shopping bags, I had five outfits that I actually really loved, and felt like myself in.

Well, the more stylish, slightly flashier, ready-for-a-photoshoot-at-any-second version of myself.

***

I hadn’t even gone through the shopping bags Saturday evening when Corina came over.

After an incredible dinner, and a giant makeout session on my couch, she began to laugh.