CHAPTER 14 – The Pretender

When Eppie received almost a dozen notices stating that she had gained almost 4000 [Causality], she deeply suspected that Armand wasn’t just going to be a guy who painted commissions for the corridors of corporate towers.

From the vibe of the [System], it meant that Armand was about to embark on an arduous but ultimately rewarding pilgrimage to find the veritas of his art.

Once she got back to her dorm, she cleaned up, put everything in the dryer-washer, then cleaned herself before finally settling into bed to check her gains. Finally satisfied, Eppie slept like a log until Josefina awoke her for breakfast, teasing her about her pintor escort.

Both Ava and Halle were dying for details, and with as much dryness as she could muster, Eppie told them exactly what happened, sans the singing.

“I don’t like the beach,” Ava confessed. “It’s sandy, of course, and the sand gets everywhere.”

“I wish a hunk would pull me out of the sea,” Halle hammered the table. “So romantic!”

Josefina rolled her eyes.

Today, Ava and Halle had a week’s worth of homework to catch up, but not so for Eppie.

On the Seventh Day of the new school term, there was no rest for the wicked.

Eric Lee, workaholic and good enough boyfriend, awoke to the sound of his Blackberry buzzing.

Having committed a good portion of his savings to a fruit company and a search engine, he was suffering sleepless nights of late, which often made his girlfriend not in the mood for morning cuddles.

He was very much surprised, therefore, when, on Sunday, the 19th of August, 2007, at 8 AM, he received a text from a saved number with the notification “I need your help”.

Like a jack-in-a-box, he sprang out of bed, failing to unlock his phone twice before he finally read the rest of the message.

“I need your help getting this song to Frederick. If you have a line, use Mueller’s number (the one you got from our last trip in NYC). I uploaded a video of the song on YouTube; you can also see it on my MySpace account. Check the link below. (This is not phishing, I promise.)

Frederick did not know exactly what Phishing was, but the cybersecurity guy at work did mention it in one of those meetings, which could have been an email.

When his heart rate finally returned to its usual arresting rate, he swore loudly.

“What’s wrong?” Emily stumbled into the modest kitchen of their shared West Hollywood apartment, one hand rubbing her eyes.

“Work,” Eric said. “It’s Eppie.”

“Oh no,” Emily shot from sleepy to wakefulness at once. As a third party, she had been completely invested in Eppie’s story as it had unfolded. “Is she in trouble? Should I get the car?”

“No—” Eric fiddled with the phone until it sent the message to himself as an email. “Eppie sent us another song.”

“SHE DID?” Emily ran to the laptop, almost tearing off the cover. “Let’s hear it! Put it on the sound bar!”

After his work with the bigwigs in NYC, Eric had been promoted, and as a part of that promotion, he had received many gifts from the LA office for his ongoing contributions, including decommissioned products from Sony’s Electronics division.

The MySpaceTV video took a few seconds to buffer.
It was 4:3, grainy, heavily compressed, and so dark he could barely see her face and figure, and the CSULA backdrop with the yellow bulbs made the scene look like something out of a horror film.

Then, the song began.

The soundscape was the worst, but somehow, her voice itself penetrated the static and the compression and pierced through the screen into their hearts.

Emily was crying again. She always cried when listening to Eppie.

Swallowing, Eric scrolled down the video profile.

Poet_91_X wrote, “Lmao. Is she wearing a K-mart top? Why is she wet? Is this a promo?”

SceneQueen_Fleur wrote. “If she’s pretty, she should show her face, Lol. But seriously dough. That voice is UNREAL. Who is she?? Has she signed to a label yet? this feels like something from a soundtrack.”

Prawn_Fanatic_88 wrote, “Is she singing about Gogh? I know van Gogh. This is sick. This is SICK YO! You can HEAR the paintings, people! To the BBS Boards! Brb. Note: F U Poet_91_X for making the first about her shirt. The internet remembers!”

There were a total of 78 views, but 40 comments.
Most people, it seemed, felt compelled to leave a message.

“Wow,” Eric said, sitting back. “What do you think?”

Emily looked up at him with reddened eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

Eric straightened his spine. “So er… Should we still go to the park for that walk?”

“Hell no!” Emily leapt to Eppie’s defence at once. “Go call your boss! Tell them they need this! Tell them to pay her before someone else does.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Right then,” Eric adjusted his invisible tie. “I guess I’ll make some calls.”

Trent Davis, CEO of SONY BMG, was 4 holes into a fantastic 18-hole game when a golf cart bearing the indifferently attired visage of his Creative Director rolled up with an outstretched hand and a wolfish grin.

“Money,” the man said. “I need to buy a song.”

Davis apologised to their peers: a fellow CEO from BMG, a bigwig producer from Rough Town Records, and a junior Executive Officer from Tokyo, then swung.

TANG—!

The hit was clean, as was the arch.

Davis admired his work while the others took their turn.

“Alright, what now? Who is it? How much do you need?”