Heather E. Andrews
Scarred Melody
Bold Melodies, Book One
First published by Write On Studios 2022
Copyright © 2022 by Heather E. Andrews
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
First edition
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To my late parents, who always supported my dreams.
For my brother, David. Thank you.
And to Mr. Mouw, my high school music teacher.
I’m sorry I was such a little shit.
Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything.
Plato
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgement
My Sister, the Terrorist
Washed Up
Twentynine Palms
Taking Off the Mask
Sing a Song for Me
Going to Plaid
Hallelujah
Skyler’s Voice
The Band
Memories of My Wishes
I Don’t Know Me
New Music
YouTube
Balcony Lovin’
Manmade Orgasms
Orgasm Sale
Skyler 2.0
Afterglow
I Smell a Rat
Big Mouth, Little Dick
Piano Feelings
Don’t Think!
Billy Boy
The Devil’s Lair
Laying Down the Tracks
Riding in Style
Girl Power
The Image of a Rockstar
Be Brave. Be Bold. Be Badass.
Waking in Her Arms
Tattoos and Memories
Ink Me All Night Long
Every Scar is a Story
Riding With the Wind
Beleventure Room 1245
Benny’s Legacy
Shit—Meet Fan
Jump In the Fire
I’m Gonna Tik Your Tok
Daddy’s Home
The Amy Evans Show
Epilogue: The Definition of Winning
Memories of My Wishes
Afterglow
Scarred Melody Playlist
Stalk Me
About the Author
Preface
My sole experience with music is playing the flute in a high school band. No, I did not go to band camp.
I can’t sing. I’ve never made an album. But I’ve had the same fantasies many of us do of singing on stage to an immense crowd, feeling the adrenaline and joy of performing. I’ve spent many hours in my car singing to the radio, pretending I was Madonna on stage, singing, and dancing.
Scarred Melody is an exploration of those fantasies. What I imagine it would be like to perform music from my heart and present it to the world.
That being said, I have no claim to accuracy as far as the songwriting or production process.
My suggestion: suspend reality and hang on for the ride.
Acknowledgement
First, I want to thank my husband, Benjamin Olis, for sitting there every day and nodding as I describe what progress I made, all the while not having a clue what I’m talking about. He made dinner when I was working late. He took care of our zoo of pets when I was too distracted. And most of all, he never once doubted that I could do it or made me feel like I was wasting my time. BILY NTDWI, sweetie.
I owe a heartfelt thank you to my brother, David. You have supported my dreams from the beginning, more than any other person. You’re my rock, bro.
To the tribe of amazing women I work with, the Peenerpuff Girls, you are a godsend and have changed my life. Before I met you, I was a tinkering writer with no idea how this business operated. Now, I’m a semi-functioning published writer who knows who to go to with questions.
Specifically, I want to thank Janie Filipovich, our fearless leader, who warmly welcomed me into the fold, not knowing a thing about me. You’ve always made it clear that if I need help, all I have to do is ask and it will be freely given.
To Amanda Geist for helping me create my cover and navigate this crazy publishing business. You are such a wealth of knowledge. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and if you don’t have the answer, you know how to get it. And damn girl, you are funny!
I can’t thank Samara Howe Johnson enough. If I struggled with something you never hesitated to say, I’ll show you! If a scene was bothering me or I couldn’t come up with the words, you always looked and knew what was missing. I’m so grateful for the shameless marketing you’ve given me on TikTok and Facebook. You have a genuine love of the romance genre and it shows. This isn’t a money-making venture for you, this is your passion. Thank you for sharing it with me.
My acknowledgments wouldn’t be complete without mentioning my furry coworkers. To the four little guineas in my office—Pecan Sandy, Baby Bella, Buttercup, and Chip. You smell, eat a lot, and keep me company as I struggle to find the right words. Especially Chip. No, you can’t have another carrot, you’ll turn orange! To my soul-dog, Mudgy, and his bratty daughter, Daisy. You remind me not to work too hard, demanding your food and cuddles. Your mommy loves you!
My Sister, the Terrorist
Elsie
“OMG, you will not believe the surprise I have for you!” My sister Amelia screamed through the phone. I yanked it away from my head, preserving my eardrums from her verbal assault.
“You finally found a unicorn and you’ve hit the show circuit?”
Amelia snorted, making me giggle. I’m unsure if it’s because of my joke, or my audacity to make it.
“I have a new client for you. Drumroll please…” Amelia pauses for effect. Reluctantly, I made the drumroll noise so she’d continue. “Skyler Dalton needs a songwriter, and the label is sending him to you,” Amelia singsonged. Bolts of apprehension shot down my spine. I grasped the edge of my sweatshirt and slipped the fabric between my fingers, letting the texture abate my anxiety.
“Mechanical Disturbance’s Skyler Dalton?” I felt my throat collapsing in on itself, and my eyes bulged as I struggled to wrap my mind around Amelia’s announcement.
“No, Elsie. The Skyler Dalton who works for Uncle Emilio at his bakery. Of course, it’s MD’s Skyler Dalton!” Amelia scoffed. “The very man who fed your prepubescent teenage fantasies.”
Of course, she had to mention my greatest teenage obsession.
It was true. I had a substantial Skyler Dalton phase. In my defense, I don’t know many women my age who didn’t. Of course, very few of those women had a life-size cardboard cutout of the man standing at the end of their bed like I did.
Mechanical Disturbance, or MD, was more than just a band to me. Their music got me through the accident, through the pain of the burns, and losing my mother. Their song Memories of My Wishes played on repeat after Mom’s funeral.
As I grew up I had trouble explaining my feelings in social situations, but when I’d play or write a song, I was one with my emotions. I was on the autism spectrum, but it never limited me when I could express myself with music.
Where one person sees a liability, I’ve come to see it as a boon.
My stomach sank to my knees. I can’t work with Skyler Dalton, he’s a bona fide Rock
God.
“I can’t do it, Amelia. No. There’s no way. I am not qualified.” How can I possibly write songs with this man? It’d be like telling God how to rearrange the planets.
“El, get real. The label needs this. Besides, you’ve always loved his music. You know his style and his history. You’re perfect for this job.”
Knowing his history was the understatement of the year. I’d read every article, every review, every sentence ever written about Skyler Dalton. It was embarrassing.
He studied at the University of California, in Los Angeles. There he met his best friend Benny Copeland and dropped out after they released their first album to tour. Skylar was smart, but he hid it well under his rock star persona, enjoying the spoils of fame. Money. Travel. Women. He was what every young artist in the industry aspired to be.
“His last album bombed, El. And when I say bombed, I mean Nagasaki level. He tried to develop a new sound after leaving MD and he couldn’t pull off the songwriting,” Amelia spoke gently. It made my heart break for him; a bad album was always a disappointment, but it was a fragile time after so much loss.
I sat on my soft leather couch and put my feet on the coffee table. As much as it sucked, it made sense his last album didn’t do very well. It was all over the place, nothing consistent. Still, it surprised me how poorly the album performed on the charts. This was Skyler Dalton, after all.
Anyone with ears could tell Skyler was confused. He didn’t know what he was trying to say or believe the words he was singing. He was trying to uphold the star image as a solo artist, and it wasn’t working.
“I know, I listened to it. Benny’s death broke him; they were a pair. He probably hasn’t written a song alone his entire life.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I imagined the loneliness he must’ve felt.
Benny Copeland was Skyler’s best friend as well as MDs guitar player. He died of an overdose one year ago. Tragically, it was common in the music industry. He was a wonderfully talented guitar player; and even more talented songwriter. A year before Benny died, Skyler lost his mother to breast cancer. The hole in his life must’ve felt insurmountable.
I understood loss. My mother died in a car accident that changed me forever—emotionally and physically. She was driving me home from violin lessons and we were running late when a fuel truck slammed into us. I survived… barely. I touched my face as I remembered how it felt when the flames burnt my skin.
Hannah Clarke was a formidable influence on my life. After all, she was a music icon in her own right and a well-respected businesswoman. She and my father built Clarke Records from the ground up.
“The label has to make a choice, El. Support him, or drop him. We can’t afford to produce another flop. MD started with Clarke Records and they made us a lot of money. But as a solo act, it’s a whole new ballgame. We can’t turn our back on him,” Amelia said.
“So, we lost too much money?” In the end, I knew everything came down to the bottom dollar.
Clarke Records was loyal to Mechanical Disturbance for eighteen years. MD was the main reason the label skyrocketed to the top of the industry, leading them to sign other successful acts. However, Skyler’s solo act didn’t guarantee profits.
“Touring didn’t increase sales?” I asked. I wish I could say album sales were where artists made their money these days. Everyone knew they made the money on touring, merchandise, and other business investments. With the rollout of digital downloading and the continued pursuit of pirating, artists were lucky if they broke even on an album.
“Not from the new album. Elsie, you’ve worked with a lot of newbies, taking them from zero to hero. What’s the hesitation?”
Other than being afraid just looking at him would make me spontaneously orgasm in my pants? There were a million reasons this could blow up in my face.
I’d been working with new talent since before I was old enough to vote, enhancing their voice and direction. But Skyler Dalton was not a new artist. He was successful in his own right. There was no guarantee he’d listen to me; he was used to people bowing down before him and following his lead. It was probably the reason his solo act floundered.
Second, my embarrassing level of hero worship started at seven years old. My obsession started as a way to connect with my mom and sink deeper into the music, but eventually morphed into teenage lust and idolization. Who knows if I can get past being tongue-tied and actually help the man create something?
You’d think by now I’d have met the members of MD, what with dad owning the label. But after the accident, I didn’t have the courage to approach people in the grocery store, let alone my heroes. After my disfigurement, I refused to meet, well, anyone.
We’d have to be in the same room for me to work with this man. It was a logistical requirement. He would see my scars. There was no way around it. And I couldn’t bear to see his face turn with disgust like all the others. It would break me.
“I can hear you thinking. Stop it! I don’t believe for a second that you can’t play your way around Skyler Dalton. He’s talented and an excellent singer, but he’s not you, El.” My sister’s confidence in me never wavered.
It was true. I didn’t have to meet him to know it. I’d yet to meet one person who outplayed me on any instrument. There were some perks to being a musical savant. Outmaneuvering others was at the top of the list. I can play over twenty different musical instruments, and any song I hear after listening to it only once. My pitch was perfect, and I switched from opera to country music in a heartbeat.
It wasn’t my talent making me hesitate.
I’d followed Skyler’s career for years, and I’d seen every picture in existence of him standing next to a beautiful woman. Just two weeks ago, I saw a picture of him at a restaurant opening with Haley Michaels, this year’s breakout supermodel. She was just one of dozens. What would he think of me if he was used to being around women like that?
“El, the scars don’t matter as much as you think they do.” Amelia could read my mind as usual. This was a difficult subject for me. She always pushed me hard to get past the trauma of the car accident and my disfigurement. Amelia had this dream that someday I’d get off my butt and start performing arenas like our mother did when we were children.
Just the thought of how a crowd would respond to seeing me on stage made me crumble from fear. Would they say horrible things? If they didn’t, would they think of them? Would I even be able to fill an arena?
“The scars don’t matter, Amelia? I can’t go grocery shopping without someone gawking. I don’t want the most gorgeous man in the world to pity me.”
“Honestly, I’d worry more about you pitying him. I mean, the guy lost his mother. A year later, his best buddy and band mate ODs and his first attempt at a solo career flopped like a loose shoe. You’ve written more music in the last year than the guy probably has in his lifetime. He needs you.”
I let my fear eat me alive; I knew that. Amelia was right. I could help him. It really wasn’t a tough job as long as he cooperated. I already heard dozens of songs winding through my head.
“Listen, I know this is hard for you, but you’re the best I’ve got. Hell, you’re the best in the business. Your songs win Grammys, El. Mechanical Disturbance was the label’s headlining band before Benny died. We need Skyler to pull through this, or we’re going to have real trouble.” I heard the anxiety and Amelia’s voice. I didn’t want to make this harder on my sister.
Clarke Records was everything to Amelia. Our mother and father built it from the ground up and she’s wanted to take it over since she was a child running around the studio telling everyone what to do. She’s known nothing else. Our father retired just after the release of Skyler’s solo album; it was her turn to captain the ship. This new album, by a veteran performer, was the first album Amelia oversaw as the new CEO. They’d intended to showcase her competence with its success. Now, she was scrambling to recuperate their losses.
“What did Dad say when the album didn’t go
platinum?” I asked. My father retired from the label reluctantly, being pushed by both his daughter and his wife. At fifty-five years old, his health was still in good condition and we convinced him to sail around the world and enjoy life. Madison, our stepmother, was more interested in traveling with her walking checkbook.
Amelia didn’t respond to my question.
“That bad?”
“Let’s just say, you wouldn’t only be saving Skyler Dalton’s career but you’d be doing me a huge personal favor.”
“Tell me what he said, Amelia.” I knew my sister was avoiding something.
“I didn’t think it would matter, but Daddy turned the label over to me with the understanding we would revisit my performance in one year. If he’s unsatisfied with my leadership, he and the board reserve the right to remove me. And I get it. I took over the label because he was retiring, but he still wanted to make sure his baby was going to float.” I heard the resignation in Amelia’s voice.
“I didn’t realize that he was still trying to hold on. He’s being high-handed. You grew up around that place. You know what you’re doing. One shitty album does not make a shitty label.” I was getting angry on my sister’s behalf. Our father had groomed her to take over the family business since she was in high school.
“It does if it’s your headlining act and it’s the first album under your leadership. Honestly, El, I thought this was going to be a cakewalk. It’s Skyler Dalton, for Christ’s sake, not someone fresh from the biker bar. I didn’t even consider how bad it could go.”
“I’m sure Daddy didn’t either.” I didn’t know who produced the last album, but they obviously let Skyler walk all over them. Or they just didn’t know what decent music sounded like.
I knew what I had to do. If I didn’t go through with this, the label, my sister’s career, and Skyler would all suffer.
It’ll be fun, I told myself. Plus, it’s a chance to work with an amazing performer. I could create true magic. And going from flop to platinum was just the type of challenge I loved.
Scarred Melody: A Rockstar Romance: Bold Melodies Book One Page 1
