Chapter Text
Rebecca Mitchell’s office had one of the best views in the building. A wide panoramic view of Los Angeles, sprawled out at her feet. The city where she’d come to chase, then realize her dreams. A view befitting the senior vice president in charge of music production and talent development at Residual Heat International. A view she never got the chance to look at.
Rubbing the top of her ear to calm herself, she could still fill the indentations where her old piercings used to be. No multiple ear monstrosities now, just a sensible pair of diamond studs.
Goodbye to ripped jeans, plaid shirts, band tees or Converse. Tailored suits, silk blouses and designer heels were her uniform now.
Gone was the long flowing hair, now tamed to a sensible , easy to maintain bob that still cost her twice what she paid for rent in her first New York apartment with each salon visit.
Rebecca had fought, clawed, struggled, and overcome so many obstacles to get where she was. She’d made so many mistakes, learned the hard way that talent got your foot in the door but playing the game got you to the top. She’d suffered, been hurt, and hurt others to reach this point in her life.
She was, to use a phrase from another time and place when she was another person, the tits.
And yet, despite all this, she felt disjointed, unfinished. Like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces missing.
Glancing at the sole picture on her desk, she allowed herself a small smile at the reminder of why she did it all, why in fact she did anything at all.
One of the people in the picture was famous, known around the world for her talent and loved by millions. The other was known to only a small circle of people and loved fiercely by one Rebecca Mitchell.
Stevie Nicks (the famous one) was kneeling in the picture with her arms around a small brunette girl, dressed in a leather biker jacket, a Stevie Nicks tour shirt that looked more like a dress, black leggings, and red converse high tops. The singer was laughing for the camera , obviously amused by her picture partner, who was sticking her tongue out as far as she could.
The day her daughter met her namesake was one of the most treasured memories of the last seven years for Rebecca. A reminder of what music once meant to her and what it still meant to her daughter.
Letting out a long sigh, she moved her gaze from the picture to the two things crying for her attention.
On her computer screen her calendar was open. The whole week, all seven days, was blocked out with meetings, calls and events, lasting from early in the morning to late at night. Ranging in urgency from “important you attend” to “miss this meeting and the world will end”, many of the meetings overlapped each other. Budget meetings, strategic planning meetings, marketing meetings, HR Meetings, meetings about meetings.
Not having mastered the art of cloning, she knew this meant she’d had to shuffle from meeting to meeting, doing drop ins to make sure her presence was known before moving onto the next meeting. Later, she’d have to go over the minutes from each meeting to catch up on what she’d missed.
Rebecca rubbed her forehead, already starting to feel the familiar pressure building up behind her eyes.
The second thing she had facing did nothing to lessen the tension she felt.
Her eyes moved to the white square of paper, edged with green , lying in the centre of her polished hard wood desk. Picking it up for the thousandth time, she felt the heaviness of the card stock, her thumb running over the artful embossing. Not cheap. “My alumni dollars hard at work”, she thought.
The card had come with a handwritten note from the president, thanking her for her generous anonymous donations over the years. As a distinguished alumna, as well as a noted patron of her alma mater, she merited a personalized invitation to the pending event. In the centre of the general invitation the following appeared in rich flowing script:
To celebrate the 100th anniversary of the founding of the Barden Bellas,
you are cordially invited to the ground-breaking ceremony for the new Winnifred Q Posen Memorial Acatorium
Posen….there was a name she hadn’t seen or heard in years. Looks like Aubrey still had clout in the Barden and acapella worlds.
“What the fuck was an acatorium though?”
She felt a twinge seeing the Barden colours and logo. She reminded herself her donations were not about trying to make amends. Assuaging her guilt had nothing to do with it. She wanted to support a place that, despite strong resistance on her part, had been the first steppingstone on her journey to the top of the music industry.
That’s all keeping her connection to Barden University was about.
A loud reminder went off on her computer and with a sigh Rebecca tossed the invitation back onto the desk. The event was months away. She’ll deal with it later, adding it to the thousand plus things she needed to get to this week.
Squaring her shoulders and steadying her breathing, she turned to her computer and clicked onto a web browser, navigating to the doxy.me site, logging in with her name and password then waiting for the other participant on the call to login.
She looked at herself in the thumbnail webcam image. Deal closer Rebecca looked back at her. She looked put together, stylish, ready to take on the world and not take any bullshit.
A notification appeared on the site dashboard, letting her know the other caller was logging on.
For a moment, the façade of closer Rebecca flickered and disappeared. A nervous, uptight face looked back at her. Shaking her head , she steeled herself, breathed deeply and readied a business-friendly smile. She had this. She always had this.
A face filled the screen. Warm brown eyes, short brown hair. Younger than Rebecca expected but with a gentle smile. She felt herself relaxing just a bit.
“Hi Rebecca, I’m Dr. Kristen Bouchard. So pleased to finally meet you. Thanks very much for allowing me access to your old therapy notes. I know you had previously met with Dr. Hudson but as you know she’s retired, and I’ve taken over her practice”
“Pleased to meet you too, Dr. Bouchard. Dr. Hudson was a huge help to me and while I’m happy she’s enjoying her retirement and no longer listening to the whining of the 1%,” Here Rebecca allowed a self-depreciating smirk to appear on her face.” She did highly recommend you as a substitute. However, I will miss her …. tough love approach”
Dr Bouchard mirrored Rebecca’s smile. “ I studied under Dr. Hudson. Tough love is being kind. She was and is a hard ass. A brilliant therapist but a hard ass.”
“Well ,that’s true. Her favourite saying to me was to “Wise up, put on your big girl panties and stop wearing your ass as a hat” Dr Bouchard repeated the last part of the sentence with Rebecca. The two women looked at each with wider smiles.
“That was Franny, through and through. No time for wallowing but all time in the world for those who wanted to make positive changes in their lives”
This just might work out okay, Rebecca thought.
The therapist cleared her throat. “Right, before we get started there are a couple of questions I need to ask. Your honesty is essential here if I’m to help”
“Right, I’m ready”
“Do you have any concerns about relapsing?”
‘No” Rebecca said quietly. Then repeated her answer in a louder, firmer voice “ No I do not”
“Any concerns about self harm?”
“No”
“Any thoughts about harming others?”
“No, none at all”
“Finally, what brings you back to therapy after three years, Rebecca?”
Here was the key question: Why now, Rebecca? Was it for a checkup? Unfinished business? Uncompleted amends? Midlife crisis?
She cleared her throat: “ Well, my daughter started Grade One today. This is a big life change for me as well as her. I thought it was time to do some more work on me.”
Dr Bouchard smiled. “ I felt the same way when my youngest entered first grade. It was a reminder that time marches on” She checked her notes. “ So, I see she’s seven now. Was Stephanie …”
“Stevie”
“Stevie excited to start first grade?”
“Ecstatic. She’d attended daycare and kindergarten at the school already, so she was comfortable with going there. Plus, unlike her mother she’s a social butterfly so getting to spend time with her friends again was a welcome change from her nanny and her very uncool mom.”
“Sounds like she’s a very active and social child”
“Very much so. And bossy….so very bossy. Now that she gets from me, unfortunately”
“So, with Stevie back in school, you feel what? Lost? Unsatisfied””
At this question, Rebecca hesitated. Ask her to explain what was wrong with a song, she could come up with answers without even thinking. Sit her down at a boardroom table with her talent development team and she could quickly and accurately verbalize her thoughts about the next year’s plan of action for each artist.
But ask her to talk about herself and what she wanted, what she felt and words….even thoughts failed her.
Her therapist looked calmly at her over the webcam, not saying anything to start the conversation.
Hesitantly , Rebecca began to speak. Haltingly at first, stumbling over her words then gradually picking up the pace.
“I’ve been feeling unfocused maybe. Spending a lot of time in my head. Work’s going great success wise but I’m not getting the same feeling of satisfaction. I don’t see Stevie nearly as much as I’d like, and it’s starting to bother me and bother her. That makes me anxious. I’m trying to do the best for her, give her anything she wants, everything she needs but I still feel like I’m messing up. And my job was my dream right. Do what you love they said, and you’ll never work a day in your life. But I don’t know what I love about it anymore. I don’t do music anymore; I produce a product. And then sit in meetings discussing how to package that product. It’s just so frustrating because I remember the joy I used to get from making music. It’s still there, just out of reach…and then I remember how I burned it all down, torched everything I had. The only good, lasting, tangible thing I got out of my last ten years is Stevie. If it wasn’t for Stevie and what I had to do to take care of her, I never would have done what I’m doing now. I fought so hard to protect her and give her everything she needs but it cost me so much. I love her but sometimes I resent what I need do to take care of her. And that tears me apart because she’s my everything. She loves me so much and I lay awake wondering why? And when is she going to see through the disguise and realize what a disappointment I am. I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know who I am now. And I miss who I was. But I know I can’t go back. And I don’t know if I can move forwards. I miss the joy in my life. Where’s my joy?”
The level of her voice rose with each of the last few words. She felt her throat constrict and her palms start to sweat. Her body was trembling, and she felt on the brink of something that could wash away everything she’d worked for.
“Okay, Rebecca, take some time now. Breathe slowly for me. I want you to release this feeling. Nothing needs to be done or decided now. But we’re going to examine these feelings. And help you work on plans to help you get back on track. What I’m hearing from you is you’re feeling lost and disconnected from your self. Given what I know of your history, there’s still some guilt and trauma you haven’t fully dealt with. You both miss and are afraid of your past self. You’ve done wonders to get where you are. You’re successful, talented, smart, and inspirational. You love your daughter, and she loves you. This is a strong foundation. We can work with this. We can build from this.
If you’re okay with it, I’d love to work with you going forwards. This was a great introduction and if you’d like to schedule another appointment, I’m positive we can work together to find what Rebecca needs now, who she wants to be.”
“I’d like that, Dr. Bouchard. I’d like that very much”
“ Please, if you’re comfortable with it, call me Kristen, Rebecca”
Rebecca hesitated, feeling vulnerable and feeling drained after this short but intense interaction.
“ Dr. Bouchard …. Kristen….if you wouldn’t mind could you call me Beca? No-one’s called me that in years and I miss her a lot. I miss Beca.”
Kristen smiled. “Sure Beca, I’d be glad to. Why don’t we say same time next week? For a longer session?”
“Absolutely and thank you”
“My pleasure, Beca. Talk with you soon”
After disconnecting from the chat, Rebecca/Beca Mitchell leaned back in her chair. She felt like she’d done a full sweaty yoga session. Rubbing her palms across her thighs, she held her hands up and watched them tremble. If this is what an introductory session did to her, she’d be a mess after the full sessions. She grimaced as she thought how old Beca Mitchell would have run as fast as possible in the other direction from her therapist. Broken, bent and battered Rebecca Mitchell knew what therapy had given her back. And had hopes about what it could give her and her daughter for the present and the future. Maybe Beca Mitchell was still there, buried deeply inside her.
She spent the rest of her morning at a strategic planning session for next summer’s releases, skipped lunch, then onto a budget meeting for marketing, followed by a product development meeting to discuss internet synergy, before escaping the TikTok talent search update after one hour of watching autotuned, filtered, cover artists butcher everything from the 1960’s to last week’s new release, to hide in her office for a quick email check.
Her office phone buzzed once, twice, three times. She glanced over and saw it was her assistant trying to reach her. Christine had been with her for 4 years now. She knew to only interrupt her when her office door was closed if it was an emergency.
“Hi Christine, what’s up?”
“Hi Rebecca, it’s Stevie’s principal on the line, wanting to speak to you immediately”
“Okay, thanks. Please put her through.”
She felt a flutter of panic in her chest. What was wrong? Was Stevie okay?
Words tumbled out of her mouth as soon as the connection was made.
“Hello Ms. Atkinson. Is Stevie okay? She’s not hurt?”
Stevie’s principal had always rubbed her the wrong way. She seemed overly friendly at school gatherings, bordering on unctuous with the music executive. Living in Los Angeles, Rebecca was all too familiar with the rush some people got from proximity to fame and money. She’d always been happy to donate to the fundraising Stevie’s school did but found the overly effusive thanks she got from Ms. Atkinson embarrassing. She also found the principal’s awkward attempts to conjure a friendship between “two women who know how to take charge and get what they want” ,as the educator put it, off putting and frankly creepy as fuck.
“Stephanie is absolutely unharmed, Rebecca and please call me Beverly”
That was another thing that irritated Rebecca. The constant use of her first name, a privilege only she ‘enjoyed’ among the school’s parents.
The principal continued: “ However, there was an incident between Stephanie and another student today. Some words were exchanged and there was some physical contact. Normally we would handle this internally. Stephanie has been with Ashburn Academy for two years now and we certainly appreciate her and your membership in the Ashburn family. Unfortunately, this incident did happen in front of a large number of her fellow students. In addition, the other student involved is new to the school and to make things more….challenging…. the child of one of our staff.”
Her heart dropped. “Ms. Atkinson,” There was no way in hell she was calling this woman Beverly, “ Did Stevie….Stephanie do something wrong? Did she hurt someone?”
“I don’t feel comfortable discussing this over the phone, Rebecca. As you know Ashburn has a strict non-violence, non-bullying policy. Given your support of the school, I feel it would be best for all involved to nip this in the bud before it escalates. In this case, I feel a conflict resolution session between you, Stephanie, the other student, and their parent should be scheduled as soon as possible.”
Rebecca ran her hands through her hair. “ Oh, Stevie what have you done? “ she thought. She loved her daughter, but she also knew her daughter. Stevie felt things very strongly and had no problem letting others know what she was feeling.
“Of course, I agree, Ms. Atkinson. I’d love to get this resolved as soon as possible. I want Stevie and this other student to go to class in a comfortable, safe environment”
“I’m so glad you agree, Rebecca. Let’s schedule a session for after school today. I’m certainly free to mediate. I’ll make sure Stephanie is waiting for you and I’ll let Ms. Walp know that you’re going to be meeting with her and her daughter”
“Of course, Ms. Atkinson, we’ll see you there”
As she quickly hung up, what she’d heard suddenly crashed over her like a tidal wave.
“Walp ???”