Joey Hicks

This is a story of a dead girl; a young artist in New York City who left her small town to pursue a dream of being someone. The year is 1978 and the name is Joey Hicks.

JOEY HICKS

by

Dagný Guðmundsdóttir

 

I Met Joey Hicks at The Train Station

 

Joey Hicks brought only the essentials with her; a banjo, a tambourine, food and a signed picture of Janis Joplin. She was without a shadow of a doubt a druggie, but also famous, even 7 years post-mortem. Joey could sell it and make a fortune. The woman who owns the record shop across her street �" Leigh-Anne �" said she had this strange feeling that Joey’s gonna “become a spittin’ image” of Janis, like she’s walking in her footsteps when leaving “this good for nothin’ town.”  Except there are no footsteps in the gravel, only horseshit and dust. Joey decides to put on a smile. Might as well show her teeth while she still got ‘em. May has arrived and the sun is shining. The girl kicks the gravel beneath her, her hair dirtier and her grin wider than ever. At last, she reaches the train station. Joey let’s herself wonder for no more than a second what her mother would think if she saw her here. After buying her one-way ticket, she sits down on a wooden bench near the tracks and smiles at strangers passing by. The people at the train station look like tomorrow but glare like they’ve never seen a creature quite like Joey. “It’s best to take it as a compliment you see, their stuck up pride and their mindless prejudice is nothing one can fix,” her mother used to say. But Lord knows not even Jane Austen would’ve sat next to her when passing by, for she was wearing all her belongings on her body and her worst set of clothes. They’re loose and earth toned �" just the way she prefers them �"  and her light-brown hair is in two messy braids. Joey Hicks is too smart to travel in her finest pair of shoes, she’s saving the flamboyant attire for the eyes of the city and the people she’s gonna intrigue.

“Hey, you heading to New York?”

Joey looks up and sees a woman taking a seat next to her on the bench. She looks like she’s in her 20’s, with short and wavy auburn hair . Joey’s eyes crinkle and she mutters out a “yeah”. The realization that this conversation is a new beginning struck her when the lady asks for her name:

               “I’m Rory, what can I call you?”

               “Joey Hicks. Joey Hicks is my name.”

Madison Wagner is now a stranger. The new name feels good. It’s a name the whole world will know and Joey has to start somewhere. Starting with Rory, the canadian, wasn’t too bad. They chatted for a few seconds, about Louisiana, about the weather and about Rory’s travels. Apparently, she started traveling back in ‘72 and isn’t planning on stopping any time soon. She then finally got to the point:

               “Well Joey, you live here right?”

               “Not anymo-”

               “Could you please help me understand what the man in the ticket sale is saying because his accent is thicker than his head” interrupted Rory.

Joey isn’t sure what she expected from her but this wasn’t it. Nevertheless, she helps her  understand Sam’s obnoxious southern accent. Rory buys her ticket and sits back down on another bench than before, clearly avoiding Joey now that she had no need for her. Joey doesn’t have time to care for she hears the train approaching in the distance and looks to her left. From the sunset emerges her saving grace; a train heading to New York. Joey smiles bigger than she ever has and bigger than she ever will.

 

I Saw Joey Hicks at a Party

 

               Disco is in full swing. But so is country, rock n’ roll, pop, every music genre there ever was and every drug ever known to man. The big city with its frenzy of colors doesn’t accept a nobody’s presence, Joey has to start mingling. This particular party is for non-famous “celebrities” in New York; people like Joey. She shows up in a loose green dress accompanied with a chunky belt decorated with rhinestones. Her collarbones are exposed, her lips are dry and her hair is utterly crazy. She gets looks, but different kinds of intentions lie in each and every stare. Some observe with admiration and see a trendy, spiritual and unique entity. Some scoff at the individuality and wonder why she looks like an impersonator; a little girl that wants to play “hippie and harlot”. The spacious room feels pathetic and heavenly at the same time with record producers, wannabes, has-beens and almost-weres, smoke and big boots. Joey avoids the alcohol, and instead heads straight for the biggest cloud of smoke she can find. Joey decides to introduce herself to the first person she sees in said cloud, because why not? Joey Hicks has some nerve, and she plans on keeping it (unless she were to bump into Stevie Nicks, then she might lose her s**t). In the cloud is a young couple on a velvet couch. They turn their heads to the scrawny girl that stands in front of them.

“Evenin’,” she says, “name’s Joey Hicks.”

The skinny woman sitting in her lover's lap looks at her. She says nothing but reaches her hand out and offers her an edible instead, with a drugged-out smile on her face. Joey recognizes the drug being given to her, accepts it without hesitation and sticks it in her pocket. The man with the afro speaks up:

               “You from the south Joey Hicks? That’s a southern accent I hear, no?”

               “Yeah, unfortunately. What can I call you darlin’s?” asks Joey, mainly to avoid talking about her Louisianan origins, but also to catch their names. The blonde woman answers:

               “Call me Minnie. This is Denver.”

Denver and Minnie huddle closer and keep smoking like their lives depend on the chemicals.

               “I think you’re really pretty, Joey. You sing?” asks Minnie.

               “I mostly write, and I play occasionally. But I let others sing.”

Joey intentionally fails to mention her extreme stage fright.

“Also, I think you’re lyin’ bout the pretty part, I’m not a bombshell like you. I think tha’s alright though.”
Minnie whispers something to Denver and his face looks puzzled. He then looks up at Joey and rolls his eyes. Joey is quite offended �" in fact �" Joey is almost mad. Who is he to insult her like that? Especially after they tried to drug her, most likely for nothing but their entertainment. The woman turns to her, smiles and speaks to her calmly:

               “Joey, be a doll and hand that pill back to me please, you didn’t take it did ya?”

That’s when Joey rolls her eyes. They want to change their minds. They sympathize with her; she passed the test.

               “Shouldn’t’ve given it to me in the first place if y’ask me” answers Joey with a straight and unamused face.

Denver sure didn’t like that comment. Minnie, however, didn’t even hear her. She’s damn near passing out in his lap.

               “Alright Hicks, I don’t think you realize that Minnie is trying to help you. The pill is dangerous so give it back unless you want to see the goddamn ground split.”

Nobody gives a stranger a drug for free and for friendly purposes, this is a lesson Joey had to learn the hard way. They think they can be the good guys now, after saving Joey from the danger they put her in.

“I don’t look at this as some merciful act, y’all pretty people are a little too evil fo’ me. I’m flushin’ this down the toilet, you’re not gettin’ it back for s**t.”

 

 

I Shared an Apartment With Joey Hicks

 

New York is an intimidating place, but as soon as one simply makes some friends, things start becoming less stressful. Joey only had to spend about three weeks without a roof over her head, for there are many people in New York who are just like her; ambitious and homeless. People like Fiona and Hal. The three of them are now renting a cheap apartment on Sickles St. They could never afford it on their own, so finding people and splitting the expenses was the only logical solution. Joey has had some luck with her song submissions, some find her melodies moving and some tell her to get back on the street and “take a long walk of a short pier.” Hal is an aspiring actor with a Cheshire cat smile and chestnut brown hair. He works down at the “goddamn dumb-a*s” antique shop. He’s not a fan of his “goddamn dumbass” employment but the lucky b*****d gets paid more than Joey and Fiona combined. Joey is sure that her songs will make her some money soon. So is Fiona, the Danish prodigy. Fiona has been getting by as a paid party girl. She’s also very, very pretty. Her original plan was to become a famous painter, or at least a well-respected one. She knows she’s got some potential, the universe just doesn’t seem to side with her.

“Everyone in New York wants to be famous, so I’m just letting them go first. I’m patient. I can wait.”

Her and Joey share a room since the apartment only has two bedrooms. The two of them get along nicely and look out for each other. Joey especially likes it when Fiona talks to her friends over the phone for hours on end. Fiona has a melodic voice and golden hair. She’s also the only party girl that isn’t a complete druggie, to Joey’s knowledge.

“Nicotine addiction is enough,” she says.

The three of them make a good team. The only time they really ever spend time together, all three of them that is, is from 5 to 7 after Hal comes home from work and before Fiona goes out. They eat a cheap meal, gossip and laugh at their own unfortunate lives. No matter what, there’s always a new topic to explore each day.

“I’m just saying, he was a legend and the world will never be the same.”

Hal talks with his hands. It’s almost hilarious to watch. Fiona responds to his statement:

“I never said he wasn’t a legend, what I’m saying is that in a few years people will see his true colors. And no, he wasn’t a devil among men but he sure had some loose screws-“

“Who isn’t a bit weird though?”

“I’m talking about him and Priscilla and that whole virgin and marriage thing… I mean, she was just a little gi-”

Hal interrupts her:

“Yeah, but we don’t know the full truth, I’m not gonna assume anything yet. Only time will tell.”

Fiona rolls her eyes and says something along the lines of “that was my point exactly” as she finishes her glass of water.

Elvis died yesterday and the rockstar’s persona is being discussed over dinner. Fiona turns to Joey and asks:

“Did you ever see Elvis, Joey?”

Joey shakes her head and continues writing phrases and sentences in her notebook. Her mouth is dry but she doesn’t bother listening to her body’s complaints anymore. At least her left hand has finally stopped shaking. The Elvis conversation is of little interest to her. He now has a legacy and people are allowed to think whatever they want of it.

“I say, we change the subject and talk about Joey’s pretty handwriting” says Hal with his Boston accent.

“I know,” says Joey, “the writing don’t match the face.”

Hal laughs but Fiona protests;

“Joey, you keep making these jokes as if you’re ugly or something.”

Joey’s stomach twists but she keeps writing. Hal and Fiona haven’t ever properly read her writings, they’ve only gotten glimpses that is. The walls in the cramped apartment are thin so they’ve also heard a few melodies here and there. Fiona feels that she’s extremely talented and Hal agrees that she’s got potential.

“I know both of y’all think’m a real flower, I just don’t see it. I don’t mind though, I swear I really don’t” answers Joey.

Joey Hicks is not a liar, at least not a conscious one. She scribbles a few more words as Fiona walks to the bathroom to get ready for the night. After a ton of electric-blue glitter and clear gloss, she walks back into the kitchen to say goodbye. Joey is asleep and snoring in her chair. Hal is reading a play, pretending to understand it. Fiona is curious by nature, and invasive at times. She pokes Hal in the back and points to the open pages of Joey’s book. Hal gets excited and carefully slides the book towards their side. Inside is a collection of chord combinations and sentences.

 

Lord knows, the world won’t ever be the same. Am I the devil among men?

Only time will tell.

 

“Son of a b***h just documented our over-dinner conversation. Gotta love her.”

“Hush Hal, turn the page.”

 

Oh golden haired girl

Take me away, take me to California

 

All alone in May

All alone in June

July was you

Now everything’s blue

 

Hal raises his eyebrows. They agree that these aren’t too bad and that they can hear her southern accent while reading the lyrics.

“Elton ain’t s**t compared to her,” says Hal with a grin on his face.

Fiona smiles and silently agrees. The roommates read it over again in until Hal decides to ask Fiona a question:

“Who’s the goldie-locks though?”

“Probably just make-believe, Hal.”

 

I Heard Joey Hicks Cry

 

               In only one week, Joey submitted 32 songs to 4 different record companies and 2 of them made it through. Joey earned some money and tried to focus on the two wins rather than the 30 rejections. On a cold Saturday night, she now celebrates the progress in the comfort of their apartment. What other way to celebrate the success of her writing than writing more? She feels like staying up late, even though her body needs rest more than ever. Fiona has noticed her lack of sleep recently.

“Sleep is cheap n’my time awake is precious,” Joey would say.

“Well, Joey, we’re broke. We thrive on cheap things, don’t we?”

Joey does sleep sometimes, of course. She knows she needs it, but it’s usually mainly for the sake of Fiona’s poor nerves. The money she’s earning and the things she spends it on is what keeps her happy. They keep her feeling alive, that’s all she needs. Joey is slumped over on the couch of their living room with a pen in her hand.

 

And it’s mad but I love you

I love you so much

My flower

 

At this point, it hurts so bad she can barely write proper sentences. Joey knows her feelings only belong in lyrics, she wouldn’t dream of indulging them in reality. Except she does �" of course �" dream about her. After all she’s her 3rd love. Her first true romance. Joey feels warm and fuzzy, despite October’s cold touch. The old telephone on the coffee table is too yellow for her liking, too bright. Nevertheless, Joey reaches for it and prays that she’ll please, please, please, pick up, for the love of the lord above. After a few torturous seconds, the 2nd love of her life picks up:

 

               “Hello?”

Her voice startles Joey. It’s as if a piece of a broken ol’ mirror just appeared out of nowhere to poke her again, to cut her in the sweetest way.

               “This is Abigail speaking… hello?”

Joey manages to choke out a word;

               “Abbie...”

She hasn’t talked to Abigail ever since she ran away from home. They exchanged letters once, about three months ago, where Joey apologized for leaving her so abruptly. She’d tried to explain why she left and that she just had to become someone. Abbie’s letter came only 9 days later; she said she knew that Joey would eventually realize that she’d much rather become one of the hippies that appeared on the covers of all her records than a “hillbilly housewife in Louisiana”.

               “Madison, good gracious is it really you?” her little sister whispers in excitement.

The sound of her real name pierces even deeper and she quickly corrects her. Abbie apologizes for not remembering her preference when it comes to names, even though she wasn’t a exactly fond of her stage name. Joey states that it “don’t really feel like jus’ a stage name anymore”. Abbie doesn’t answer. Joey asks about her education, her friends and to Abbie’s surprise, their dad. She has to whisper because he’s sleeping on the couch next to her.

               “He was pissed y’know… said real bad things about you and about mama… talkin’ bout how you “left him in the dirt, just like goddamn Jolene”.

Joey shouldn’t cry knowing the walls in this house are thin. The neighbors might hear how the sound of her mother’s name physically hurt, how she felt like her body was about to explode. Joey had even taken her last name when starting a new life. Leaving her own mama behind felt wrong.

               “Is he nice to you Abbie?”

Abbie says nothing at first but eventually answers in a slightly annoyed whisper.

               “He’s nice, he is. He’s nicer than ever cause he knows that if he’s not, I’ll get outta here as well. I’ll be fine here Joey, you’re too worried. I’m engaged to Benny, I’ll move out soon and eventually die in perfect peace and be forgotten. But I’ll live happy while I’m at it yeah?”

               “Yeah… yeah” mutters Joey.

               “How are you Joey?”

Silence can sometimes be fragile but Joey doesn’t have the strength right now to break it. So it sits there in-between them, heavy and dull.

               “Joey, say somethin’ please”

Joey’s cheeks are wet and salty. She doesn’t bother drying them.

               “How’s Leigh-Anne?”

Leigh-Anne, the African American woman who worked at the record shop across the street, often felt like a mother figure to the sisters. She should’ve gotten out of that town a long time ago. Abbie insists that Leigh-Anne is doing just fine and once again asks Joey how she’s been holding up. Joey let’s out a weak sob and finally says something; the first thing that came to mind.

               “You know Fiona?”

               “The Danish roommate, you wrote about her in your letter”

               “...her skin is so soft.”

Abbie giggles through the phone and calls Joey lovesick. Joey smiles and hums that the girl is indeed very dear to her. Abigail asks if her feelings are returned.

               “I don’t think so, Abbie. She likes to draw me though. ‘Says I got a nice face and that she’ll paint me one day.”

“I’d like to live to see that,” says Abigail.

               “Yeah, me too.”

Joey’s mumbling at this point, Abigail seems to be quite entertained by her slurred speech.

               “Are you fallin’ asleep or what” teases Abbie.

               “Mm… yeah ‘think so”

Abbie laughs a sweet laugh. Sounds like her mother’s laugh.

               “Well there’s no use staying up and talking to me is there?”

Joey doesn’t answer. Abbie repeats her question; “is there?”

               “Abbie she’s here” says Joey but the words were barely audible.

               “Who’s there Joey?”

Abbie’s question was repeated a few times, a bit too loud at the end. Dad woke up and told her off, she had to hang up before Joey could whisper an answer.

               “My first love Abbie, she’s here.”

 

I Saw Joey Hick’s Corpse

 

               The stars on the streets of New York scatter back to their hotel rooms, mansions and cramped apartments. The stars in the sky, however, stay out longer. Hal came home drunk after a night out with his old friends from drama school. He stumbled up the stairs and eventually made it into the apartment. Joey was passed out on the couch, the sight was familiar to the flatmates at this point. Hal considered napping an edible from one of the bottles lying around next to her but decided not to, he was already out of it. So out of it he didn’t notice Fiona entering the apartment.

               “I’m surprised a drunk aspiring actor like you made it up the stairs without at least breaking a leg” says Fiona while taking off her green coat.

The roommates liked to poke fun at each other’s struggle to start their careers. Hal laughs at her joke and asks her what celebrities she flirted with tonight and how many drugs she turned down. Fiona answered with a simple “none of your business Van Halen”. Hal hates that nickname but let’s it slide. Fiona darts her eyes at Joey for a second but doesn’t dare to keep them there for too long. They stumble to the kitchen together. Hal prepares himself a gourmet bowl of cereal and Fiona reminds him not to finish Joey’s favorite cereal, and that they’re also short on food at the moment. Hal starts eating, changes the subject and asks how her night went.

               “Tonight was exhausting actually,” says Fiona “some men really don’t have any respect for girls they consider pretty. And if they’re considered ugly, they don’t respect them either. It just feels like everyone wants to use me for whatever I got.”

               “I’d say something clever right now if I could but you’re probably right” says Hal with a shrug and a smirk that makes Fiona sick to her stomach for some reason she can’t explain. Fiona takes her heels off and sighs. Hal walks to his bed and wishes her a good night. The apartment feels quieter than usual. There’s always some noise in the background that keeps Fiona focused and comfortable. Hal’s breathing is loud as always, but now that Hal has left the room there’s simply nothing. There’s no sound of a pen tickling a paper or a distant guitar tune from a locked room. There’s no sound of snoring either. Fiona’s eyes shoot up. Slowly and carefully, she approaches Joey’s pale body with tears in her eyes. Her body is still, way too still. Fiona gives her a nudge but receives no response. She takes a step back.

               “Joey?”

Silence. Fiona hates silence. She manages to break it with a scream. In shock, she falls to the floor and Hal runs to the scene. Joey doesn’t react in any way to Fiona’s outcry of heartbreak, Hal notices. Fiona tries to reach for the phone but she can barely lift her arm. Hal realizes what’s going on and checks Joey’s pulse;

               “What the f**k! What the f**k, Joey!”

He looks to his right and sees Fiona lying on the floor with a puddle of vomit next to her, sobbing. The morning sun shines on the three of them through the window and the birds outside sing. Hal’s reaches for the telephone and dials for help, like anyone in that room could now be saved. The only help they could really receive was getting the body out of there, along with a clean-up.

 

I Made Joey Hicks

 

Fiona stayed in on New Year’s Eve and decided to paint instead of going to another party and pretending to enjoy herself. Hal isn’t working as much as he used to, he now only spends Mondays and Wednesdays at the antique shop. This means less alone time for Fiona, so she usually avoids Hal’s company when he’s home by staying in her bedroom. It’s raining outside and Fiona appreciates the gentle sound of it before she no longer can; fireworks are right around the corner. She’s ready to shut the window when they start going off, she needs to focus on finishing her piece. Hal refers to it as a “portrait of a dead girl”, he’s not keen on Fiona painting Joey, for some stupid reason.

“Think of it as a legacy Hal-“

“Her funeral can be her legacy, let the girl rest in peace. Elvis can have all the post-mortem artwork that the world can produce, why waste paint on our roommate when you could instead mourn like a normal person and then just move on?”

“Are you serious? I’ll paint whatever I want,” says Fiona with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah, I know that, I know…” says Hal “I’m just a bit weirded out by it, I’m sorry.”

Fiona is almost done now. She couldn’t finish it before the new year arrived. It felt weird anyways, leaving Joey behind in 1977. The fireworks begin and she closes the window. It wasn’t enough though, so in order to drown the noises out, Fiona decides to put on music; Telephone Line by Electric Light Orchestra on repeat. Fiona didn’t mind having to rewind it each time it finished, she is more patient than ever now that she’s painting regularly again. At last, she falls asleep on a wet pillow. A month later, she manages to finish her work. She doesn’t feel like calling Hal over to see it. He doesn’t like it anyway. He’s also probably drunk and grumpy at the moment. Turns out, he wasn’t at all. Fiona is sitting on the floor reading the newspaper when Hal emerges from his room in his most fashionable shirt. He’s holding a briefcase and looks like he’s in quite the hurry to run out the door.

“Where are you going”

Hal snaps his head in Fiona’s direction. He hadn’t noticed her behind him.

“Why do you ask?” says Hal in defense.

Fiona begins her petty explanation:

“Clean teeth, neat hair, fancy clothes-“

“They’re not fancy, they’re just cool-“

Fiona tilts her head. She’s not having any of this.

“Just tell me, is it a secret?”

Hal looks away as his grip on the briefcase tightens.

“Personal business. Don’t be nosy Fiona” answers Hal as he heads out the door.

Fiona knows something’s up. He’s a terrible liar. One would think he’d be better at it as an aspiring actor. Fiona stood up and brainstormed. What was in that briefcase? Walking back and forth in her room, her eyes land on Joey’s drawer. She hasn’t touched any of Joey’s private stuff since she passed away. When Fiona and Hal would ask to see her work, she’d answer:

               “You’ll ‘ave to pry it from my corpse’s grip.”

Lord knows, Joey would laugh at the irony of that if she were still among the living. Fiona walked towards it and opened it, only to see Joey’s song collection gone. All her work, all her music, everything.

“Son of a b***h. I knew it. Desperate b*****d.”

Fiona ran out the door, down the stairs and finally out on the streets. She spotted Hal’s obnoxious yellow shirt right away and followed him.

 

“These are yours?”

“Yes sir”

Ennis J. Walkman is one of New York’s biggest record producers and managers. Joey has visited him once. His response to the girl’s work �" and presence �" wasn’t the nicest.

“I think you should really consider some of these. Songs like these, they’re fit for radio in my opinion” says Hal in a confident manner.

“They are good. They have potential.” says Mr. Walkman

The big boss took his time looking at the songs. After about 8 minutes had passed, he was interrupted. Fiona barges in.

“Mr. Walkman, I beg your pardon but this man is a fraud! A fraud!” she states in a stern voice.

Mr. Walkman is slightly startled and Hal’s face loses all color.

“Who is this? This woman is interrupting our session, Badger. Get her out now!”

Fiona protests the assistant’s grip on her and continues;

“Sir, you must listen! These songs are by Joey Hicks. Her name is Joey Hicks.”

Mr. Walkman ignores her. Hal keeps his façade while the assistant continues to push Fiona out the door. Why isn’t anyone listening to her?

“She’s dead and he’s taking all the credit! This is unacceptable!”

That particular sentence catches Mr. Walkman’s  attention. He looks at her and commands his assistant to take his hands off “the lady” and let her speak. Hal freezes. He doesn’t dare to look at Fiona nor Mr. Walkman, he doesn’t dare to move, he doesn’t dare to make a goddamn sound.

“The person who wrote this music is Joey Hicks. She died back in September. This sad excuse of a man is claiming her work as his own and-”

“You hear that Badger? Author’s dead.”

The bossman and his subordinate smirk at each other. Fiona and Hal are both confused and wait for him to elaborate on his interest in the song-writer’s state. He lights a cigar and continues:

               “A dead songwriter doesn’t want no pay �" hell, a dead songwriter can’t receive no pay. We get good quality material and don’t lose any money! I don’t know about you Badger, but that to me sounds like a better deal than wasting a dollar on this funny looking pillock over there.”

               “I wholeheartedly agree, Mr. Walkman,” says the assistant.

Hal is at a loss for words. The big boss seems quite proud of himself for his genius decision and Fiona doesn’t know what to feel. She’s disappointed that he didn’t give two s***s about Joey and made his decision based on money, but also relieved. She felt like it was her duty in a way, to keep looking out for Joey; something to make up for what could’ve been.

 

I Loved Joey Hicks

 

               “Fiona, you ready yet?”

               “Gimme two minutes, I’m doing my hair!”

Sunday mornings in California are one of Fiona’s favorite things in this world. It somehow feels like the earth moves just a tad bit slower than usual.

               “Who’s driving?”

               “Not you,” says Daisy “remember when you drove us to the movies two weeks ago?”

               “I like to block that experience from my memory” says Fiona.

She earns a laugh and a kiss on the forehead from Daisy. They’ve been together for a year and a half now, they entered the 80’s by moving in together. To the outside world, Daisy is Fiona’s assistant. Although Fiona is a well-respected and busy artist now, she never needed an assistant to stay at her home but “they don’t know s**t about that”. The house they reside in is quite big and beautifully furnished. Every wall is covered in Fiona’s artwork. If a guest were to use their toilet they’d have to stare upon a beautiful still-life. If one felt like staying over in the guest-room, they’d fall asleep looking at an oil painting of three kids running down Kattesundet in Copenhagen. Her most famous work of art �" “A Portrait of A Dead Girl” �" hangs gracefully in the living room. Fiona has often been offered an exorbitant amount of money for the painting but her answer has always been something along the lines of “you’ll have to pry it from my corpse’s grip”.

               It’s a sunny day in California, with the scent of green and pretty clouds that drift by every once in a while. The two women sit in silence in Fiona’s car. Fiona turns on the radio and is greeted by her first love. Daisy’s eyes light up.

               “I love this song!” she says, and starts singing along to it.

Fiona smiles wide as she realizes that Daisy knows every single word. The song suddenly fades out and the radioman starts talking.

               “Absolutely incredible, Eagles killing it, as always. This record �" From The Tower �" was written by the one and the only Joey Hicks, and I’m sure you’ve heard that name multiple times now because her story is a strange one.”

The charismatic radioman lets out a charming laugh. So does Fiona.

               “She became quite the phenomenon when the entire music industry started seeking her work like crazy back in ‘78. I mean, she left a whole lot of genius behind, and earlier this year �" in January �" when some of the world’s biggest artists requested more tracks from the genius, the record company told them that there simply were no more songs, and that the song-writer couldn’t make no more songs! All the songs were submitted months after her passing. Overdose they say, although some have more interesting theories on it... very sad ladies and gentlemen, but stay tuned and you’ll hear more of the infamous Joey Hicks, you’ll hear plenty more! Up next is-”

Fiona reaches her arm out and turns off the radio. Daisy frowns and asks her if something is wrong.

               “Nothing’s wrong Daisy, everything is right. Everything is perfect. I just have something to talk to you about.”

Daisy has no idea of what happened in New York. She knows that Fiona once painted Joey Hicks, the infamous dead song-writer, but the rest of the story has always remained a secret.

“I’m not sure where to begin…”

“Begin anywhere, Fiona,” says Daisy.

Daisy’s impression on Joey Hicks is only based on stories she has heard. Everyone has a story on how they knew Joey before her fame. The neighbor who heard this and the bypasser who saw that... Joey Hicks is created and owned by the world. But Fiona has her own input and she might as well have some part in creating her legacy. The blondie looks at Daisy and sighs. She doesn’t want to spit it out, she wants to say it like a prayer. Pull the silence apart, carefully, instead of breaking it. She opens her mouth and the words flow out like a melody:

“I loved Joey Hicks.”

Author's Note

English is not my first language.
I adore the 70's, especially the music. If you're into that kind of thing then this story might be of interest to you (hopefully).
I doubt anyone is reading this rn buuuut i don't really care...
If you are reading this; enjoy the story!