released September 6, 2017

"Better Than Before" by Babies' Babies
"tied down and counted out by age 25'" That's what everyone told her was the best case scenario for a girl of her means. Clara Kid knew there was more out there for her, whether it meant outta this town or outta this world she wasn't quite sure. Figured it would be best to start by getting outta this town, seeing as how on a given day you couldn't swing a bat without someone callin' ya a dang player.

When Kid had been roughed up and swung at one too many times, she planned to flee. Seeing as how just because her spouse, Octavio Kid, was the best painter around, certainly did not mean he was the best person for her. Not everyone in her town saw it this way. Octavio was at first romantic, but always hard to predict; it was all worth it for his inspiration and supposed depth of character due to his work (and albeit unpredictable and erratic behavior). Years ago, Clara relished the idea of marrying an artist, one who made her their muse until she realized being a muse was not an all encompassing artistic life.

When Clara hinted to her mother that things in her life weren't as peachy and keen as she'd put on, and let her know she wouldn't be around for long, her mother just wanted to make sure she never forgot where she'd came from. She'd made the most of her time there, playing her songs at the "Lone Stone Star" rodeo week after week, but Clara Kid knew there had to be something else as she often went white during her showcase lost in thoughts of "is that all there is ???" While Octavio was on a "business trip" visiting other studios to work in, Clara left Octavio a note with divorce papers; the note began with a "Dear," and ended with a solemn yet respectful, "I can't be your lover... and your mother. Just sign at the x." Now Kid did sign off with a "Love always, Clara" because she wasn't heartless, no not at all, just once you've had your heart broken or bubble busted one too many times, you get more ... cautious. Ironically enough, and Clara was not one to miss the irony in any instance, when Kid made it to her porch at dawn, with all her items packed snug into a hat box, separate from her hat box with all the hats, at her mailbox was a note from her mother. Clara wasn't quite ready to read the whole note, so she read the first and last line instead which read, "Dear," and "Love always, Mom." She folded the note deep into her grandfather's mail carrier, holding all the items she held dear.

Now living in the country in the middle of the damn desert doesn't make it an easy escape. Clara Kid did not consider this. Far from the town she knew, far for someone traveling by beach bike dragging a wagon, lie the Mountains; Clara spent a few days in them, eating mountain berries and gathering strength to push on to the dirty city. You could probably imagine that without companions, television or the talkies it would get pretty quiet up in those Mountains so Clara had plenty of time to think, to wonder and torture herself with what could have been or never was, proverbially sticking her own sides with "Pine and Needles" as her mama used to say. She had no time to lose; Clara thought 'bout what she wanted, heck, she thought more 'bout what she didn't want, what she left at home in the wreckage of a life she never asked for. After a few days of rest and thought, Clara was sure ready to get off the damn Mountains and was pretty sure she'd be fine never hearing a damn cricket again. (The irony here being that for reasons out of Clara's own control, one of her first apartments in that dirty city would be filled with crickets due to an exotic pet loving roommate she found herself burdened with.)

Clara referenced her map of the area, neatly folded in a pocket in her grandfather's mail carrier and decided that long as she set out by sunrise, she could near the city within a figurative minute (1-2 days depending your speed), although people of this region were not known for their speed, Clara (the) Kid was swift. She had planned on camping off a local road when she could see a flickering through the trees, a little after sunset that same day.

On her way to the city, but just right outside the city (Clara knew she wasn't in the city quite yet, but could see it across a literal bay) she saw in the smoggy distance, a flickering (bordering on dim) set of letters which read, "Two Bit Toots' Studio." Under the "lights" were three stars, only one of them was currently lit up. Now Clara did not know what time it was, but seeing as how it was sometime after sundown, this "studio" seemed to be closed. Clara was tired, but felt an odd sense of relief and comfort under those dim lights, in front of the studio. Now what kind of studio was Clara awaiting her fate at overnight? That, she did not know, but what she did know what that after fleeing and traveling for however many days (it was 2 or 3 but she lost count) someone was going to hear her sing.

Now Clara had not had a good night's rest in somewhere she felt comfortable in quite some time, she slept through the shaking of keys as a custodian unlocked the premises the next morning, through the producer's arrival and departure, and even a small marching band that had come to record. By the time Clara actually woke up, it was half past noon, but she didn't know that so she headed to some nearby pine trees, brushing her teeth with her last bit of water and combing her scraggly fringe out. She figured it was early so if she hid her mail carrier, wagon and hat bags in the bushes, she could walk in and maintain a semblance of dignity, rather than reeking of "I just squatted on your grounds till you opened and slept till past noon."

When Kid marched into the studio, the reception area wasn't quite what she imagined. It was dimly lit, yet somehow fluorescent; it smelled like cigarettes and the chairs were upholstered in emerald velvet. A receptionist sat at the desk, she was clearly on a personal call when Clara walked in, however, exhibited no effort in concealing that. Clara sat in one of the smoke coated velvet chairs and figured she'd give the receptionist, potential holder of dreams, the time she needed to finish her business and handle Clara's. Now something Clara had never really considered, and something her mother had tried to instill in her, was that "sugar draws more flies, honey, but you can't survive on flies." If Kid wanted to take hold of her destiny she'd have to be swift but strong and ask for more than she felt she deserved. Kid didn't feel she deserved much, but she also had nothing to lose.

After waiting for what felt like hours, (but what was actually minutes) Clara walked over to reception, put her sunglasses on the desk and tried to apply everything she had learned from years of isolating herself in films from before her time. I guess you could say she was an old soul. With her sunglasses down, and hair swept off her shoulders, Kid exhaled as she said "i'd like to see one of the producers please, this cannot wait." The receptionist said "hold on, i need to see what this is about" to the phone and looked Clara up and down. In a sarcastic yet whiny tone she looked towards Clara, seeing a piece of tissue paper stuck to her hair and some actual dirt on her face, she said, "Miss, there is a shelter down the road. If you wait I can call a cab for you." Clara frowned and tried to catch herself, "No you are terribly terrible mistaken, i am here to see..." Clara eyes the tiny list of offices written just behind the receptionist's desk and although pronouncing it incorrectly says, "Mr. Sacramone." Surprised and confused as to how Clara had come up with a correct name, the receptionist retorted back, "Well he is out for the day and may not be back." Undeterred and hungry, Clara said she'd take her chances and wait, so she got comfortable in an uncomfortable chair. Clara's best friend always told her you had to be hungry in this business. She began sampling the magazines, and eventually passed out.

After overtly insisting Clara was a maniac and unstable, the receptionist eventually gave up trying to convince Mr. Sacramone to kick her out. His industry was that of capitalizing on the downtrodden, didn't see the point in missing out on such an exemplary figure of that. She, Kid, was slumped over and asleep in one of the green chairs Mr. Sacramone's wife picked out for reception, her hair was messy and there was actual dirt on her face and legs as if she had slept on the real earth. Startled, Clara woke up to a light tap from Mr. Sacramone on her shoulder, in a questioning way he said, "You're here to see me, Miss....?" Clara shot up, realized it was dark out and trying not to yawn she put her hand out, "Kid, Ms. Clara Kid," she said, surprised at how natural it was to herself as a miss instead of a misses. "I've travelled a long way and i think i have some songs you might have an interest in hearin," Mr. Sacramone ushered her into his office/studio assuming that since Clara knew who she had come to see that she also knew what they expected to hear there. Now without being too graphic, i will let you in on the fact that while this was a studio, it was a studio which recorded compositions for blue movies or lewd films.

Without going on and on, the evening went a little like this. Clara played her songs, she had more but stuck to the ones that got the most dancing down at the Lone Stone Rodeo. There was something charming if not pathetic about Clara's condition. Mr. Sacramone lit a cigar, explained what it is that they do in his line of work and said he'd have to give it some thought, then he left and wouldn't be back until morning. Clara felt that considering she never really thought she'd get heard by a real producer, this day had been wildly successful. Mr. Sacramone didn't even kick her out! So, she brought her hat boxes in and got settled down in an unoccupied cubicle outside his office. The custodial staff thought it was odd that the girl had made it from outside to inside within a day but they were not unfamiliar to hard times in their line of work and went with it.

Clara awoke the next morning to Martin Sacramone standing over her, in a full suit, hat and sunglasses he said," This isn't really what we do here but I think you got something and we can make it work." Throughout the next week Mr. Sacramone said very little to Clara but asked no questions about her living in the studio; Clara likened herself a vagabond and felt it suited her, others thought she was a vagrant but didn't dare question their boss' judgment. That week until she heard from Sac, she fell into a bit of a routine, slipping into total unawareness; sleeping, waking, eating catered foods in the kitchen and scrapping people's unwanted leftovers from the night before when they'd go out for "business lunches,". It wasn't huge, but man, Clara really felt like she was finally living. At the end of the week, Sacramone found Clara eating his assistant's unwanted lasagna and said to her curtly, "Lets make a record, but please, find somewhere else to live, have you even showered this week. Anyway, we'll have a contract for you within the fortnight," (he didn't mean fortnight). Clara had generally considered herself a hygienic person and realized that maybe she could do a better job on self care in her own home.

Now there were many things Clara didn't agree with on that contract, but she put all of that aside for a paycheck. Within the month, Clara had found herself a place to live, unfortunately her roommate had many pets, but Clara couldn't complain as it was quite affordable and large enough for her to spread her wings. Sacramone wasn't your typical patron of the arts, he made bold and inappropriate statements, he smelled like salami and ate olives, but he believed in Clara Kid so she put up with his questionable character to get through this record. They worked themselves silly, they finished the record within the next few months and Kid finally felt settled enough to call her mother. She explicitly told her mother to not let Octavio know where she's living or her phone number, but she knew the chances of that happening where slim to none. She could expect a call from him within the "fortnight."

In her robe the next morning, drinking her ritualistic lemon water, a phone call, how timely, she thought. Octavio was outrageous, possibly drunk, and generally as expected. She giggled and thought to herself, "he's livid and i'm livin'" and she wrote it down because as she had learned, the best way to take Octavio was to utilize him as he did her; this made him feel a combination of rage and satisfaction knowing at least that she'd be thinking of him. To get through the next few weeks of postproduction, Clara'd have to take everything with a grain of salt because as Mr. Sacramone reminded and consoled her, "it's all about the business."

Clara's voice grew stronger over Mr. Sacramone's, and while he was old and weary of the young, even he had to admit when she was often right. The record was to be released soon, in the dirty city and at Mr. Sacramone's lavished but sleepy pie de terre. Living at arms length of all this potential for the last few months has been challenging, but Kid is a hard worker and a little hard work never deterred her from trying.

To her own dismay, Sacramone wanted to "simultaneously blow and blow away," his comrades and critics he invited and told Clara the party would now be a show, for her to play at the Oprey in that dirty city.

The day of the show, feelin superstitious, Clara brought all of her personal items to the theater to set up in her dressing room; she didn't have much yet, she thought, so why not be comfortable. Clara drank lemon water, put on makeup and indulged in many a ritual she used to do out back of the Lone Stone Rodeo. When it was about an hour to showtime, Clara ruffled through her bags looking for some perfume, when she stumbled up letters from her ex lover and current mother. Just as she sprawled the notes across her dressing room table a knock came at the door, when she answered it was Sacramone's assistant: "delivery for Ms. Kid, we already signed for it." Confused, Clara set down the manila envelopes thinking, it's really all or nothing, so she opened the manila envelope. In the envelope was a movie script, "Driving Miss Baby'" with a post it note specifying that Sacramone had gone ahead and sent this film company her album, saying she'd be a huge star. Ironically and luckily enough, they believed old Sac and wanted her to star in their new musical. "Make me a star," she whispered as she set the scrip down atop her other letters. It's showtime.

The lights dimmed and Clara heard in Mr. Sacramone's voice and olive and salami breath, "Introducing, Clara the Kid!!!" As Clara walked on stage, she felt much better than before.