Abby Road

by Ophelia London

“Welcome home.” Molly beamed at me as the limo door slammed shut.

  “Hi!” I grinned.

  “Hi, yourself.” Her white teeth gleamed. “Now get over here.”

  She grabbed me, and after planting a kiss on each of my cheeks, sat back against the seat, her chestnut hair long and silky and as straight as a razor, falling just along the corners of her brown eyes. She was all legs, cheekbones to die for, and a smile that made the angels weep and the men follow behind her with their tongues hanging out. Her nose had a microscopic bump—probably the sole reason why her modeling career never shot off the way it should have.

  Lucky for me, Molly also had the disposition of a girl’s best friend as well as the work ethic of a coalminer. I somehow felt more organized just from sitting across from her.

  “So, get to it then,” Molly said through her heavy accent, looking like a young Victoria Beckham while sounding like The Artful Dodger. “Where’s the yummy bloke?” She wore a hungry grin on her bow lips.

  “There, somewhere,” I replied, pointing out the tinted window. “Shugg went to find him.”

  “Bloody ’ell, Abby,” she chided disapprovingly. “You lost him already?”

  “You know me. Can’t keep a man.”

  She flipped her hair. “I’m dying to get a look at him.”

  “You’ve seen Todd,” I said, remembering what I’d heard about the magazine pictures. Then I remembered what Todd had said on the plane. “You’ve been calling and texting him, too, right? On my cell?”

  Molly pulled an innocent face. “You never bother with it anymore, so I reckon someone should care.”

  I grinned, letting her off the hook.

  Molly grinned, too, easing farther back in her seat. “Well, you look ripping,” she said, folding her arms. “Nice skin, killer tan. Just fab.”

  “I’m not even wearing blush. Didn’t use mascara all summer till this morning.”

  She nodded in approval. “How was the flight?”

  “Fine.” I couldn’t help observing the sparkling tennis bracelet around her wrist. I adjusted the priceless homemade seashell necklace that hung inside my shirt. “I didn’t sleep.” I broke off to yawn. “But it was fine.”

  Molly snickered. “Doll, you never sleep. Oh, plans have changed,” she added, her fingers swishing across her iPad. “Max wants us at Studio Universe straightaway.”

  “I just landed. Or doesn’t he realize I was on the other end of America this morning?”

  Molly said nothing, just shot me the same look we’d been exchanging for five years. Without a word, we could communicate volumes. And at that moment we were in total agreement that Max Salinger was being utterly unreasonable, and there was nothing we could do about it.

  I slumped back on the hard leather seat, knowing it was useless to argue. Molly kept me on my schedule flawlessly. Sometimes she was much too excellent at her job.

  “What time is it, anyway?” I wondered absentmindedly.

  “Half past nine.” She glanced at me over the top of the tortoise-shell glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

  “Oy vey,” I moaned. “It’s going to be a very long day.” I closed my eyes, my fingers mechanically twirling a strand of hair. “What are we waiting for?”

  “For your paramour.”

  “Oh, him. He’s probably been abducted.”

  Silence fell as Molly stared at me. “There’s a mob out there. You’re not worried about him?” She leaned forward, looking concerned but also like she wasn’t sure what to do next.

  When I clapped a hand over my mouth, she was probably ready for me to start freaking out in a mad panic. But instead, I buckled in half and burst out laughing.

  “Crikey, Abby.”

  When I blinked up at her through my tears, Molly looked positively gob smacked, as she would have said, like she hadn’t witnessed me laughing in a year.

  Maybe she hadn’t.

  “Heaven help the person who tries to mob him.” I doubled over. “He’ll probably restrain them in a sleeper hold.”

  “No worries,” Molly said, still sounding shocked. “Shugg’ll find Captain America. Hopefully before he gets arrested.”

  I hooted again, sending Molly into a giggling fit.

  “Ya know, they’ve been asking me about him. Those bleeding tab rags,” she elaborated, motioning out the window. “Jord and the boys, too. Max as well. Bloody cheek.” She crinkled her nose. “They seem to think I’d have the big scoop about everything, but I disclosed nothing.”

  “I’m taking him on the red carpet next Sunday. It’ll all be out soon.”

  Molly looked up from her iPad, all concern. “Oh, luv,” she began. “Could be a major mistake. Ya think he’s game?”

  I peered out the window at the shutterbugs. Still no sign of Shugg or Todd. “He says he’s willing to jump in with both feet, if that’s what I want.”

  “The boy’s got guts, yeah? I’ll give him that.”

  “It was his idea to come to L.A., you know.”

  Molly farther arched her already arched eyebrows, finally putting her tablet on the seat.

  “Before last week, we wouldn’t even talk about the end of the summer, like totally ignoring the subject would stop it from barreling right toward us.” I perched my elbow on the armrest. “He knew I wanted him to come, but I couldn’t ask. Yesterday morning when I was in the middle of packing up my bedroom, he sprang it on me.”

  Molly’s eyes opened wide.

  I gazed toward the tinted window, smiling, remembering how Todd—after informing me of his decision—had immediately threatened to change his mind when I started doing that hysterical laughing/crying/shrieking thing girls do so well.

  “It was such a relief,” I continued. “The last few weeks, I felt sad and sick whenever I thought about leaving.” I glanced at my assistant, who was smiling back at me. “So even though I might have planted the seed”—ha-ha—“he made the ultimate decision. Even left Sammy and his surf shop in the hands of his eighteen-year-old sales clerk.”

  “Who’s Sammy?”

  “His dog. The sweetest dog. Todd’s going back for her later, maybe after Christmas.” I reached up, activating satellite radio. The back seat of the limo filled with Top 40 music. “I love this song, don’t you? Makes me get down.” I was singing along, bobbing my head, hands up. “Yeeah-yeeah!”

  Again, Molly gaped like she was seeing a stranger. “Right blimey.” She folded her arms. “You ’ave changed. Full of beans, you is.” When she allowed her grammar to slip like that, I knew she was flustered.

  “He’s gorgeous, by the way.” She crossed her ten feet of legs under a summery cotton skirt. “Real posh.”

  I had no idea what she meant, but I took it as a compliment for Todd, just the same.

  “So, uh.” She stared down at her cell phone. “How is the . . . ?” She purposely let her voice trail off, leaving me a fill in the blank. When she looked up, she cocked one eyebrow to add an explanation point.

  “We haven’t—” I began, but then decided against further explanation.

  Molly pushed her glossed-up lips into a pout and twisted them to the side, displaying her confusion. “No way.”

  I kept my eyes wide and steady.

  “Okay.” She seemed to be thinking about something else while decoding my expression. “I’m sorry, but . . . how do you survive?”

  Shifting in my seat, I was about to issue a lecture about how Todd and I were not animals, but I gave up. “I do yoga,” I admitted, “and chew a lot of ice.”

  “What about him?”

  “He boxes.” I scratched my cheek. “Quite a lot lately.”

  “Sexy beast.” Molly grinned. “Well, ya have more willpower than me.”

  “It has little to do with willpower,” I admitted, suddenly preoccupied by my nails. “Most of the time.”

  I could have further admitted that there had been plenty of times that I wanted to jump Todd’s bones, like when I caught him watching me playing the piano, or wh
en he’d just finished a workout. Those moments were becoming more frequent. But still, I wanted to wait for the right time, the right night.

  “Oh!” Molly exclaimed, pulling my mind away from images of Todd’s glistening boxing body. “Oh, oh, oh!” She looked like she’d accidentally discovered the correct answer on The Price is Right. “I can see it now.” She cocked her head to one side. “Yeah. I thought you looked different.”

  “I look different?” I asked, concerned, running my fingers through my hair. Sure, the roots had grown out some, and sure, maybe I’d gained a little weight, but had I changed enough to merit such an outburst?

  Molly leaned toward me and whipped off her glasses like a saucy reporter. “Why, Abigail Kelly, you’re disgustingly in love with him, aren’t you? Admit it!”

  The fact that I was grinning like I had a hanger caught in my mouth was probably confirmation enough. “Disgustingly,” I verified.

  She pointed one condemning, French-manicured finger at me. “Right. I knew this was a new face.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Doll, it’s me.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you through David and that idiot Miles and all those other rubbish blokes. I’ve seen it all.” She reached across the aisle and touched my chin with a finger. “But I’ve never seen this face.”

  I looked down, feeling the tingling of an oncoming blush.

  Molly sat back and laughed. “Go on then, what was with that frantic voice mail you left me last week? You were in hysterics, swearing you were never speaking to him again.”

  “Oh, that,” I mumbled, blushing for a different reason. “There was an . . . incident.” I stared down, picking at my nails again. “Todd made me watch Shark Week.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. It was upsetting.”

  Molly cackled uncontrollably, holding her hand out to my face. “Abby, oh, Abby. You need major therapy.”

  I sighed. “Tell me about it.”

  “So anyway,” she began, calming herself, “his rental place is right down the PCH from you, just like you asked. I sent the address to your phone. I take it you’ll be on your own, not needing me to come over like usual after the studio?” She eyed me. “He’ll get you all tucked in and what not?”

  “I believe we’ll have everything under control.”

  “Ahh, of course.” She smoothed the front of her skirt. “So do tell, the ‘I love you’ scene; that’s my second favorite part of a new relationship. I must hear every teeny tiny detail.”

  “Well, technically . . .” I went back to my nails. “We haven’t said it yet. Not in so many words.”

  “Wha?” Molly sat up like she’d been electrocuted. “Why ever not?”

  I shrugged, through sharing for the time being.

  Molly looked thoughtful for a moment, slouched, and folded her arms in front of her. “Well, it’s not like the boy won’t bloody well know it every bloody time he sees you.” She glared as my grin expanded. “I can’t even look at you; it’s quite nauseating.” She muttered for a while, her heavy accent sounding like a foreign language. “Bloody conventional American. Alpaca farmer.”

  Her rant was cut short when she lifted her buzzing cell, reading something on the face. “Jeez . . .” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That idiot Miles is tweeting about you again.”

  My upper lip curled. “Me? Why?”

  “Hallooo. Because he’s a bloody idiot!” We both cracked up. “Apparently the boy is finally getting over you.”

  I lifted my eyebrows—it was about time.

  “Rumor has it his latest song is called ‘Life’s a Bitch and So Are You.’”

  “Classy.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, and get this. He’s taken to wearing guy-liner.”

  “What an idiot.”

  “Duh.”

  We screamed with laughter until the limo door flew open. Knowing what was coming, I jumped next to Molly as Todd and Shugger dove into the empty seats across from us. Sweating and panting, Shugger banged his fist three times on the glass partition, and the long car pulled away from the curb, leaving behind the hounding mob to eat our dust.

  Molly and I stared at the two men, watching them catch their breath.

  “Looks like the secret’s out,” Shugger said between pants, his gold front tooth flashing when he grinned. He elbowed Todd. “You got a brave one here, Sally.”

  “So, something happened, honey?” I asked Todd, trying not to smile. Then I blinked, noting his expression. “What happened? Are you okay?” I crawled across the aisle, wedging myself between him and Shugg.

  “Sure. Fine,” he clipped with strained composure.

  Shugger burst out laughing, deep and jovial, as he moved across to the open seat next to Molly. “When I found him, he was surrounded by peeps shoutin’ questions and what not. Twenny mikes in his face. Shudda heard ’em all.”

  “Did they hurt you?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

  “No. Why?”

  I put my hand on his chest. His heart was racing. “It gets out of hand sometimes,” I muttered, suddenly angry with myself. “Sorry. That was stupid of me. I should’ve been more careful. Some armored car I turned out to be.”

  “I told ya.” Shugger punched Todd’s arm good-naturedly. “We call the airport baptism by fire.” My gigantic security detail cracked up like a little kid until there were tears in his eyes. Then he pulled off his Bluetooth headset and mopped the side of his bald head with a hanky.

  “What were they asking you?” I questioned Todd.

  “I couldn’t tell, at first,” he replied, rhythmically patting my hand that was pressed against his heart, “but I think it was about me—us, I mean. How’d they know I’d be with you?”

  The other three of us howled in unison. Shugger and Molly bumped fists.

  “We got too used to Seaside where no one bothered us,” I explained over the others’ laughter.

  “Oh.” Todd nodded and then added nonchalantly, “One of them asked me if you were pregnant.”

  All laugher in the car was suddenly cut short.

  Todd opened his mouth, but seemed to have fallen speechless.

  Shugger cleared his throat and folded his arms, displaying two huge biceps.

  “She’s not,” Todd threw into the silence.

  Shugger cracked his knuckles with his thumbs.

  “Hey, she’s not, man.” Todd lifted his right hand. “Believe me.”

  Shugger’s chuckle broke the tension. “Chill, bro.” He patted Todd on the shoulder. “It’s all good under the hood.” He turned and glared at me. “You’d tell me if you were, Sally. Right?”

  I nodded, suppressing a smile. If he only knew how very nonpregnant I was.

  Shugg chuckled again and pulled out his cell, coordinating our entrance into the studio.

  I felt Todd slowly exhale. I glanced at Molly.

  “Sexy beast,” she mouthed.

  I turned to Todd. “By the way, I have to go into the studio this morning after all. Max wants to meet.” When I looked at Molly, she was still grinning. “But we can go home first, right?”

  She narrowed her suede brown eyes.

  I moaned, whacking my head against the seat.

  “Prat,” Molly muttered under her breath.

  I nodded concurringly.

  Forty-five minutes later, the car pulled to a stop outside a black glass high-rise, home to Studio Universe. Our motley crew hopped out at the back entrance, and the limo pulled around to the underground parking lot.

  “I don’t know how long we’ll be here,” I said to Todd as we entered the building through an unadorned gray door. “Hopefully not too long.”

  Molly was cough-laughing into her fist, which wasn’t a good sign.

  “It’ll probably be just Max and maybe a few techs,” I further explained, trying to ignore Molly’s subtle cough attack.

  We stepped inside an elevator mirrored on all four walls. It smelled of cig
arette smoke, carpet cleaner, and Windex.

  While checking my makeup in the mirror one last time, I caught a glimpse of Todd’s reflection. “Easy, honey.” I rubbed his arm. “I promise they won’t jump on you all at once.”

  As the two mirrored doors peeled apart, I realized that what I’d just promised Todd was not going to happen was exactly what was about to happen.

  {chapter 18}

  “MAXWELL’S SILVER HAMMER”

  Hal, Jord, and Yosh were hanging out in the vestibule. Hal was holding court, doing his über-loud cackle/talk, probably trying to tell one of his stories that only he finds pound-on-the-floor hysterical. The noise quickly died out when they all turned to see our foursome stepping out of the elevator.

  “There she is!” Hal exclaimed, twisting the guitar strapped across his shoulders to point at me. “The grand duchess.” One set of his fingers tiptoed up the strings while the other strummed a tune.

  Hal bore a striking resemblance to Calvin, sans Hobbes, especially that morning, with his spiky, orange-tipped hair sticking straight up. I hated to think of how many tubes of mega-hold gel had to die to get Hal’s hair that tall.

  His comic book resemblance was shattered when he released the neck of his guitar and flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the drinking fountain.

  “Put that out, you cretin,” I ordered, commencing our sibling-like banter.

  Hal grinned and took a drag. “Huh. I own this place, duchess.”

  “You’re disgusting. You were supposed to quit smoking this summer. It was the one thing you promised.” I crossed the room toward my band mates, feeling the need to mother them after being away so long.

  “He tried,” said Yosh with an uneven smile.

  “Not hard enough,” I replied, slapping him a high-five greeting.

  Yosh’s bleached and feathered hair fell over his thin black eyes. His name, Kiyoshi, meant quiet in Japanese. As the drummer and archetypical loudmouth of Mustang Sally, Yosh was anything but quiet.

  “We knew Hal’d fall off the wagon once the playoffs started.” Yosh sneered, twirling a drumstick and then pointing it in Hal’s direction. “The Giants are trash this year, dude.” He turned his drumstick to me. “Come closer, duchess, give us a hug.” He continued his request à la The Partridge Family: “I think I love you, duchess,” he sang with outstretched arms, “so what am I so afraid of?”