Abby Road

by Ophelia London

  “Please, Yosh,” I whined, covering my ears. “Non-singing drummers were invented for a reason.” The other guys laughed. “And you,” I said, glaring at Hal. “I hope you won’t be lighting up around me.” I coughed dramatically. “You know those things are killer on me pipes.”

  “Ha!” This came from Jordan as he rose from an armchair. The thick, metal chain that connected his belt to his wallet jingled like Christmas bells. “We voted while you were off frolicking in the ocean and decided your voice needs a change.” He chuckled, rolling the sleeves of his black AC/DC T-shirt over his shoulder, exposing a new set of Tribal tattoos. “Maybe a little secondhand smoke will lower you two octaves.”

  “There is no smoking in California,” I protested.

  “Precisely why I’m out here.” Hal stomped his black Chuck Taylors on the floor and snubbed out his cigarette on the rubber soul of one. “This is Cherokee territory.”

  “Bloody imbeciles,” Molly muttered from behind me.

  “What was that you were just playing?” I asked Hal, reaching out to pluck at a string. “One of your own? It was nice.”

  “Hands off the merchandise, duchess.”

  “Speaking of . . .” Yosh grinned.

  And I was suddenly yanked into the middle of a tight group huddle. While locked inside the smothering bear hug, I was overwhelmed by the combination of cigarette smoke on Hal’s clothes, Yosh’s cologne, and a hint of Turtle Wax, which meant Jord had lovingly polished his restored yellow Camaro lately. The constant undertone smell on all three surfer boys was piña colada–scented sex wax from their surfboards that never seemed to wash off.

  When our hug was over and I could breathe again, I turned around. “Guys. This is Todd.” I pointed to him with both hands in a “tah-dah” fashion. Of course they’d already “met” Todd over the phone, but this was the first official face-to-face.

  “You’ll be seeing him around,” I added, “but don’t get jealous. He promises he won’t break up the band.”

  “First one of you to call me Yoko,” Todd warned as he stepped up, “is a dead man.”

  Shugger chuckled while Molly gave me a very approving nod. “Sexy beast,” she mouthed again.

  “The man knows about your Beatles fixation,” Hal said, ruffling the top of my head, “and can still stand to be around you?” He gave Todd an endorsing nod. “Righteous, dude. We’ll commiserate later.”

  Todd returned Hal’s nod. “As promised.”

  Hal gave me a sideways glance, snickered, and walked away.

  Oh boy, they’re already friends.

  After the initial and expected interrogations, the guys paraded single file toward the studio door, performing some noisy, bizarre game of Follow the Leader. Shugger followed behind them, attempting to trip up Yosh, who was last in line.

  I turned to Todd. “Sorry.” I laughed, my fingers covering my mouth. “I didn’t think they’d be here yet.”

  “They’re funny.” He sounded surprised. “It’s like witnessing characters in a comic book come to life. We’ll get along fine,” he assured me with a smile.

  I leaned in and gave him a hug.

  Molly cleared her throat. “Sorry, Abby, but they’re waiting for you.” She left us, crossing through the threshold behind the guys.

  “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.” Todd gave a mock grin that showed his bottom teeth.

  I stood on my toes, linked my fingers behind his neck, and kissed him, lingering on his bottom lip. “I have a feeling you’re going to hate this.”

  He nuzzled his face in my hair. “Do you remember that first day back in June, before we walked to Modica to get you a tuna sandwich?”

  “Turkey,” I corrected, pulling myself closer to him, “with Swiss and sprouts. Bob was out of tuna.”

  “Right.” He smiled, dotingly. “I don’t know if you noticed at the time, but I took a moment before offering to walk you back.”

  “I did notice,” I confessed, lowering to flat feet. I remembered that moment like it was yesterday. “What was that about?”

  “It was decision time,” Todd explained, looking past me. “I saw it in my head. And I pretty much knew if I went with you then, one day I’d be standing right here.”

  I wrapped my arms around him even tighter. We rocked back and forth in the middle of the empty lobby of Studio Universe—unfamiliar territory for Todd, extremely familiar for me. Standing there, swaying in his arms, it felt like I could handle anything. When I looked up at his face, the tips of his ears were red. I closed my eyes and waited.

  “We’re burning daylight, babe,” boomed a deep voice from behind us.

  I was sure Todd felt my body go stiff in his arms. Like a pair of teenagers caught exchanging goodnights on the porch, we immediately stepped apart, turning toward the voice.

  Max Salinger, framed in the threshold, held the glass door open with one foot. His six-two, two-hundred-fifty-pound physique took up most of the doorframe. Expressionless, he held an unlit Cuban between his teeth, a BlackBerry in one hand. He was dressed in his customary razor-pressed black trousers and hundred-dollar, plain white short-sleeved shirt.

  He took out the cigar and rolled it between his fingers. “You rested and ready?” he asked, then looked me up and down with a not-so-discreet smirk. “You’ve put on a little.” The smirk grew. “We’ll have to fix that, pronto.”

  “I missed you, too, Max,” I said, narrowing my eyes into a playful glare. I’d just taken a risk: it would either piss him off or break the ice.

  Max glared back and grunted.

  I held my breath, not knowing yet if that was good or bad.

  After another moment, he put the cigar back in his mouth. “Smartass,” he said and grinned.

  I exhaled, feeling Todd’s hand take mine, helping me pull it together.

  Max thrust his fingers through his short and slicked-back brown hair. It looked darker than usual, and I wondered if he was attempting to blend in the flecks of silver that started showing up last year. When I’d first met him, I thought he had a little Baldwin brother in him; he was a good-looking man, very intelligent and majorly charismatic. He was still all those things now, but he’d also become less patient with me. We argued more, too, not that arguing with him made a difference; I seldom won.

  “So.” Max’s attention shifted to Todd. “This is him?”

  I took a quick glance at Todd. In the past three months, he’d witnessed me surrounded by a sudden crowd of fans in Panama City, and he’d even spoken briefly with Tom Hanks when he called my cell to talk about a show he would be producing next year. But I had never seen Todd actually star struck.

  Until now.

  “Yes,” I said, giving Todd’s hand a squeeze. “Max, this is Todd Camford.”

  Todd ran his thumb along my palm before he dropped it and stepped up to Max. Right up to him. No fear. Once a Marine, always a Marine. “How do you do?” he said and extended his hand to my manager. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.”

  “Sir?” Max repeated with obvious amusement. “Hey.” He looked at me. “I like this one.” The two shook hands and Max slapped Todd on the back. “I hear you run your own store back home.”

  “Yes, sir,” Todd answered.

  Max took out his cigar. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight, sir.”

  Max looked down and chuckled. “Now look, drop that sir thing, understand? Makes me feel like an old man.” He glanced at me with a weary expression. “No comment from the peanut gallery,” he warned. “Call me Max.” He slapped Todd on the back again.

  “Sure thing.” Todd nodded. “Max.”

  Max looked at me and rolled his eyes. “All right, play time’s over.” He pushed the door open wider. “Time to work, babe.”

  Today’s plan was for Hal and the guys to lay some tracks with the second unit engineers while Max, Nathan, and I spent the next several hours behind closed doors. Our goal for meeting was to listen to fifty submitted demos and nar
row down to twelve. From day one, I’d always been involved in this process, although recently, if contrary to Max’s vote, my opinion was moot. Almost as if the whole thing didn’t concern me.

  Todd was also included in our gathering. Surprisingly enough, Max didn’t argue with my request.

  We were arranged in a scattered half circle in a small rehearsal room. Nate, floppy-haired, neurotic, producer extraordinaire, sat in one corner, controlling the music and giving a brief introduction to each song. Max sat in another corner, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Occasionally he tapped on a laptop. He was also taking a lot of phone calls, which slowed our progress.

  Todd was separated, inconspicuously, behind us. Whenever I craned my neck over my shoulder to look at him, he was either tapping on his own laptop or his eyes were fixed on Max. He didn’t speak the entire time.

  Between Nate and Max there seemed to be an undercurrent of a tense little debate; therefore, my opinion was asked for even less than usual. Groggy from travel, I didn’t have much to add anyway, so I nodded a lot and agreed with whatever Max said, while listing names of candy bars in my head alphabetically.

  Before I knew it, Max leaned back in his chair and called it a day. I was a little stunned; it had been only four hours. Max must have been taking it easy on me after all.

  When I stood to stretch, I noticed Todd hadn’t moved. He was staring in Max’s direction. I waved my hand in front of his face.

  “Hey,” he said, blinking up at me. “Doing okay?”

  “Good enough,” I answered.

  “You didn’t say much.” He stood, glancing at something over my shoulder.

  “I don’t really have to.”

  When we stepped out into the hall, Molly was there, arm extended, thrusting a toothbrush and toothpaste in my face. I took them gratefully. “Your bags are home,” she informed me. “So are yours,” she said to Todd. “Well, then . . .” She winked at me and turned away.

  “I don’t pay her enough,” I said as I watched her walking toward Jordan at the end of the hall. He looked severely crumpled and in serious need of a haircut. Molly would no doubt take care of that issue, too.

  After brushing my teeth in the ladies room, I returned to the lobby to grab Todd and hit the road. He was standing by the elevator, chatting with Max. They were both smiling, and Max had his hand on Todd’s shoulder. The relief and happiness I felt from simply looking at them made me smile in turn. All my worrying that Max would have something against Todd, just because of his existence, was all for nothing.

  Max, who apparently just said something extremely hilarious, started howling with laughter, but Todd only stared at him, wearing a befuddled, polite smile.

  As I neared them, one of the engineers nabbed me, prattling on about vacation spots in Florida. I didn’t want to be all diva-rude, so I “hmm’ed” and nodded while eavesdropping on the other conversation across from me.

  “What do you think it is about her?” Max asked Todd once he stopped laughing at his own joke, which probably had something to do with a girl from Nantucket.

  Todd was holding a few business cards while entering something in his phone. “I can’t put my finger on it,” he answered, “but—”

  “But,” Max interrupted, “I bet you did put your finger on it. Didn’t ya, kid?”

  Todd’s eyes slowly moved up to Max.

  Uh-oh. I knew that expression . . . just like that day back in Florida when we’d nearly stumbled into a pack of teenagers. Seeing Todd like that made my neck break out in a sweat. I was about to spring from my one-sided conversation and place myself between the two men, when Max shook Todd’s shoulder.

  “Heh-heh. I’m just messing with ya, sport.” He chuckled and looked away.

  “To answer your question,” my insightful boyfriend amended, pulling back Max’s attention, “from the little I’ve learned, I believe it’s something you have or you don’t have.” Todd’s gaze left Max, and he noticed me watching. His tense expression melted. “And Abby has it.” He shot me a tiny smile.

  “In spades,” Max tagged on, turning to look at me. “She sure is a long, cool drink of water.”

  Todd’s eyes didn’t waver from me, but his brows pulled together, jaw clenched. He was about to say something. Or worse, do something.

  Oh, crap.

  I needed to excuse myself—right now—before their little pow-wow had Todd losing his temper and going Rocky Balboa all over my manager’s face.

  Max chuckled again, giving Todd another shake of the shoulder. “I’ll see you kids tomorrow, bright and early.”

  Molly came up behind me. “Are my cars at home?” I asked her, relieved that the tension was broken.

  “The Mercedes is usually kept here in the underground lot,” she said, pulling a pen out of her hair, “but it’s being detailed. The Porsche and convertible are in your garage. I’m still driving the Mini Coop, if that’s okay.” She waited for my approval. I didn’t know why she bothered asking; she had been driving the Mini since the day I bought it. I didn’t care. She loved it. I should’ve just given it to her. “None of your others are here,” she added.

  “Fine.” Max sighed. “Our car will drive you home.” He turned toward his office. “Grand to meet ya, fella,” he threw in Todd’s general direction.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Todd replied. But Max was already gone.

  {chapter 19}

  “OH! DARLING”

  “What food do you have here?” I asked.

  “None,” Todd responded.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I walked through the front door for the first time an hour ago. I haven’t shopped, have you?”

  I groaned dramatically and rolled to the other side of the couch.

  After the forty-two-mile drive to Malibu, I’d given Todd a lightning-fast tour of my house—there wasn’t much to see, of course. I stripped off my jewelry and heels, and we hiked a quarter mile up the beach to Todd’s new digs.

  I liked his house. It was smaller than mine, but had a more open floor plan. My six-bedroom, seven-bath Mediterranean-inspired whatever was ridiculously huge. His living room featured wall-to-wall windows, facing west. The view out the French glass doors was fantastic, miles of blue water and blue sky. Beach, beach, beach.

  The sofa I was flopped across sat in the middle of the room. Its design was interesting and modern. It sat low, with two spongy black cushions, white arms and base, and an array of gray and blue pillows that had lined the back before I kicked them to the floor.

  My unpolished toes curled around the wool Berber carpeting that ran the length of the room, mixed tufts of brown, tan, and green that matched everything in the room.

  On the walls that were not made of glass, there was an eclectic variety of hangings: bamboo runners, brightly colored abstracts, and more than one clock.

  I propped my feet on the large, rectangular leather ottoman in the same espresso shade that marbled through the carpet. With my eyes closed, I listened to Todd unpacking in the other room. I tried to trick my brain into thinking we were at his house back in Seaside.

  “Are you hungry?” Todd asked. He made his way from the master bedroom to the kitchen. “I’ll run out to the store later. I noticed one a few miles down the highway.”

  My eyes flew open. “No!” I said as my stomach muscles tightened.

  Not that store! That’s where . . . I shut out the thought, forcing my attention up to the gorgeous crown molding. Luckily the sick feeling passed a few moments later.

  “I mean, didn’t Molly stock the fridge?” I asked, turning around to rest my chin on the top of the couch. “She didn’t have to, but I was hoping.”

  Todd opened the refrigerator. “She did.” He knelt down to explore the inventory. “Excellent. Barbeque pulled pork from Rib and Loin.” He removed a bag from the shelf. “How did it get here?”

  “I may have mentioned to her that it’s your favorite.”

  “No doubt you did.” He turned to
flash his teeth at me. “But what I mean is, how did she get it here all the way from Tennessee in one day?”

  “She probably had it flown in by special delivery.”

  Todd nodded at my explanation.

  “I’m looking forward to it after how much you raved about it all summer,” I added.

  He lifted the lid of one Styrofoam container, inhaled its contents—sighing in ecstasy—then replaced the lid and returned the bag to the shelf.

  “We’re not eating it tonight?”

  “Patience,” he said. “It’ll taste even better tomorrow.”

  “Mmm, can’t wait.”

  His smile twisted into something roguish. “There’s nothing like a good-looking woman who smells like ribs. Er—wait a second.” The edge to his voice made me sit up. “What is your putrescent soy milk doing in my refrigerator?” He slammed the door closed and turned to me, green eyes squinting in mock disgust.

  I rolled off the couch and walked to the kitchen “Oh. Hmm.” I scratched my chin. “I guess Molly assumes I’ll be over here a lot, although she might’ve asked you for a food list. What kind of assistant is she? She probably bought what she thinks all men— Todd!”

  I found myself being yanked forward into a hug.

  “Has anyone told you that you talk too much?” he whispered against my cheek.

  “Really, Lieutenant Camford . . .” I moaned breathlessly. “You’re supposed to be an officer and a gentleman.”

  Methodically he swept the hair off my shoulder and ran his mouth down the side of my neck. My body shuddered as I breathed him in. He pulled back, but only to move up the other side. His hands slid down my ribs and his thumbs hooked through my belt loops, pulling me closer. My back arched automatically when his mouth stopped on the hollow behind my ear.

  “Thank you for inviting me here.”

  “Sure,” I managed to say while I exhaled, gripping the back of his head.