by R. E. Blake
I nod. “Emergency stash. Top cabinet over the microwave. Hershey’s kisses. In case of zombie apocalypse, open bag.”
She retrieves the sack and tears the top open like a frenzied honey badger, and unwraps one in record time before popping it into her mouth. She closes her eyes and savors the sweet taste and then nods and looks at me.
“I…this is going to sound so dumb.”
“Then I better have one,” I say and retrieve three kisses.
“I think…I don’t know how to explain it. I really like him. And I think he likes me.”
“Wait. Melody, the calculating heartbreaker, is falling for my producer?” I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”
“I know. Don’t let it get out. My reputation would be in shambles.” She shakes her head. “It’s…it’s like I spend time with him, and we talk, and he totally gets me. He’s interesting and funny and smart, and he digs me even though I’m not any of those things.”
I unwrap the first chocolate and pop it in my mouth. “Not true. You’re all that and more.”
Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Sage, don’t even try. I’m a high school student who barely gets by. Smart isn’t on the table.”
“You bore easily. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
“Can we get back to why Sebastian is so frigging awesome?”
“Melody, you’ve got a crush on him. He drives a Porsche. He’s a celebrity. You’re starstruck, that’s all.”
“You forgot that he’s amazing-looking.”
“Oh. That.” I wave my good hand.
“It’s just that I’ve never felt this way before. It’s more than…what it usually is, you know?”
My eyes narrow. “Did you kiss him?”
She looks away. “Duh.”
“But you didn’t…?”
“I told you no.”
“Did you…do anything…more…progressive than just kiss?”
“No. That’s my whole point. Normally I’d have had his pants off within minutes, but…I don’t know. I want this to be different.”
I study her. “Why, Melody. Don’t tell me you’re developing morals.”
She laughs. “Hardly. It’s just that I want to take this slower. Get to know him more. It feels…it feels like it could be more than a fun night or two in L.A., is what I’m saying.”
“I don’t believe it. What happened to nude oil dancing?”
“That’s my backup.”
We sit munching in silence as I consider this unexpected wrinkle. Melody, the stud slayer, laid low by Sebastian, reduced to talking about how great he is instead of recounting her conquest. Every day brings a new surprise. I would have lost money on a bet about tonight – when it got close to midnight, I was sure they were shacked up in some motel.
“So what are you going to do? You fly out Monday morning. That leaves tomorrow, and we’re going to the beach.”
“Oh, right. I forgot to tell you. He’s going to take us.”
“What?” Sebastian is not only taking a day off, but he’s going to drive us around? This is serious. Then my mind flits to my pale body – Sebastian is going to see me in a bikini. I want to vomit. “I don’t want to go.”
“Why not? You promised.”
“I don’t want to lie on the beach watching you and Sebastian make eyes at each other.”
She gets serious. “I’m not letting you weasel out, Sage. You’re going.”
“Nope.” I pop the last kiss in my mouth with a determined flick of the wrist.
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Are.”
“Am not.”
Chapter 30
Sebastian picks us up in the Cadillac at 10:40 and we cruise to Malibu, over the hill and through the canyon, cups of Starbucks already downed, wind in our hair. Melody looks like something out of a music video and insists on holding both hands over her head on the freeway and doing her best woohooing. I reluctantly join in after she elbows me hard enough to loosen a filling, and have to admit it’s fun.
Melody’s wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and a lime green tube top that would be at home in a Dukes of Hazzard movie. Sebastian bestows admiring glances at her flawless caramel skin, and I feel even more inadequate than usual, white as a fish belly next to her in my oversized shorts and baggy long-sleeve Slayer T-shirt that says to everyone that I was at the show, or at least know someone who was. Or had two bucks for a thrift shop castoff, which is actually the case.
Traffic in Malibu’s a snarl, and after sitting stalled for ten minutes, Sebastian takes a side street and heads for the coast, away from the public beach.
“Where are we going?” Melody asks, eyeing the long line of cars behind us.
“I know a guy who has a place here. I’m pretty sure he won’t mind if we chill there,” Sebastian says.
“You do? Awesome.”
We pull up at a white modern beach house that looks like just the garage door costs a few million, and Sebastian kills the motor and gets out of the car. He makes a phone call, has a murmured discussion, and then laughs and hangs up.
“Come on,” he says. We tail him to the electronic security gate across the walkway. He punches in a code, and it swings open. Melody and I exchange a glance. Sebastian rules.
He repeats the procedure at the front door, and then we’re inside a home that looks like every excessively expensive place ever featured on Cribs. Slick black leather sofas, a sixty-inch TV, marble floors, colorful abstract oil paintings…and a wall literally filled with gold and platinum records.
Melody walks over to them and reads one of the plaques and, when she turns to Sebastian, looks shocked. “Is this really…?”
He nods. “Yup. He’s not in town. But he says the wine cellar’s in the basement, and he has a few hundred bottles of Cristal if we’re thirsty.”
“No way,” Melody says.
Sebastian grins and heads downstairs. He’s wearing another one of his trademark white linen shirts, but this time with board shorts, and we both watch him descend the steps with admiring gazes.
When he returns, he has two champagne bottles in his hands and an ear-to-ear grin.
“Boy, he wasn’t kidding. Who’s thirsty?”
Melody doesn’t need her arm twisted, and I agree to a glass. Sebastian ferrets around in the kitchen and returns with a stainless steel ice bucket and three champagne flutes. “Want to head out to the patio?” he asks and doesn’t wait for a response. Of course we want to head out to the dream home’s beachfront terrace so we can sip champagne from crystal glasses. I mean, what’s the point of living if it’s not this?
All the furniture outside is teak. Sebastian opens a chest and finds three cushions for the lounge chairs. Melody gazes at the beach, far enough from the grunions in the public area so it’s quiet, and it’s easy to believe we’ve been teleported to a private island.
The seagulls wheeling over the surf line are startled by the loud crack of the champagne cork sailing in a slow motion arc through the air. Sebastian pours a frothy stream into the three glasses and hands us each one before taking a seat in the lounge chair next to Melody and toasting her. I lean over and toast too and then take a sip. Not bad. Tickles my nose, but on the whole, pretty good.
Sebastian sips half his drink and then rises and goes back into the house. Music drifts from speakers mounted nearby, and when he returns, his shirt’s unbuttoned enough to confirm Melody’s speculation that he’s cut as a bodybuilder.
“This is the life, huh?” he says and toasts us again.
I smile as I look around. “You could do this every day. You could live on the beach in a bitchin’ pad.”
“Nah. Not my style. I’d go nuts if I wasn’t making myself miserable in the studio.”
“You could have fooled me. You look pretty happy right now.”
“What’s not to like? Beautiful day, beautiful beach, and two of my favorite gorgeous friends. How does it get any better?”
“You forgot free champagne,” Melody says, holding up her empty glass for a refill.
“Hear that?” Sebastian asks as he pours her more champagne.
“What?” I ask.
“This tune. I produced it and cowrote it.”
Melody’s eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yeah. Although how narcissistic is it to have only your songs on your own stereo?”
I think about the only song I have in the apartment, the one Sebastian mixed of the first day’s session, and can’t help but smile.
The afternoon passes in slow motion. Melody strips off what little she’s wearing over her swimsuit and graces the world with her curves, and I eventually get hot enough to pull off my shorts and shirt and lie out in my bikini. Sebastian takes his shirt off and leans back with his eyes closed, and for a brief time life seems absolutely perfect.
Except Derek isn’t here.
I can imagine his sculpted body soaking up the sun’s gentle rays, and the vision sends a shiver through me. I crack an eye open and peer over at Sebastian and Melody, but they’re both in sun-worshiping heaven, eyes shut, listening to the surf and the muted thump of the bass throbbing over the deck.
After an hour I’ve had enough – I can feel my skin reddening, so I slip on my shorts and shirt and head off down the beach, leaving Melody and Sebastian alone. I don’t begrudge them their time together anymore; the vision of Derek has erased any pettiness from my mind. If they dig each other, more power to them – I should be happy for my BFF finally meeting someone she actually cares about.
The sand feels good between my toes, and I savor the guilty pleasure, my head light from the alcohol. I step into the gentle surf lapping at the shore and look out at the horizon. I replay my discussion with Terry as I watch the water ebb and flow. She’s right. And I need people on my side who will tell it like it is and not sugarcoat things.
But that doesn’t make me any less committed to getting to New York. It just means I have to be clever about it and work within the constraints of everyone’s schedule. If the universe was trying to send a message about the contrast between sleeping on park benches or my life now, I received it loud and clear. I don’t ever want to go back to that.
And I won’t. But I will find my way to Derek. A part of me feels pangs of envy when I see the way Melody’s looking at Sebastian, and how Sebastian is returning her glances. I want that too. And it’s not fair I can’t have it.
I hold my hand up to shield my eyes and gaze at the gulls. My collar’s back on the deck, and I feel good without it on. For the first time since the accident I have the sensation of being free, without a care in the world, and as I watch the birds riding an updraft into the sapphire sky, I know the only thing that could make it better would be sharing it with Derek.
When I return an hour or so later, Melody and Sebastian are eating grapes and a platter of cheese and crackers, and the second champagne bottle is half drained. I give Melody an appraising glance, looking for any signs of her having made her move while she had the opportunity, and see only the innocent gaze of my best friend soaking up an incredible day with someone she cares about.
The drive back takes less time, and Sebastian invites me to dinner with Melody, but I decline. Their time together is drawing to a close, and they don’t need a third wheel glaring at them across the table as they get to know each other. This is their moment, not mine, and I’ll let them enjoy it.
Melody showers, and Sebastian picks her up at eight after a long nap, the sun and booze having taken their toll. She looks so perfect in her summer dress and strappy heels I spontaneously hug her, and tears well up in my eyes as I watch her slip out the door. I’m so happy for her I almost forget how miserable I am without Derek by my side.
I call him, and we talk until my battery dies. I order a pizza and overtip the deliveryman and am asleep by ten. My day will begin early tomorrow as I return to reality and all the responsibilities that go with it.
Chapter 31
Melody gets in late, but I don’t press her for details the next morning, and she doesn’t offer any. We grab coffee and munch on bagels, and then it’s time for her to call a taxi and head to the airport.
We hug each other for a long time in the lobby, and she’s choked up when she says goodbye. Something essential’s changed between us, but that’s fine. For once I don’t overanalyze it.
“I’ll text you when I’m at the airport. Thanks for an incredible time, Sage. I hope you don’t rent out the other rooms, because I’m coming back as soon as I can.”
“Mi casa, and all that. I’ll probably get to use the place until I go on tour. So you have six weeks. Maybe less.”
“It’ll be before then.”
“Good. I hope so. I need more lessons.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Some example I’ve set, huh?”
I try my best TV Chinese accent. “Ah, the hunter becomes the hunted.”
“Say hi to Sebastian for me.”
“You bet.”
I watch her walk to the taxi with her bag and consider how odd the pairing of Sebastian and Melody is, assuming there’s anything more there than a crush. As strange as it might seem to me for Sebastian to be interested in Melody, the heart wants what the heart wants. True, she’s just starting into adulthood, as am I, but is it really that weird? I remember my social studies teacher telling us that up until the last century people routinely married at fourteen and fifteen.
I guess if your life expectancy was only forty-something, that makes sense. But even now I still feel pretty damn young, and I try to imagine being married and pregnant at fourteen. What was I doing then? Starting high school.
I shake my head as I return to the apartment and grab my day bag, and then I’m waiting for a taxi of my own to take me to the studio.
When I get there, Terry’s waiting for me. “Did you get a chance to listen?” she asks.
“Yeah. They were all good. What’s the next step?”
“We’ll book SIR and do all the auditions in one day. Sebastian says Friday or Saturday would be best – that he can spare you by then.”
“SIR?”
“They rent rehearsal space and equipment. Don’t worry. I’ll set it all up. You just need to show up and listen to them. We’ll have them each do three or four standards together and then show us what they can do on freestyle solos. It should be pretty obvious who’s got the chops,” Terry assures me.
I don’t know. I’ve never played with a band before, so this is all new to me. Then again, I’d also never been in a recording studio until recently, and now I’m a seasoned pro. I’ll pick it up, I’m sure.
I kind of have to. With a tour starting shortly, the clock’s already ticking.
“Okay, assuming your doctor gets you out of your collar this week, we’ll do the video shoot next Monday and Tuesday.”
“I still can’t play. The wrist is going to take a while.”
“Don’t sweat it. We’ll shoot around it. Which reminds me – here’s the rough storyboard for the video. The director wants to meet with you tomorrow night to go over it.”
“He does?”
Terry nods. “That way, if you have any objections or ideas, he can incorporate them. But I’ve worked with Ross dozens of times. He’s top notch. A real pro.”
She hands me a sheet of paper and I read it. The shoot will be for the song we cut on that first day. It opens at dawn in the desert, me standing with the wind blowing in my face, a fifties hot rod streaking down a dirt road throwing a dust cloud in the background. I continue reading, and it’s basically every tired rock cliché ever imagined. I stop when I’m kicking a bucket half filled with milk, wearing a sundress and combat boots.
Terry’s watching my face.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask.
“Sweetheart, welcome to the show. Saul already approved it, so unless this is the hill you want to die on, I wouldn’t toss it in the trash, which is probably what you feel like doing. Trust me, unti
l you’re a star and can dictate terms, you get the type A video, which this is a version of, albeit better than most.”
“But it’s nothing like me. Really. I don’t wear sundresses, for starters,” I complain. I don’t say I think I’ve got weird knees. I mean, not like in crowds of peasants chasing me with torches and pitchforks weird, but just…weird.
“You’re going to start wearing them next Monday. You’ve got an appointment with wardrobe on Wednesday.” She smiles. “Just be glad they don’t have you nude on a wrecking ball.”
“I might take that over a sundress. Is it negotiable?”
She laughs. “Not really.”
“Then what input are they looking for from me?”
“That’s what they tell you when they want you to feel like you have a say. Reality is, you’ll shoot for two fourteen-hour days, and the director will pretty much do exactly what you have in your hands regardless of what you think.”
I sigh. “I have a feeling being a pro musician is kind of being told what to do by everyone on the planet.”
“You’re not far off. Like I said, once you’re selling like The Beatles, suddenly your word counts. My advice is keep your head down, get really good at biting your tongue, and keep remembering that this is temporary. It’s like hazing in college – you’re only a newbie once.”
If I knew anyone who’d gone to college, the reference might have more weight. But that’s the least of my problems right now.
“What about the other thing we talked about?”
“Photo shoot? Next Thursday.”
I frown. “No. New York.”
“I’m working on it. What about your boyfriend’s schedule?”
“He’s checking. We should know something by tonight or tomorrow.”
“Let me know what he can do, and I’ll see what I can move around. But it ain’t going to be this week or next week, obviously.”
I nod. “I got that.”
“Okay, so Bruno confirmed. Your first dates will be here, in L.A., and then you’ll do San Diego, Fresno, Bakersfield, San Francisco, and continue north through Oregon and Washington. He does two shows and then has a day off, two on, one off. But before the tour starts, I’m going to book you into four or five clubs around town so you can break in the band and get your show legs back. We’ll start those in…a month.”