Kiss Kiss

by Various Authors

  “Yea.”

  “Does she know?”

  “No.” His face paled.

  “What the hell?”

  “They knew if they went to her for the money she’d probably tell me and I’d kick their asses. They were smart; they went directly to me, threatening to expose some nude and other graphic pictures of her from her drug using days. If she even remembers taking them, she certainly doesn’t know they’re still around. She’s my Achilles’s - I’d do absolutely anything to protect her, Ember. Those pictures, and that part of her life, need to burn with the assholes that have held onto them.” He clenched his fist against the steering wheel before continuing, “No one else at DROP knows about it, not even David Bryson - just our legal team.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Wow. You said you knew who was blackmailing you, though, so why wouldn’t you just go to the police?”

  “We have to build the case, and it’s a small town. When you’re as wealthy as my family is. . . I couldn’t risk anything getting out before we were ready. I involved the legal team because they are from all over and didn’t grow up with me, my friends, or my parents. When dealing with blackmail, you’ve got to push it to the breaking point to mount as many charges as possible,” he replied unapologetically.

  When we pulled in to Concord, I was momentarily disoriented by the lack of ocean. It reminded me that I needed to get off the Cape a little more. Bo drove me through town, giving me a drive-through tour of his birthplace. He pointed out his favorite restaurants, his high school, and we passed DROP’s main office.

  “Nice spot,” I commented, “You can really do a lot with that location. What are some of your long-term hopes for the community centers?” We were in Concord for business, after all.

  “Ideally I’d like to equip any and all centers we operate with a studio and, of course, instruments to use in those studios.” A hopeful smile spread across his lips.

  “That’s an amazing idea! Music therapy is huge. I’ve never even been to a recording studio before, but imagine being a kid from desperate circumstances and being able to hear your instrument and your voice played back in your ear? Great idea, Bo! Technically, it would be Monica’s department to help you on the ground level with that project - but, quite frankly, I call dibs.” I nearly leapt out of my seat.

  “You’d be awesome at it. But, wait a minute - you’ve never been inside a recording studio before?” His jaw unlocked for the first time since I brought up the blackmail.

  “No. Why is that weird? Have you? Well, duh, obviously you have.” I blushed at my idiocy.

  “Ha. Yes, you’re right and, I liked the experience so much that I built one inside my house.” He straightened his posture, illustrating his pride.

  “You have a recording studio in your house? Figures. Now your new name will have to be Lord Hotness of the Guitar and All Things Awesome.” I laughed then stared out the window.

  Several minutes after driving through the center of Concord, we turned onto what appeared to be a private road. We drove along its smooth surface for several more minutes, and I only saw two houses before we came upon an overbearing wrought iron gate at the end of the road. Without missing a beat, Bo threw his Audi into park, slid out of the car, and walked over to the gate. He pressed a few numbers on a keypad, and the gate slowly opened as he got back in.

  “A gate? Really?” I wasn’t dancing with the hippies anymore.

  “What?” He shrugged passively, “It’s not my gate - well I guess it is now but - it was my parents’ house, Ember. I can’t let it go.” He drove through the gate and proceeded slowly down the driveway.

  “I’ve never known a real-live person who had a gated driveway, you’ll have to excuse me,” I laughed, “I spent most of my time on farms, communes, a yurt . . .” The look on his face caused me to break in to laughter, “What?!”

  “A yurt?” He howled.

  “You heard it here first, Baby.” I winked, “That was the last straw before I told my parents to cut the shit and let me be normal for high school. We lived in an apartment and everything - it was fucking glorious.”

  “That’s awesome your parents would do that for you, pause their lifestyle for four years so you could settle.”

  “Yeah, they’re swell - shit! They were going to be coming back through Barnstable this weekend and I totally forgot to tell them I’d be here; I’ve got to text my mom.” I frantically dug for my cellphone.

  Me: Hey- I’m in Concord for the weekend with Bo-sorry for the short notice.

  Mom: :)

  Me: That’s not a response

  Mom: OK . . . yay! How’s that ;)

  Me: Be normal for once, would you?

  Mom: We’ll call when we’re driving back up the coast to see where you’re at. If you’re still in NH maybe we’ll swing by.

  Me: You’re impossible. Love you.

  Mom: Have fun, Baby Girl.

  A wistful grin crept across my face as I put my phone back in my bag. Suddenly, my cheeks felt the heat of Bo’s stare. I chanced a glance to my left and saw an unreadable expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked

  “You really love them, huh?”

  Oh, the look was melancholy.

  “I do. Being their daughter has been an eye-rolling experience, for sure, but they’re great.” I didn’t want to elaborate too much in fear of opening barely healed wounds for him, or myself.

  “Hey, do you have siblings? I never asked.” Bo got out of the car.

  “Nope, just me, and whatever children were living in whichever agricultural community we lived in.” I smiled as I got out.

  “Why don’t you ever let me open the door for you?” He asked, creasing his eyebrows.

  “Ha, are you serious? Um, well, for starters, my arms aren’t broken.” I couldn’t have kept the sarcasm out of my voice if I tried.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Bo huffed as he put his arms around my waist.

  “Anything you want.” I smiled, “But, could we get our stuff in your house first?”

  We carried our bags to the grand front door; the house was absolutely gorgeous. To anyone outside of New England, the house might look ominous; it was clearly at least one hundred years old. It was white with black shutters - standard New England fare. A spacious widow’s watch with a stained glass window on one side, and a regular window on the other, topped the house. I made a mental note to check the view from up there later. Bo produced a key from his pocket and opened the door.

  The inside of the house was anything but antique; there had clearly been a massive remodel at some point. A large granite-floored foyer greeted us, with a grand, double-banister staircase just to the right. The foyer’s ceiling was two-stories, and a window at the top poured delicious light.

  “Impressive.” My eyes took in the scale of the foyer and what appeared to be a dining area to the left.

  Bo flashed a quick smile, “Yea, not bad for a lonely bachelor.” He winked and led me up the stairs.

  “How many bedrooms do you have?” I asked, noting several doorways down the straight hallway.

  “Six. And three bathrooms upstairs,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Does Rachel stay here when she’s on break from school?” I asked.

  “Actually, she lives here most of the time, Durham’s only about an hour away. She’s staying on campus this weekend with some friends, though. She might be by sometime tonight to pick up some stuff.”

  “Will I get to meet her?” It was clear how much Bo loved his sister; I was jealous I didn’t have a sibling with whom to share such a bond.

  “Of course. And, if we miss her tonight, she’ll be at the DROP meeting Monday. That’s why she’s staying on campus this weekend - trying to get ahead since she’ll miss classes for our meeting.” Bo stopped in front of a door half-way down the hall on the left, and cracked it open.

  “This is my room. Well, our room for the weekend.” He beamed.

>   I entered the room and felt instantly at home, it screamed Bo. A large well-made bed with dark navy bedding was positioned in the center of the wall opposite the door. The walls were sparsely adorned with family photos and a couple of autographed and framed posters of musicians.

  My eyes found a family portrait on the wall adjacent to the bed and I approached it slowly. All four Cavanaugh’s were smiling the trademark mega-watt smile. His parents were young, and Bo was the spitting image of his father. Rachel was pale with dark hair, just like Bo, but her eyes were darker. Vivian, their mother, was breathtakingly beautiful. While Bo looked slightly younger, maybe more carefree, this looked to be only a few years old.

  “This is the last portrait of my family before my parents died.” Bo startled me away from my thoughts.

  “Oh, when was it taken?” I didn’t break my gaze from the picture that held the gorgeous family.

  “A month before they died. The pictures came in the mail a couple of weeks after their funeral.” I could feel him staring at me.

  “Holy shit, are you serious?” I turned and looked at him wide-eyed.

  “Yeah, they saw the proofs, but never these. This was the best one; Rae and I each have one in our rooms.”

  “Rae?”

  “Yea, Rachel’s nickname.”

  “Cute.” I smiled.

  “Want a tour of the rest of the place?”

  “You bet your ass I do.” I slapped his butt and headed for the door. He tugged my arm and pulled me in for a deep, soft kiss.

  “Well, up here is just bedrooms; Rae’s is across the hall and all the way at the end is my parents’ room. It just stays . . . well . . .”

  “I get it.” I squeezed his hand in reassurance as he led me back down the grand staircase.

  Bo took me through the foyer and showed me the living room, expansive gourmet kitchen, office, and den before opening a door leading downstairs.

  “Want to see the studio?” He asked with an impish grin.

  “Yes!” I squealed like a little girl before I pushed past him and flew down the stairs to the full-height basement.

  Bo opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and flicked on the light. Just like in the movies, there was a window looking into the expansive room. I could see the studio space itself and to the back was the control room, also with a large window. This was no DIY project; this was some state-of-the-art recording shit. I reminded myself to close my mouth as I walked in, lest I look the fool.

  “Rae and Ash would love this.” I stated out loud.

  “What?” Bo asked, thoroughly confused.

  “Ha. Sorry. My mom’s nickname is also Rae, it’s short for Raven. My dad’s name is Ashby, but I call him Ash most of the time. ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ were out of the question for them when I was growing up.” I shrugged as I entered the control room, grazing my fingers across all of the slides and dials.

  “Wait a minute.” Bo said, entering the control room behind me.

  “I know, I know, it’s weird to call your parents by their first names - it’s just what it is.” I smiled.

  “No, that I get.” He chuckled, “Your parents are Raven and Ashby Harris?” He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the face.

  “Yes, my name is November, their names are Ashby and Raven, and we all share the same last name.” I swallowed hard, thinking it was impossible that he was going where I hoped he wasn’t.

  “Cute, Ember. Let’s try it this way; are your parents the Raven and Ashby Harris?”

  I stood in shocked silence as he reached to a shelf of albums above my head, thumbing through them. When I realized what he was doing, I finally spoke.

  “Shit. Are you fucking kidding me?” I whispered. My eyes widened as blood raced to my face.

  Bo pulled out a straight-up old school vinyl record. The cover read, “Earth Mama by The San Diego Six” and graced the pictures of my parents and four of their closest friends. I made no facial expression as he held the record up next to his face and smiled.

  “How the fuck . . . you know what? Never mind. I can’t believe this,” I said all at once as I plunked in the chair behind me, burying my face in my hands.

  “How could you not tell me that your parents are, or were, in one of the most popular indie folk bands from San Diego in the eighties and early nineties?” He grabbed my shoulders again and shook them playfully, like he was breaking the news to me.

  “Um, how about because my parents were in one of the most popular indie folk bands from San Diego in the eighties and early nineties, and exactly no one our age knows about that? This is un-fucking-believable!” I broke into hysterical laughter, “Where did you even get that?”

  “My parents had it in a huge collection of albums. I was sorting through their stuff after they died and found this gem. So, November Blue Harris, how is it that you’ve never been inside a recording studio?” He suggested I was lying.

  “Well, Officer, maybe I did go in one when I was younger, but they were mainly touring. I think they only recorded one new album after I was born and I don’t really remember that. So, it’s possible that I crawled around a studio once or twice. I swear to you right now, do not say anything to Monica, Josh, or Adrian - none of them know.” I snapped the record from his hand and looked at it, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.

  “What’s the deal? They’re awesome,” he said a little less playfully.

  I feigned indifference, “It’s just . . .” I rolled my eyes and huffed, “It’s just kind of a long story. It’s not important.” My eyes shot to the floor.

  “Hey,” he lifted my chin as he sat in the chair across from me, “what is it?” He spoke softly.

  I looked to the left and the right, trying to find a topic of discussion to get us out of this Ashby and Raven vortex, but I couldn’t; we were in a recording studio after all. I yielded a sigh and slowly brought my eyes to his.

  “Fine. Look. Remember the first night we met and I told you about how my parents are hippies, and later I told you how I finally got them to agree to settle in one place long enough for me to attend high school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s the sugared-up Cliff’s Notes version. The truth is I was part of their little traveling show with Six - that’s what I called them. They were recording the album in your hands while my mom was pregnant with me - which is why she’s pregnant on the cover. It’s actually kind of funny that you have the vinyl, they didn’t make many. You may want to hang on to that.” I laughed dismissively.

  “Anyway, I grew up being home-schooled as they travelled up and down the West Coast. By the time I was fourteen, I wanted to go to a real high school so I begged, begged to be in one place for it. They smiled, said ‘sure’, and let me pick the place which is how we ended up on the East Coast. I wanted to be as far away from San Diego as possible.” Tears betrayed my eyes.

  Bo looked a little confused; I stopped him when he opened his mouth.

  “You know, when we moved to Connecticut, it was the first time I had my own room for more than a few days. It was the first time we lived somewhere rather than stayed somewhere. I felt so proud of myself for convincing them to move, let alone three thousand miles away. It was empowering. I learned if I asked, I could get, hence my stellar grant writing,” I laughed, “But as I went through high school I just got fucking pissed. I was a kid and they dragged me along in their life without giving me one of my own. They were so selfish while they touted free love, peace, and harmony; I thought they were such hypocrites.”

  “Well, it sure explains a lot about you.” Bo wiped the tear from my cheek

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to be bitching about my parents. But that night on the beach, when we first met, you said ‘You take what you get and you use it for what you want.’ That’s what I did with my parents. I got exactly what I didn’t want, so I modeled my life the opposite way.” I shrugged.

  “Real mature,” he huffed.

  “Excuse me?” My face h
eated, drying my tears.

  “You’re so damn talented with your voice, and a clear natural on the guitar, and yet you won’t do anything with it because of some life your parents chose for themselves? Sounds to me like they’re still doing the choosing,” his voice wavered between sarcasm and anger.

  I opened my mouth to answer, stunned with shock, but I jumped up when I heard a door slam upstairs.

  “Bowan? Bo?! Are you here?” A female voice tore through the house.

  “Who the hell is that?” My scant jealousy irritated me.

  “That,” he smiled, “is Rachel. Prepare to meet my sister.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Down here Rae!” Bo hollered up the stairs.

  I quickly composed myself from his ‘mature’ comment in order not to seem like a total snob in front of his sister, but I was still pissed.

  Light footsteps bounded down the stairs. When Rachel entered, the whole vibe of the room changed. She was smaller than I thought she’d be, probably 5’4”, and she was quite thin, but wore that huge smile I’d become accustomed to from Bo. He opened his arms for a hug, and his size swallowed her.

  “You’re early,” Bo said.

  “Yeah, need to get back to the campus library to get some work done before they close for the night.” She beamed and turned to me.

  “You must be November. It’s great to meet you!” She squealed. I stuck out my hand but she wrapped her arms around me instead. She’s cute as a friggin button.

  “That’s me. I gather Bo’s mentioned me?” I smiled as I backed away.

  “Are you kidding? You’re all I’ve heard about for the last week.” She shot a teasing glance at her brother.

  “OK, Rae, that’s enough.” For the first time, I saw Bo blush, eliciting a giggle.

  “Whatever, Bo, you have it bad for her - let’s just get it out there. OK, so, do you guys want to get lunch?” Rae smiled at me.

  “I’m starving, that sounds great.”

  As we headed up the stairs I realized I could be good friends with Rachel Cavanaugh; she had spunk.

  * * *

  When we returned from lunch, Rachel headed upstairs to pack her things for the weekend. I had pushed the blackmail to the back of my mind, which was good since Rachel didn’t know, and I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell her. During lunch I got a glimpse of a young Bo Cavanaugh and it was quite a trip. It turned out that Bo played the piano until he started getting picked on by some of his friends, and then he begged his parents to let him play the ‘much cooler’ guitar. Luckily it worked out for him, though Rachel let it spill that Bo still plays the piano - which would explain its presence in the recording studio.