“I actually approached their people under the label Lincoln and I formed a month ago. You probably remember I’m pretty good at the negotiation side of the business.”
I remembered. He was the one who had put together the mini tour. He was the one who always talked dollars and cents with the club owners. “I think that’s so incredibly cool. What are you calling it?”
“The label? Outside. It’s a surfing term and…”
“I’m familiar with it,” I interjected.
“Yes. Well, it kind of summarizes a lot of things for us. Catching the big wave when it comes along. Finding a place in life where we can see the whole picture and the things that are really important. Family. Friends. Each other.” He flashed me a smile. “Speaking of things that are important. We have a little surprise for you during the performance. Afterward we’re hoping the term means even more to you.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
* * *
Simone
Ash and I had talked for so long I didn’t get to see Linc before the show. I was treated like a VIP though and escorted through the tropical foliage that surrounded the venue to a front row center seat in a comfortable folding chair on the artificial turf that sloped toward the raised stage.
Everything was in position on it. The mics. The speakers. The drum kit on risers sporting the Dirt Dog’s logo, a tough looking bulldog on a surfboard. The only thing missing was the band.
In the marina on my left the masts of the boats seemed to lean expectantly toward the stage, the Dirt Dog fans on them holding their breath as they awaited the show from their prime position on the water. To my right several Half Moon hotel longhouses with balconies provided those facing the stage a free bonus of a kick ass rock concert included in their nightly rate.
The restive crowd volume increased as the sun disappeared over the horizon. I moved forward in my seat as anxious for the show to begin as everyone else was, probably more so. I hadn’t seen the guys performing live since Huntington Beach.
I smoothed my skirt around my legs and rubbed my arms to warm them. I wished I had thought to bring a sweater. The breeze off of the water right now was a little chilly.
From the chair beside me a distinguished Hispanic man with a liberal amount of grey intermingled in his black hair leaned toward me and asked for the time. I slipped my cell from my bag to check. A message from Linc came up on the display.
Linc: Love you, gorgeous. Nice dress.
I grinned and glanced up at the stage but I couldn’t see him. I turned to tell the man the time and I think he caught a glimpse of the message on my phone over my shoulder.
“You a friend of Linc’s?” he asked.
I pulled in a breath and said the words. “His girlfriend,” I clarified and stuck out my hand. “Simone Bianchi.”
His eyes brightened as if he knew me. “Your father used to own Napoli’s.” He squeezed my hand and released it. “I’m Enrique Martinez. Ramon is my son. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hear it’s going to be a great show. I hope you enjoy it.”
I didn’t get a chance to reply or to speak further to Enrique because the show had begun, a heavy bass beat and a blindingly bright flash of lights heralding the arrival of the first Dirt Dog to the stage.
The new bassist was an imposing figure, built and tall, maybe taller than Lincoln. Diesel had harsh features or maybe just harsh thoughts that made them seem that way. His darker skin tone hinted at what I guessed might be Polynesian ancestry. He was a very accomplished musician but seeing him on bass made me miss Patch. I wondered if it was that way for the others, too.
My wondering ended as the rest of the guys strutted out.
Ramon’s black curls were shorter than they had been the last time I had seen him, the fine lines on his face noticeably deeper. I knew Patch’s death had hit Ramon harder than any of us. They had been best friends before the rest. I remembered how he had been at the funeral. He had barely held it together and now he seemed even more troubled.
He stomped on his floorboard and let loose on his ebony Les Paul with a volley of complicated chords that erupted out of the speakers sounding as angry as the new bassist looked.
Ash had already taken a seat behind his drum kit when I slid my gaze to look at him. I was a little surprised to see that he had changed. No more fancy clothes. I guessed those had been for my benefit or for smoozing in the back with the VIP’s. Now he had on shorts and a Dirt Dog’s t-shirt that appeared to be more than a little faded and worn.
And then my gaze found its happy place at center stage. There it lingered through the entire opening song when his sandy brown locks were still dry and curled around his ears and swayed against his neck. There it remained for ninety minutes as he prowled the stage, his exertions drenching his hair and making his toned body gleam with perspiration.
I thought it was a good thing Linc had gone for the board shorts and a t-shirt with cut off sleeves. Besides the fact that the wet dry surfer apparel made it easier for him to cool off with an upended water bottle between numbers, he looked handsome in the orange and turquoise colors. Maybe an intentional choice, I hoped. Perhaps a subliminal cue to let me know he still had plans for us and his similarly hued surfboard later.
I could only imagine how much hotter it must be for him and the rest of the band underneath all those blazing lights. The heat from them actually radiated to the front row making me change my mind about the sweater.
As the applause died down, Lincoln turned to look at Ash. He got a thumbs up from the Dirt Dog’s handsome equally perspiration soaked drummer.
“Our last one tonight is a brand new tune,” Linc announced. “It’s our best work yet but it’s the final one for us as the Dirt Dogs.” He had to speak louder to be heard over the protests in the audience. “It’s a song for best friends you’ll always have. It’s for bandmates who are more like brothers. And it’s for the girl you loved who you never got over.” He looked at me directly and I readily returned the love I saw within his eyes. “It’s called ‘Outside’.”
Outside breathe in the salty air
Murky thoughts become clear
Courage comes in many forms
Now you fall to stand once more.
Charge the wave
Don’t be afraid
Tack the power
Make it your own
Trim the wave
Don’t let it beat you
Link the flats
Home to your shore.
Outside another world awaits
Well beyond your comfort zone
Set aside your inhibitions
What lies ahead is worth the cost.
Charge the wave
Don’t be afraid
Tack the power
Make it your own
Trim the wave
Don’t let it beat you
Link the flats
Home to your shore.
Outside is everything you need
Family, friends, the one you love
Treasure all you’ve been given
Don’t let it slip away from you.
Charge the wave
Don’t be afraid
Tack the power
Make it your own
Trim the wave
Don’t let it beat you
Link the flats
Home to your shore.
Epilogue
* * *
Linc
I bent over Ash’s shoulder sliding up the treble on the soundboard. It had been too low during our first run though.
“She looks good,” Ash said and I glanced through the soundproof glass to follow the direction of his gaze.
“She does,” I agreed. Simone still had her headphones on and her silky caramel hair was loose around her bare shoulders. She was wearing a sleeveless dress like she had worn at the Dog’s last concert along with the silver necklace I had bought her in Huntington Beach. The one with our initials. It was back around her neck where it belonged and I had on the sku
ll ring she had purchased for me.
Her hair was lighter than it had been when I first came back to OB and her skin was darker. We had been spending a lot of time at the beach on my board.
We had a lot of time to make up for.
My pulse kicked up just looking at her and remembering the way she’d come apart in my arms this morning. She had been on top and I had gotten to play with her tits the entire time the way she liked, the way I loved, the way it had been in that private plunge pool the night of the concert, my board floating on the surface, me lying on it and her doing most but not all of the work. What would be the fun in that?
My mouth went dry remembering. Then she looked up and caught me staring at her. Heat blazed through me, the awareness between us sizzling even through the glass, even though I had just had her this morning. Even fifteen years apart hadn’t been able to put out that flame. Mona plus me equaled a fiery love that endured and couldn’t be extinguished or contained.
I clicked the switch to open up the two way mic connection between the sound booth and the recording room at Outside Records. “Let’s get Chulo back in here with Uncle Ash so we can get this duet recorded. Your buddy Patrick and his band are coming to the studio, and we need to get ourselves back outside in the surf.” I glanced out the window where the OB pier and the ocean beckoned. “The surf looks almost as good as you do, babe.”
She smiled and kissed that spoiled rotten dog one more time.
Spoiled rock and roll Chulo, I should have clarified.
I thought he looked ridiculous with all that fluff stuffed into a black leather jacket with his name embroidered on it. But his Uncle Ash had bought it and Mona liked it. Whatever Mona liked I eventually came to love because whatever made my sweet Simone happy made me happy.
Each and every single day.
Sound board finally adjusted to the way I wanted it, I returned to the studio with Simone. Back in the booth Ash put Chulo under his arm and gave us the count down with his fingers. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Headset on, I settled into place beside my girl and we joined our hands, melding our fingers, hearts and our voices together as we sang the story about how we really saved each other.
Believe in the promise of us
Hearts as one love’s guarantee
A bond so strong we both can trust
To draw us close whatever may be
I just want you to
Take me
And shape me
Remake me
Baby, come on and
Save me.
Lies between us in the dark
Hearts divided you and me
Ties all broken we’re apart
Drifting on an empty sea
Why can’t you just
Take me
And shape me
Remake me
Baby, reach out and
Save me.
I don’t need some perfect hero
All I really want is you
By my side today tomorrow
Tell me that you want me, too
Please come back and
Take me
And shape me
Remake me
I’m begging you to
Save me.
I know I’m no perfect hero
But I’ve come to claim my prize
Got you now won’t ever let go
Cause who I am is in your eyes
I’m right here to
Take you
And shape you
Remake you
Baby, I’m gonna
Save you.
RIPTIDE
Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances - Book 2
Michelle Mankin
Surfers.
With your sandy feet walking through the sidewalks of OB.
With the way you run toward the surf
as if the answers you search for lie within the waves.
I believe they do.
This one’s for you.
Our story begins where Outside ended in the year 2015.
2015
Present Day
Chapter One
* * *
Ramon
The surf was coming in big on the Southern California coast, head height crests with nice clean barrels. As good as it got. I turned the nose of my board toward the beach to claim one. Grabbing the rails on take-off, I stalled my momentum and pumped the trough hard, glimpsing blue sky through the crystal curtain that curled over my head. I kicked-out at the last moment. The barrel exhaled its last breath of cool spray as it collapsed behind me. Exhilarated, at one with the water and my board, I grinned.
I paddled out again, repositioned and repeated the pattern. I slipped into a zone where endless loops of lonely silence gave way to the piercing cry of the gulls and the insistent roar of the ocean. It had been a long-ass time since I had surfed this particular location beneath the shadow of the Ocean Beach Pier. Three years to be exact. A weary sojourner returned home, pleased to discover that the regulars remembered me and graciously granted me the go ahead on every wave I chose.
The sun sat high in the cloudless sky when I decided to go in. An arc of ocean spray trailing my back like a cape, I round carved off the top of my final ride and drove though the churning white foam toward shallow water. It seemed a shame to stop when the surf was this sensational, but I couldn’t ignore the grumbling of my stomach or the trembling in my legs. I had been at it since daybreak. I was exhausted. Time to call it a day.
I hopped off my board in waist deep water and waded the rest of the way in. Dropping the nose of my board to the ground, I bent over at the waist and unfastened my ankle leash. Straightening, I shook out an ocean’s worth of saltwater from my hair creating a brief but torrential downpour that the sand readily absorbed.
The curls on my head significantly drier, I tucked my board under my arm and headed for the public parking lot above the beach where my Explorer awaited. Skirting a turreted, multilevel sandcastle crowned by mounds of artfully arranged kelp, I noticed that the sidewalk that had been deserted earlier now bustled with tourists and locals. The beauty of the Pacific, the iconic OB pier and the spectacle of the surfers drew crowds as eclectic as the tattoo parlors, shops and bars on palm tree lined Newport Avenue as it meandered downhill toward the sea. Reality crept in eroding away my surfer high as I neared the steps and their voices washed over me. I still found it difficult to achieve more than random moments of serenity when the best parts of my life lay in memory, the beloved players swept away on the currents of time. My best friend who had been as close as a brother. The woman who had held my heart in the palm of her sweet hand though I had never let her know it.
“Ramon Martinez.”
I paused in the middle of the sidewalk blinking my mind free from the dense fog of the past. I angled my head in the direction of the speaker, narrowing my gaze on a petite, vaguely familiar young blonde with purple streaks in her hair. She returned an engaging double dimpled smile.
“Do I know you?” I inquired, moving toward her. She stood behind the lifted tailgate of an old rusted Subaru. My gaze shifted to the guy beside her. Around my height, his feet were sandy and his slicked back hair was nearly an identical ebony shade as my own, though less curly.
“Yeah, from backstage,” Purple explained. Her half unzipped wet suit revealed a curvy figure, and she had pretty features, but she was at least ten years younger than I was, and the mystery behind her casual regard didn’t intrigue me the way it once might have. It only reminded me of another.
“Sorry.” My lips lifted along with a satirical brow. “That doesn’t narrow things down much. I get introduced to a lot of chicks after shows.”
“It was a month ago, at your last performance,” the guy clarified, his grey eyes narrowing. “We’re friends of Simone’s.” Well that made things a little easier. I remembered her taking me around to meet people backstage at the after-party at Humphrey’s. Well, maybe keeping me upright after too many glasses of celeb
ratory champagne so I didn’t fall flat on my face and look like an idiot was more accurate. Simone Bianchi was an old friend with a kind heart. She had been there with the Dirt Dogs years earlier on the So Cal mini tour that had launched us into the big time as a rock and roll band. Mostly out of the picture since those heady times, she had recently reunited with our lead singer, Lincoln Savage, after a long separation that had been wrong for both of them.
“I’m Tasha Rusak.” Purple’s name jogged a memory loose. “And this,” she hooked a ringed thumb to her companion, “is Patrick Donegal.” He lifted his chin in response.
“You’re the bassist.” The specifics started to come back to me. “In a local band, here in OB. I’m sure you told me the name, but for the life of me right now I can’t remember it.”
“Free Wave.” Tasha nodded her head vigorously, obviously excited that I had recalled that much. She shouldn’t have been. Our meeting mostly stuck out in my mind because she had been cute, and a bit of an oddity as there weren’t a ton of female bass players.
“You told us you might be able to give us some pointers. Maybe even some marketing advice. We sent you a demo,” Patrick prompted, pulling Tasha in closer and throwing a protective arm around her shoulder. I got the message loud and clear. They would be grateful for any help, but I shouldn’t expect any between the sheets payback.
“So what did you think about our sound?” Looking nervous, Tasha twirled a violet strand of her hair while her companion played with the string that tied her bikini top around her neck.
“Honestly, I haven’t had a chance to listen to it.” I had been out of town for the past month in Hawaii with Diesel Le. Our band’s woman hating bassist had invited me to his place on the big island. Anxious to escape the inevitable flurry of questions about what I was going to do with the rest of my life now that the Dirt Dogs had disbanded leaving me unofficially retired at the age of thirty-three from the only career I had ever known, I had readily accepted his offer. But Diesel had spent nearly all of the time that we weren’t surfing trying to convince me to start up a new band with him. I wanted the best for him. After all, he had stepped up and had my back after Dominic ‘Patch’ Campo’s funeral when things had gone south for the rest of us. Drugs with Linc and his cousin, Ashland Keys, our drummer. Disinterest and depression with me. Patch’s untimely death had hit everyone hard. Diesel was a good guy and a fantastic bass player, almost as good as Patch had been. But I wasn’t the least bit interested in starting over again with him or anyone else. Fifteen years of living on the road had been enough. I wouldn’t mind if I never stepped foot on a stage again. For me things had never felt right since my best friend’s departure. The Dogs were broken, and the one guy who could always fix things was never coming back.
(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5) Page 29