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“He did,” I said, nodding slowly. David loomed behind Renee, at least six feet tall, with dark hair and a hint of a baby face. His lips had twisted into a faint smirk, the amusement of the situation still lingering. But those eyes. Those giant, brown, crazy eyes. They were having sex with me. In my own living room. Behind my best friend, who I could no longer see.
“About time,” Renee said, hanging her purse on the wall rack. “Listen, we’re going to sleep here tonight because David has a meeting in Brentwood in the morning. Fill me in tomorrow?” She winced like she felt bad.
“Okay,” I agreed. David followed Renee out of the living room, still smiling back at me. But not with his mouth. With those goddamn eyes. I had never met anyone who could smile without moving their mouth.
I heard the bathroom door close and the sound of the sink running. Before getting settled on the sofa, I realized that I’d left my grilled cheese sandwich in the kitchen. I got up and headed toward the kitchen, and there he was. Leaning casually in the doorway, his right arm propped against the wood. Like he’d been hiding there, waiting for me the whole time.
“So, did you say yes?” he asked, not bothering to move out of my way. He was blocking the doorway. I couldn’t get through. I didn’t care. “To the date, I mean.”
“I did.” I was whispering. I wasn’t sure why. Like we were sharing a secret.
“Lucky guy,” he said in a low voice, slowly looking me up and down. As he turned and disappeared into Renee’s bedroom, his eyes never left mine.
Even if Vincent wasn’t in London, at that moment, he still seemed a million miles away.
Chapter 4 (#uc4e6d987-40b0-54ae-89d4-2decceaed90c)
The Middle East felt like my childhood. It was what I imagined Seattle to be like during the nineties. Dark basement feel, sticky floors, heavy distortion, the distinct aroma of weed and beer. It was dirty and raw. In LA, everything was pretty. Even the rock clubs were pretty. In Boston, the rock scene was real, not manmade. No one painted a mural of Jim Morrison on the side of the building to be cool. It was cool without trying.
I spotted Renee as soon as I walked downstairs. Even at six months’ pregnant, she was still stunning. Her blonde hair spiraled down to her waist, and she wore a long, black vintage coat with a fur collar. She looked like a seventies groupie. She was perched by the merchandise table, helping the merch girl unload the band’s albums and t-shirts. Her face lit up when she saw me.
“Hey!” She waved and abandoned the table, wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. You have to see the albums!”
Tonight was the album-release party for Dylan’s band, Electric Wreck. They had just finished their first full-length album, Hiatus. I’d photographed them for the album cover, thanks to Renee’s referral, but had yet to see the finished product. Renee was like an elated toddler, grabbing me excitedly by the arm and dragging me to the table.
“What do you think?” she asked, thrusting a copy into my hands. I looked closely at the cover. It looked great. We had used their studio for the shoot, which everyone agreed was a practical location, with the graffiti and equipment in the background adding to the sincerity of the setting. The four guys were strewn across the room with their instruments – Christian in the back of the photo behind the drum kit, Andy seated on the floor with a guitar in his lap, Jeff leaned up against the wall clutching his bass, Dylan in center, head down, gripping the microphone with both hands. It was a fantastic shot.
“It looks awesome,” I said, running my fingers along the edges. I had sent the final image to their graphic designer, who had adjusted it to black and white and added classic-style font so it looked like an album from the sixties. I flipped it over to read the twelve-song list on the back.
“I know!” Renee was beaming. “I told him it would come out great.”
Dylan was not a fan of the cover concept. He thought a photo of the band members was cheesy and opted for artwork instead. Renee insisted that, since they were all good-looking guys, it would be more marketable. Sex sells. Dylan argued that this theory was exactly what was wrong with the music industry today.
He eventually gave in.
With her new mom-to-be schedule, Renee had quickly become the band’s pseudo-manager. She devoted all her spare time to learning about the music industry and indie artist success strategies. Thus, Dylan usually listened to her even when he didn’t want to. And I was just grateful for the referrals. Electric Wreck was the second band she had referred to me for photography shoots, and since I hadn’t found a job or a permanent place of abode yet, freelance work helped. Living rent-free also helped.
Although I knew the real reason for my lack of drive. I hadn’t fully committed to being home yet. My heart was still in LA.
Renee handed a cardboard box to the merch girl, then led me to the side of the stage. “Did I tell you that they raised over 20,000 dollars for their album through the Kickstarter campaign?”
She had. At least three times. “I think so,” I lied.
“You’re almost as bad of a liar as I am,” she said, laughing. “Sorry if I keep repeating myself, it’s just so exciting. Twenty thousand dollars! They haven’t even been around that long.”
Through Renee’s research, she’d discovered that a lot of emerging indie bands were launching online donation campaigns to help with their album recording expenses. Renee had started a campaign for the band and executed different marketing strategies to get the word out. I knew she’d put a lot of effort into it, but I don’t think anyone realized how effective it was until the results came in. It was all Renee had talked about for weeks.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Andy thinks you’re cute. He hasn’t shut up about you since the photo shoot. Do you…” She hesitated. “What do you think of him?”
I think he’s not David, I thought.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said. Technically, it was the truth. I hadn’t thought about any man except David in months.
“Do you think he’s cute?” she asked. She had a painful expression on her face, like it would hurt her if I said no.
I considered. Their guitarist, Andy, was average-looking, shaggy dirty-blonde hair, nice cheekbones, a little extra weight around his midsection. He was the personality of the band, that was for sure. Dylan was too intense, and the other two didn’t talk much.
“He’s okay,” I answered, shrugging. “He’s funny.”
The truth was, every time I pictured myself with a guy, all I could think of was David. I couldn’t imagine feeling that way with anyone else. And if I couldn’t feel that again with someone, then everything else would just be settling. I’d rather be alone.
Just then, the lights dimmed and the four guys slowly made their way to the stage, Dylan arriving last. Renee’s eyes locked on him, and I knew better than to say any more. I had seen Dylan perform, and the way he silenced the audience. He had an undeniable gift. He wasn’t just a voice, he was a presence. It was easy to see why Renee had fallen for him.
When I first met Dylan, he wasn’t at all what I had expected. Maybe because he was so different from David. He was smaller than I’d imagined, five foot nine at most, and incredibly skinny. A true starving artist. He had a big nose and very dark hair, almost black, the complete opposite of his glowing light-blue eyes. His eyes were so intense it was hard to look at him sometimes. Like he was perpetually scared.
After my first conversation with Dylan, I understood the attraction. It was his voice. Not his singing voice, but the way he spoke. He had a deep, sexy tone and spoke slowly and deliberately, like he was half-asleep. It was almost hypnotic. He kept you hanging on every word. Renee also had a tendency to gravitate towards the mysterious, detached type, and Dylan was about as elusive as they came. You never knew if he cared, what he was thinking. He just stared at you with those glowing eyes.
The music started, and for the next two hours, I had officially lost Renee. The music had taken her. My beautiful best friend, with her tiny baby belly poking out from behind her coat. Swaying to the music. In love.
Throughout the entire show, her eyes never deviated from Dylan. At one point, he looked over at her and smiled ever so slightly, and I felt a pang of jealousy in my gut. I wanted that. I wanted someone to look at me like that.
Only that someone was 3,000 miles away, and he’d never look at me like that. Because he didn’t love me.
Los Angeles, CA
March 2009
David started coming around the house more often. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled. I tried not to be. I tried to pretend I wasn’t excited by the sight of him on my couch when I came home, the thought of him in my shower. I tried not to read into his mild flirtations, not to feel his eyes on me constantly. I tried to fight it. I did.
I started to think that maybe it was in my head. Maybe I was reading into it. But it seemed like every time Renee stepped out of the room, he’d inch just a tiny bit closer to me, stare a little bit more intensely. And he didn’t look away. The Stare.
One night, the three of us were watching a movie in the living room. Renee decided to go to bed early, and David stayed up to finish the movie with me. But he didn’t watch the movie. He watched me. I felt his eyes on me the entire time, waiting for me to look his way. I didn’t.
“Anyone ever tell you that you look like Denise Richards?” he finally asked.
“Every day of my life.” My eyes were still on the TV.
He kept staring. I finally gave in and looked at him. He was grinning. That wild-eyed grin. That we’re-sharing-a-secret grin.
“What?” I asked, fighting back a laugh. I couldn’t help it. He had this way of staring and smiling like he knew something you didn’t.
“You’re really into this movie, huh?” he asked.
I stopped watching it a long time ago, I thought to myself.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Have you ever had Rocky Road popcorn?”
I whipped my head in his direction. “Huh?”
He stood up, walked over to my chair and grabbed both of my hands with his. In one swift motion, he lifted me to my feet. “Come on,” he said, pulling me behind him.
And there, in the kitchen, we melted chocolate and marshmallows, crushed almonds, popped popcorn, and threw them all together. David stood tall above me, so close we were almost touching, and without missing a beat, he shoved a giant fist of popcorn into my mouth.
I screamed, wiping chocolate and marshmallow wads from my face. We were both in hysterics. If this were a date, it would’ve been the best date I’d ever had.
The next day, Renee told me she wanted to break up with him.
Apparently, their differences were beginning to weigh on her, which I knew would happen eventually. You can’t fight the inevitable. Up until David, Renee hated jocks. She wouldn’t even look at a guy if he didn’t hold an interest in some sort of creative endeavor. I think David’s charm had succeeded in blindsiding her temporarily, but now graduation was creeping around the corner. She was starting to think about the future. And questioning whether or not David would be a part of that.
I couldn’t fathom it. She had Him. How could you give up those eyes? Those dimples? The way you felt inside when he looked at you?
Then I realized why. She didn’t feel that way. Maybe to a degree, but not nearly as close to the way I felt. I wouldn’t have given him up for anything.
I understood where she was coming from, but deep down, part of me hated her. I had been on an endless bout of bad dates for as far back as I could remember, hoping to find what she already had. And she was going to throw it away, just because the guy didn’t “get” rock and roll.
Since Renee relied heavily on my opinion, I did what any best friend would do. I told her the truth – that I thought David was great, but if she was having doubts, then maybe she should take some time apart from him to think about their relationship. Renee was flying home to Boston the following week to attend her grandfather’s funeral, so she’d have some space to evaluate their future while she was away.
I just honestly didn’t think that, in the end, she’d decide to stay with him.
Chapter 5 (#uc4e6d987-40b0-54ae-89d4-2decceaed90c)
It was almost one in the morning by the time the band was packed up and ready to go. Everyone except for the venue employees and band members had already gone home, so I was left in the smoke-filled backstage room with the Electric Wreck guys while Renee was off settling their bar tab. Dylan must have sensed that I was uncomfortable, sitting alone in the corner, because just as I was about to leave he sat down next to me.
“You like the show tonight?” he asked.
“You know you’re always great,” I said, although I wondered if he really did. No matter how many compliments Dylan received, he still seemed to doubt himself. Typical self-loathing artist.
“Do you have to drive back to the Cape tonight?”
“Yeah. It’s only a little over an hour. Not so bad.”
“Except at this hour.” He smirked. “You’re always welcome to crash with us, you know.”
Renee and Dylan lived in Quincy, which was only a 15-minute drive from the city, but I hated sleeping anywhere except in my own bed.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “Thanks, though.”
“How are you kids doing over here?” Andy asked, sliding in between Dylan and me. He removed a joint from his pocket and held it in my direction. “You smoke?”
I thought about it for a minute. I wasn’t much of a pot-smoker because it made me sleepy, but I did have a long drive home…
“What the hell,” I agreed. “Here?”
“My car. I think they’re going to kick us out soon.”
I followed Andy through the empty main room, catching Renee’s eye on the way. She abruptly stopped her conversation with the bartender when she saw us leaving, giving me the thumbs-up sign. I made a joint-smoking motion with my hands so she wouldn’t get the wrong impression. She shrugged and gave me a smile that said, “Hey, it’s a start.”
Andy drove a black Infinity with gray-leather interior. It was much nicer than I’d imagined. I guess I assumed all musicians drove beat-up vans like Dylan did.
“This is nice,” I said, running my hand along the seat. It had that new-leather smell that I loved.
“Well, playing in a band isn’t the only thing I do.” He lit the end of the joint. “I also teach guitar lessons. And I taught music theory classes for years at the Art Institute.”
I took the joint from his grasp, looking around before taking a hit. We were parked in the lot behind the club, a dark, inconspicuous place. I felt safe. “Why’d you quit?” I asked.
“If we’re going to be touring more, I need the schedule flexibility. I’ll go back to teaching once we start working on our next album, when I know I’ll be home for a while.”
I exhaled a ring of smoke into the air, feeling much more relaxed. That was the good thing about pot. It made your problems not seem so bad. David felt a million miles away.
“What are you smiling about?” Andy asked, looking at me with hazy eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was.
I took another hit of the joint and shrugged. I was having too much fun in my little stoned world to start unleashing my weird thoughts. My head began to feel lighter. I wondered how long we’d been in the car. It felt like forever.
“Just smiling at life, huh?” Andy asked, stubbing out the joint in his ashtray. It was the furthest thing from the truth, but at that moment, it felt one tiny step closer.
“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”
Los Angeles, CA
April 2009
The day had finally arrived. My long-anticipated date with Vincent was here at last.
And I had absolutely no idea what to wear.
He hadn’t mentioned where he was taking me, but I assumed it was somewhere fancy, so I had to dress to impress. The problem was, I wasn’t your typical LA girl. I didn’t own designer bags or shoes or sunglasses. I liked funky shit. Purple pants, glass jewelry, fake fur. Those were my style. Red dresses and strappy shoes… not so much.
Renee was out of town, so I ransacked her closet, seeing as her wardrobe was slightly classier than mine. I decided on a low-cut sparkly gold dress because I had a pair of heels that matched perfectly. Luckily, Renee and I were the same size, although she was much taller. It was essentially a mini dress on her, but on me it ended about an inch above my knee. Just long enough to be classy, but just tight enough to be sexy.
Vincent picked me up promptly at 8.30 in a black Maserati. Very close to the black Porsche I’d pictured him in. I felt sexy as I stepped into it. Like a woman. The red lipstick and curls I’d added to my hair also helped me feel closer to his maturity level and less like an intern.
We valeted at the Huntley hotel on Second Street in Santa Monica. I was officially a Hollywood cliché. A cliché in a tight dress and a Maserati, strapped to the arm of someone 20 years my senior. There was a split second where my senses kicked in and I wanted to haul ass in the opposite direction, but instead I kindly kicked my intuition to the curb and followed Vincent to the elevator.
The Penthouse was located on the top floor of the hotel, and was one of the most gorgeous restaurants I’d ever seen. Everything was white. White tables, white chairs, white floors, white walls. They even had white sheer curtains that enveloped each booth; your own private canopy overlooking the city. The bar was lined with candles, and in the corner was a fireplace surrounded by oversized leather chairs.
Vincent and I sat across from each other in one of the cozy booths, and as each drink passed, I wished the curtains weren’t sheer so we could have a little privacy. I studied him in his blue-and-white-striped button-up, realizing that I’d forgotten how attractive he was in his absence.
Or maybe it was because I had been a little preoccupied developing a crush on a certain someone…
“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?” he asked, stroking my hand from across the table.
“Thank you,” I said politely.
“I mean it. You look stunning.” He removed my hand to grab his menu. “Have you eaten here before?”
I shook my head, taking a sip of champagne. It was my second glass and I was already a little tipsy. Probably because I hadn’t eaten lunch.
