Light My Fire

by Christie Ridgway

  "So that's your plan? We'll stroll the stars?"

  "Yep." She started forward. "C'mon, breathe deep of the auto emissions and breathe in all the Hollywood glamour you can handle."

  Glamour was a bit of an exaggeration. The fact was, there was more kitsch than elegance to be found on the blocks that made up the Walk. Besides eateries and bars and Starbucks there were a zillion souvenir shops that sold I Love LA T-shirts, facsimiles of Oscar statues that ran from the size of a finger to the size of a Doberman, and maps that promised purchasers directions to the exclusive homes of actors, musicians, and supermodels.

  Still, it made for an entertaining amble. Ren kept at her pace, even going along with the game of who could spot the stars awarded to fictional characters, the first to find three being declared the winner. Each of them had spotted two (Cilla scored with Godzilla and Donald Duck; Ren with Bugs Bunny and Shrek) when she saw him hesitate, glance down, then keep moving.

  Cilla's gaze dropped to the star he'd dismissed. Another point! "Hey buddy," she called out. "You missed Tinker Bell. I win, three to two." When Ren turned back, her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Wait. You saw her, didn't you?"

  He shrugged.

  "Oh my gosh." She laughed. "What, do you think you're too macho to acknowledge Tink?"

  "I don't just think I'm macho, squirt."

  She stared up at him, the sun limning with gold the disordered darkness of his hair. It didn't surpass the brightness of his easy smile. Her last breath caught in her lungs and she had to cough to dislodge it. He was that beautiful.

  "Anyway," he continued. "Tinker Bell isn't fictional. Don't you remember Peter Pan? 'I believe in fairies. I believe in fairies.'" He clapped three times, then reached for Cilla's hands. "Repeat after me," he said, his warm fingers guiding her palms together. "I believe in fairies and I didn't win the game. I believe in fairies and I didn't win the game."

  "I didn't win the game," Cilla whispered. Oh, my. It really looked like she was losing the game, big time. Because Dark and Dangerous Ren, the bad boy of her dreams, had an entire other dimension to him. That would be Charming Ren, who teased about fairies and smiled at her in the sunlight and who could make her think "squirt" was as wonderful coming from his lips as "sweetheart."

  His smile died and he dropped her hands. "What's up, Cilla?"

  What's up was she was in trouble if she didn't get Charming Ren out of her head and Bad Boy Ren out of her fantasies and find Friend Ren in the next five minutes. "I'm hungry," she said. "I need food."

  They settled along the rail of the outdoor seating section of a noodle bar. It was nearing the end of the lunch hour, and the people-watching was at its finest. There were business types returning to offices and the hucksters out hustling clients for the convertible tour buses. Superheroes—young men and women dressed like them anyway—stalked the sidewalks ready to pose for photos in hopes of a couple of bucks in tips. Families of tourists streamed by in their Disney-the-day-before sunburns and mouse hats.

  Cilla and Ren used chopsticks to scoop up their noodle concoctions, from time-to-time idly pointing out the more outrageous-looking characters. She'd just drawn his attention to a buxom woman wearing a plush unicorn head and a braided tail when a man halted in front of them on the sidewalk.

  "Ren," he said, with a big smile. "What the hell, Ren Colson." The stranger was thirtyish and wore casual slacks, a silk T-shirt, and beat-up loafers. He reached out a wide hand.

  Grinning, Ren gave it a hearty shake. "Jaz. My God, how long has it been?"

  "I ran into you in Amsterdam...three years ago, I think?"

  "That's right. We went out that night and—" Sliding his gaze to Cilla, Ren put the brakes on the reminiscing. "Uh, let me introduce you. Cilla, this is Jasper Reyes, a buddy of Payne's. Jaz, Cilla Maddox, my, uh..."

  Before he could say something close to "sister" (which she'd never been and never would be) Cilla reached her hand across the rail. "I'm Ren's friend."

  Jasper Reyes ran his gaze over her. She had on her favorite cropped jeans, a waist-length blue cotton sweater, and a pair of striped platform espadrilles. A double-hairband kept her mess of half-curly, half-wavy hair off her face and she wore dark, celebrity-style sunglasses. His voice turned soft as he squeezed her fingers. "Hey, Ren's friend."

  She gave him her best smile as he hung onto her hand. That is, until Ren cleared his throat in a somewhat-ominous fashion. Jaz's smile grew wider and he released her fingers as he looked back at the other man. "Speaking of Payne, I just finished up lunch with him."

  "Yeah? I haven't had a chance to schedule a meet yet."

  "He's doing good. Playing with his car parts, making money hand-over-fist, breaking hearts all over town."

  Cilla was unsurprised by this last piece of info. Like all the rock royalty, word was Payne didn't have a steady lover, but that didn't mean women wouldn't wish to be his. Where Ren was dark-haired and Cami auburn, Payne was golden-haired and with a surfer's body.

  Then Jaz turned to her. "While I, on the other hand, am looking for that one woman to end my sad, single existence."

  From her right a sort of non-human growl emanated from...Ren's throat? She glanced over at him, but his gaze was on Jaz. The other man was smiling again, mischief in his eyes. "But I guess I'll move along on my search to find that special female."

  They said their goodbyes, then Jaz was striding away. Several women he passed turned their heads to give him a second look. Ren snorted. "Looking for that one woman to end his sad, single existence, my ass," he muttered.

  "I thought he was nice," Cilla said.

  Ren slid a look at her. "Not nice enough for you."

  He snorted again when she rolled her eyes at him.

  Lunch finished, they started star-strolling again. They found the terrazzo-and-brass square dedicated to the Velvet Lemons and their long pause at it caught the attention of one of the sidewalk hucksters. When he extolled the virtues of the Magical Musical Mystery Tour to all the famous local music landmarks, their gazes met and Ren reached for his wallet. Two tickets later, they climbed into a ten-person convertible passenger van. Soon they were motoring down the Sunset Strip where various clubs were highlighted and then they traveled to home turf. As they wound through the skinny streets of Laurel Canyon, the guide pointed out homes purported to be the one-time (or current) residences of artists like David Bowie and Mick Jagger, Graham Nash and Joni Mitchell. Other homes he said were lived in by more recent musical stars like Ke$ha and Katy Perry. On a street narrower than any before, the tour bus paused in front of a Mexican villa-styled monstrosity. To their surprise, the guide informed them they were looking at the home of the Velvet Lemons and then he went on to relate several salacious anecdotes about lavish parties and rowdy weekends.

  Ren whispered in her ear. "Stories true, address wrong."

  Cilla couldn't help but like that address-wrong part—they didn't need any more unexpected fans showing up. And, if she was honest, she also liked Ren's warm presence beside her and his breath blowing against her ear. But she put that from her mind by starting up an inner chant, FriendRenFriendRenFriendRen, until the tour completed and they were strolling on the sidewalk again, moving down Hollywood Boulevard toward the car.

  She pointed out a Marilyn Monroe lookalike across the street, the hem of her dress wired into a permanent subway-breeze upswing. As Ren half-turned to follow her finger, another tall man bumped into his shoulder.

  "Excuse me," he said.

  "No problem," Ren answered, giving the person a cursory glance before both men continued on in opposite directions.

  It was Cilla who grabbed the passerby's arm to turn him back. "Payne."

  He halted as the sea of people around them was forced to part. After a long moment looking at her face, he said, "Cilla?"

  "And Ren." She took hold of his wrist too, and gave a little laugh as she drew the half-brothers together.

  The two stared at each other a longer moment. Then they shook hands, h
earty, but brief. Pleasantries were exchanged. Ren told about running into Jaz. Payne mentioned he was going out of town for the next few days. Then the conversation petered out.

  Payne cleared his throat. "Well...I have another appointment..."

  "Sure." Ren gave a quick nod and held out his hand again. "It was good seeing you."

  "Later," Payne said, and strode off.

  "Later," Ren echoed, watching his half-brother walk away.

  When he finally resumed walking himself, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trained his gaze on the sidewalk, a scowl on his mouth. Trailing a half-step behind, Cilla suspected he wasn't seeing a single one of the stars at his feet.

  In the man's now clearly dark mood, she caught a glimpse of the brooding seventeen-year-old who had so fascinated her. She'd wanted to make him smile then. She wanted to do the same now. Noting where they were, she made a sudden decision.

  "A last stop," she said, curving her fingers around his elbow and tugging him toward glass doors beneath a deeply recessed arch. "More Hollywood history."

  "Cilla—"

  "You'll enjoy this." She couldn't guarantee it, but she knew the good part of their day would be spoiled if she didn't try to lighten his gloomy frame of mind. Inside the building, it was shadowy, cool, and well, cool. "This is the famous Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel."

  He was taking in the marble floors and the thick plaster walls.

  "It was built in the 1920s with money from silent movie stars of the time. In 1929, its ballroom hosted the presentation of the very first Academy Awards."

  His grunt wasn't encouraging, but she kept up the chatter as she led him toward her favorite spot in the hotel. "Marilyn Monroe stayed here for two years when her modeling career was taking off. There's rumors of ghost sightings and mysterious phone calls to the front desk."

  Then she led him outside again, and they were by the huge pool. On one side the twelve stories of the original hotel building sheltered the turquoise water. On the other three, two stories of cabana-styled rooms gave it an intimate feel. She led him straight to the bar, and perched on a stool, giving Ren a little push toward his own. "You have to have one of their mojitos."

  He glowered at her. "Baby, men don't drink mojitos."

  "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "The Roosevelt Hotel's mojito comes with jalapenos. Didn't you say you liked hot?" Before he could answer, she ordered two.

  After that, she let him alone. The drinks were quickly delivered and she sipped at hers, letting her gaze travel over the bar area. Though she didn't recognize any famous faces, there were plenty of beautiful people stretched out on the white terry cloth-covered loungers. A knot of men in expensive suits sat under an umbrella with a mixed tray of appetizers before them. The bartender chatted with another patron about his other job on the staff of a company producing a new TV series. So very L.A.

  Ren appeared aware of none of it. He stared into his glass, lost in thought.

  Cilla took a breath, then put her hand over his.

  He looked up, startled.

  She squeezed her fingers. "Hey, what is it?"

  Grimacing, he hesitated.

  "Friends, remember?"

  He went to stone for nearly thirty seconds, then he picked up his glass and swallowed the rest of the concoction down, taking some jalapeno slices with it, she supposed. Another grimace, then his gaze moved to her. "Sure. Friends."

  Oh, yay, Cilla thought, though the happy thought didn't really make it to her heart. "Friends share," she said, giving another encouraging squeeze of his hand before letting go.

  His fingers forked through his hair. Then he half-turned on his stool to face her, his elbow on the bar, his free hand gripping his thigh. "I didn't recognize my own brother."

  Ah. And that was eating at him. "You weren't expecting to see him—"

  "I didn't recognize my own brother," he said, more adamant this time.

  The dark note in his voice made her stomach jump. She rubbed the back of her knuckles against the edge of her jaw. "He has that grit thing going."

  "It's wrong, Cilla." He leaned his forehead into the heel of his hand. "It's whacked."

  Without thinking, she touched him again, placing her fingers over the ones on his leg. She curled the tips so they pressed briefly into his warm palm before letting go. This wasn't his fault. "It's the Lemons."

  "So I should make lemonade, huh?" He lifted his head, his gaze boring into hers. "Make this better? How? I live in London and I travel all the time. But still, it's screwed that we're so distant. How can I fix this, Cilla?"

  Her mouth opened, closed. For as long as she could remember, Ren had held himself aloof from his siblings and the other Velvet Lemon kids. And as they'd all grown and left the compound, every one of the nine had busied themselves pursuing their adult lives. She supposed that connections, even between siblings, had been a little loose of late.

  Gwen hadn't wanted it to be like that for the rock royalty, though. Was that why she'd sent Ren a key to her cottage? So that he'd have a second chance to bond with his brother and sister? Maybe with the others, too?

  "Call Payne," she said, on a sudden inspiration. "Set up a lunch or something."

  "He's going out of town," Ren reminded her.

  "Oh, right." Instant letdown.

  Ren rapped his knuckles against the top of the bar. "But I'm going to see Cami again. Tonight. She said she had another gig, right?"

  "Right."

  "She and Payne... I think they look out for each other. I want her to know she can count on me too."

  The words warmed Cilla. She smiled at him and placed her palm over his knuckles once again, squeezed. "That's nice. Then maybe the two of you can start a dialogue about the Colson family."

  She made to slide her hand off his, only to find it caught between his fingers. She glanced up, taking in his bemused expression. "Start a dialogue?" His lips twitched.

  "You know what I mean."

  He smiled.

  Her lungs trapped air again. "Ren..."

  "I'll start a dialogue," he said, amusement in his voice. "You'll come tonight too?"

  What could she say? "Sure."

  He gazed on her a moment longer, then nodded. "So, this friends thing might work out well after all," he said, and released her fingers in order to tug at a wisp of her hair that had escaped its band.

  The little pain sent a wash of prickly bumps over her scalp that continued down her back. She still wasn't breathing as she fought a little tremble.

  "Cilla?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "You all right, squirt?"

  "Great," she choked out. Except that clearly being his friend didn't make him one jot less attractive to her. And yeah, he could so make "squirt" sound as good as "sweetheart."

  Chapter 7

  Ren motored west on Sunset, avoiding the freeway traffic by taking the surface street route to the beach. Tonight Cami's gig was at a club close to the water in Santa Monica. As he drove, he chewed on what he was going to say to his half-sister if he could get her alone long enough for conversation. Would he ask for chatty emails? Demand she send regular selfies and convince Payne to do so as well? Somehow he suspected that wasn't the other man's style.

  He sure as hell wouldn't do such a thing in return.

  But Ren hadn't recognized his own damn brother when he'd passed him on the street. Payne had looked right through him as well. That couldn't be right.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Cilla's movement. It stirred the air in the car and he breathed in her delicate citrus scent. The good thing about the Colson sibling situation was it gave him something to think about besides her. If he was going to prevent death by blue balls, he needed another focus.

  Her legs crossed and he took another look at her chunky-heeled boots. His musings over his sibs weren't so all-consuming that he had forgotten her completely. She looked damn sweet in those boots, a pair of tight jeans, and a ladylike pale blue filmy blouse that she'd tucked into the pants and was unbuttoned to revea
l a less-ladylike glimpse of cleavage. Hanging from a gold chain around her throat was a square-shaped polished blue stone wrapped in an intricate pattern of slender gold wire. A matching bracelet circled one wrist and square-shaped gold-wire earrings dangled from her ears. Their neighbor Jewel's work, she'd said.

  As they neared their destination, he took a turn down a side street. Even though his gaze was aimed out the windshield, he sensed Cilla straighten.

  He glanced over, noting she was staring out the window, her attention riveted on the neighborhood of small bungalows they were passing through. Huh. It was full dark, with just streetlights here and there offering dim illumination. When her head turned so she could stare out the side window, he slowed.

  "See something you like?" he asked.

  "Oh, no. It's just..." She made a vague gesture. "We passed my house."

  With new interest, he inspected the area. Little stucco houses, probably built in the 1940s. Each had a tidy, tiny front yard. Most had some kind of decoration hung on the door. "Do you want to stop?"

  "Um." There was a brief pause. "Well..."

  That hesitation had him spinning the steering wheel.

  "No, Ren. Honest, there's no reason..."

  "We should at least make sure everything's secure. You haven't been living there in—how long?"

  "A couple of weeks," she admitted.

  "Which one is it?"

  Her finger pointed at a place in the middle of the block. He pulled into the single-wide cement driveway, a strip of close-cropped grass running down its middle. In the glow of a metal-hatted porch light, he could see that it was white, with bright turquoise shutters on either side of the picture window. Beneath the glass, a wooden box dripped pink geraniums.

  Curious to see Cilla's digs, he stepped from the car and made for the three steps to her front door that was painted the same green as the geranium leaves. Glancing around, he realized Cilla remained in her seat. Frowning, he returned to the car and opened her door. "What's up? Don't have your keys?"

  Her hand lifted and a ring of them dangled from her fingers. "I'm coming," she said, a resigned tone in her voice.