by Jesse Jordan
“As long as you only make me wear them during special occasions,” I sigh, giving in. “And I don't want to look like a douche bag.”
“Don't worry, you can still look rock, but you don't have to look like a bum,” Martha says. “Let's get a move on.”
Martha's already heading to the register, and I grab my bag, wondering just what the hell I've gotten myself into. Guess I'm going to find out.
Chapter 9
Cora
“You want me to what?” I ask into my phone during a break in the session. We're getting towards the end of the afternoon, and while Ian, Joey and I have gotten some good work done today, it's been nothing at all like the other days when Rocky's been around. This phone call just makes it all that more surreal.
“I said, you've got a dinner reservation at Zimzala tonight, in Huntington Beach,” Martha says in my ear. I can hear something in her voice, and to be honest, I don't like what I'm hearing. She's hiding something, she's laughing on the inside too much, and that worries me. I don't like having things hidden from me. “You know the place?”
“No, but I can find it,” I sigh. “What time?”
“Don't sweat it, I know you seem to like early nights, so the table's for seven-thirty. I'll even help you out, I got Ian and Joey taking off on you in about thirty minutes. There's a little indie concert that they can hit up tonight to make an appearance at, get some good karma for themselves. Seriously, it's a good restaurant. They have some of the best Californian food in the city, and it's a great view of the ocean,” Martha says.
“Fine, fine. I hope whoever this meeting is with doesn't mind jeans and a t-shirt,” I grumble, looking down at what I'm wearing. “They better be glad I'm not wearing sweats.”
“Nope, that's why I'm pulling the guys away. You gotta get at least semi-dressed, a blouse and nice pants at least,” Martha says. “Since it's four thirty now, you've got time to get something nice from home. You don't have to be catwalk Cora, just not Levi’s and a Stones t-shirt.”
I look down, grumbling. It's not the Rolling Stones, actually. I'm dressing a little more feminine in an orange-pink t-shirt today that has a butterfly on my shoulder. “Fine, fine. Well, if you want me to make this appointment, you better let me go. Who's it with, anyway?”
“Someone interested in your work, that's all I'm going to tell you. Well that, and that it could be interesting. Listen, just go get changed, and I'll send a taxi to pick you up at your place, I've got your home addy from your files, six thirty,” Martha says, hanging up on me. I shake my head and hit the intercom switch to the booth.
“Hey, guys? That was Martha. She says we're done for today. Apparently, you guys are getting an invite to some indie event, and I've got a business dinner,” I call, laughing when Ian flips me the finger. “Yeah, that's what I thought too at first.”
“Well, what the hell. Might as well really call it early,” Joey says amiably, taking off his guitar. “Not that it hasn't been a barrel of laughs, but doing nothing but backing tracks and stuff is not as much fun as just laying the main stuff down.”
“True, but it's still important, Joey,” I call back. “Thanks for the work today, guys. Ian, you good?”
Ian nods, rolling his neck. He hasn't been in the mood for much talking today, the longest sentence I've gotten out of him has been five words. “Yeah, I'm good.”
While the guys gather up their stuff I act on a suspicion. Martha didn't mention Rocky at all, and I wonder... In any case, I need to protect myself. The fact is, I just don't trust Martha. I quickly go to my social media, I've got accounts on a few of the bigger sites including the same YouTube channel that I used to promote Rocky with, along with Facebook and Instagram. I check my privacy settings and change all of them to full private. In five minutes you won't even be able to see that I have an account on social media at all.
It's not that I don't want to tell Rocky about Bella, but this is the music industry. Regardless of everything, I must protect my daughter, and I just don't know if this is the right time to tell Rocky that I have a baby girl. There will come a time, I know that, but not on what could be a business dinner date.
Wait, did I just call it a date? Am I deluding myself into thinking that I'm about to go on a date with Rocky Blake? That it's going to be Rocky waiting for me at the restaurant and that he wants to actually date me? Even if it is Rocky, he's probably just trying to be nice, trying to say thank you for a good few weeks of sessions. It's like when we were in high school, and he'd bring me an ice cream on a Saturday afternoon in the garage or right after one of our big music projects. He's just trying to be nice.
Still, I can't help it if my inner girl wants to stand up and cheer that I have a chance of having dinner with Rocky at a restaurant like real dates do. But first, I've gotta find a babysitter for Bella. I try to limit my use of them, but it looks like I've got no choice. Besides, if there's even a small chance that this could be a real date with Rocky, it's worth sinking a little bit of money into it. Getting in my car, I risk a ticket using my hands-free headset, dialing from memory. The girl that picks up on the other side greets me with a familiar accented voice. “Hello?”
“Tran Li? It's Cora Clearwater. How're you doing?” I ask as I turn left out of the parking lot.
Tran is a Vietnamese exchange student, a high school senior whose parents sent her to Los Angeles for a chance to get a better education than she could get in Vietnam. She's been living with a host family since she started high school, I'm not sure if Tran's parents have good money, but Tran does babysitting on the side sometimes to help make pocket funds. Sweet, tiny, and a lot of fun, Bella likes her. “I'm doing good, Cora. What's up?”
“Oh, that's a new one Tran, nice work on the casualness. You didn't call me Miss Clearwater,” I joke, thinking back to the nearly scared stiff high school sophomore who first showed up at my door until the at the time baby Bella cooed and tugged on her long black hair. Since then, it's been a little sister/big sister love fest between them. “Listen, I know it's short notice, but can you possibly be free to watch Bella tonight? I just got a last-minute business dinner that I have to go to.”
“Hmmm...” Tran says as if she's actually considering telling me no, “Okay. But, you have to be home in time for me to get some sleep, I've got the SATs in the morning! I need to get a good score!”
“Okay, I promise, I'll be back by midnight, and I'll even run you home in my car if you want. Or you can bring your stuff and you can sleep at my place, just lock the door when you get sleepy and you'll be fine,” I say, getting over into the left lane. Bella's daycare is up ahead; it's a bit expensive, but it's close to most of the recording studios in the Hollywood-Burbank area. And they let me pay by the days that I drop Bella off. Bella even gets to hang with some A-lister kids for a while there, including Lemondrop, the daughter of the four-time Golden Globe nominee. “And I'll throw in an extra fifty bucks if I'm after eleven.”
“You have a deal, Cora. What time you need me?”
I park in front of the daycare and get out, inwardly fist pumping. “Think you can be at my place by six?”
“Okay. I'll bring over pizza for Bella too. See you then! Thanks, Cora!”
I feel like I'm all breezy and drafty, wearing my best blouse and skirt... actually, my only date-worthy skirt. My hair feels strange not pulled up into the high ponytail that I normally wear for work, but Bella and Tran both said I looked pretty as I was giving Bella a kiss goodnight, so I guess I'm okay. It doesn't mean that I'm all that comfortable in a skirt again. I've always been a pants sort of girl.
“How much further?” I ask as I check my watch. Oh shit, I'm wearing my normal watch, that's way too sporty for this blouse and skirt... ah well, I guess it'll just have to be my personal quirk.
“Just about a mile. I'm gonna turn up ahead onto the PCH, it's only a few blocks after that,” the taxi driver says. “Say, you going on a date or something? You look like a woman getting ready for a first date.”
The driver waves it off. “Yeah, I already got a credit card number to charge this to. Whoever's springing this for you, they're taking care of the whole deal. I get a fare like this one, maybe two times a month, and I love it every time. Makes me want to get into the limo wing of the company and not just the cabs. Prepaid, reserved runs? Too sweet.”
“I work producing most of the time. I'm doing some projects for Gashouse. You like rock?” I ask, and the taxi driver nods. “Oh, what?”
“My uncle introduced me to classic rock. Late nights, in-between fares, I'll put in lots of that old-school stuff, from The Doors up through about the mid-eighties. You work with anyone famous?” the driver asks as we turn right, and I see that we're on the PCH.
“Not yet, but we'll see. Thanks for the ride,” I reply as he pulls up in front of Zimzala. “Where do you want me to sign?”
He shows me the receipt, and I tack on a decent enough tip.
Nobody's waiting for me outside the restaurant, which is actually part of a hotel, so I go inside, looking for the maitre d’. “May I help you, miss?”
“Uh, yeah,” I tell him, trying to look into the restaurant. It's dark though, with that sort of low, intimate lighting that makes every table look kind of isolated just through the use of shadows. What happened to the bright California décor that I saw on the website? Maybe it's just a daytime thing. “I'm supposed to be meeting someone here? My name's Cora Clearwater.”
Even as I say it, I'm worried that I'll be kicked out, that somehow the maître d’ is going to know this is not my usual type of place. So, I do my best to square my shoulders and look him in the eye, letting him know that yes, I do belong here.
I shouldn't have worried. This is Los Angeles after all. “Of course, Miss Clearwater, if you'll follow me,” the maitre d’ says. I follow him through the dining room, and up a set of stairs to a second-floor patio dining area, lit with strings of lights throughout. It makes the upper deck look both festive and starlit at the same time. The low casual tables have island-style padded chairs and lounges, while the taller tables have chairs made of bamboo and metal.
I'm led to a corner table where I see Rocky before he sees me. He's facing the ocean, looking over the low railing towards the crashing waves that are maybe about a hundred yards away. “Sir, your dinner guest.”
Rocky turns and his face breaks out in the same heart-stopping grin that I've dreamed about, faltering for a moment when he sees me. Standing up, he reaches and takes my hand. “Cora. I knew you said yes, but I was still worried you wouldn't come. My God. Have you always looked this beautiful?”
I feel my face go hot, and I look down, trying not to pose for him. “I... I never thought I'd hear you say I looked pretty. What happened?”
Rocky shakes his head and guides me over to one of the seats next to him. “I guess there's been a lot of reasons. The main one was that I've been thinking a lot about the way you and I have been so close for such a long time. A lot of people have been saying that we have a vibe that is more than just friendly. I guess that I wanted to celebrate the closeness that we have, whatever it happens to be. I apologize about Martha being so obtuse with the whole thing. Once I made the decision this morning, I kinda asked her to play it mysteriously. I was a little worried that if you knew I was asking you out to dinner, that you'd say no.”
“Why would I say no?” I ask, taking a closer look at Rocky. He's pulled his long hair back into a kind of half ponytail. He's dressed impressively, too. He's not in a full suit, but he's wearing a black silk shirt with a buttoned mandarin collar, silver buttons, and a sports jacket that compliments it all. If he were wearing jeans with it instead of the black slacks he's got on or had a different haircut he'd look a little bit Johnny Cash country, but on Rocky, it's pure rock n' roll. “Seriously, why would I say no?”
“I don't know,” Rocky finally says, grinning. “I guess... well, I knew you were smart, you'd have made a guess. But we've been friends for so long, to be asked out for dinner... that could get weird.”
I shrug, giving Rocky a smile. “Can I let you in on a secret, Rock? I've wanted you to ask me on a date for a while now. So, let's just relax and enjoy, see where this evening takes us. Regardless of what happens, I plan on being at least your friend after this.”
I can see the relief wash over Rocky's face, and he reaches over, taking my hand. We order drinks, and while we're waiting, Rocky leans back, half turning so that he can look at me more carefully. “You know, the past few weeks, it's kind of felt a little like the old days. When I walked in that first day and I saw you behind the board, I nearly had a heart attack.”
“I know, and if I live to a hundred I'm not going to forget that look on your face when you saw me,” I reply, half turning as well. I bring my knee up to rest it on the cushion between us, and I am very aware of the amount of thigh that I'm showing, but at the same time I like it. I like the way Rocky's eyes appreciate my morning workouts. “You know, after high school, I kinda wondered for a while if we'd ever see each other again. You got pulled away on some of those concert dates, and then I got caught up in school. A tale as old as time, as they say.”
Rocky chuckles. “Yeah.... and I'll be honest, I stopped reaching out after some of the scandals started hitting. I just don't know what's the cause of it. I'm not an angel, but the way the vultures make me out, I'm a one man Sodom and Gomorrah.”
“Come on Rock, I know that fame can change people, and five years can change people. But I've watched over the past few weeks, you're still the same guy who took me to the prom in the spring of our senior year.”
“Yeah well, I hope not totally the same,” Rocky says, his eyes sparkling. “Hopefully my being on the road so much has opened my eyes to some things at least. Tell me, if you don't mind, what was it like going to college?”
“A lot like high school, actually,” I tell him with a laugh. “I changed programs a little after... well, I changed to a two-year program when I decided I couldn't wait any longer. So, I missed some of the core classes that they make all the four-year kids go through. And being in a two-year program, most of the people I was working with were all involved in the same areas. Some of them went into working with the big studios, a couple moved to new places, but a lot of them went right into the same area that I'm working now, being board monkeys and interns.”
“Glad I didn't have to do interning,” Rocky chuckles. “I've seen how Martha treats any interns that come around her. You should have seen how she treated the guy who was her intern when we were doing stuff over at Oceanside Recording Studios. That poor kid had a nervous tic by the time we went on tour to promote Slam the Floor.”
“True, I got my fair share of harassment too,” I admit, “but then again, I've never had to sleep in a van with my bandmates on the way to SXSW.”
Rocky laughs. “You know, that one actually saved me one of the biggest potential scandals that someone's tried to pin on me? The girl who tried to claim I took her to my hotel room looked like a fool when it was revealed that the band slept in the back of the van. Although that kinda sucked for Joey, there’s a whole segment of the fans that are more into him than me. Which I totally don't mind.”
“Really? I figured even though you joked about not wanting the groupies that you'd at least enjoy the attention a little,” I tease, before realizing that talking about my date's previous sex life probably isn't the best way to do things. “Sorry.”
“It's okay,” Rocky waves off, smirking. “You're more right than you know. For the past five years, my life's been touring, trying to make records and get attention, and not a lot else.”
Dinner comes, fish tacos that are absolutely delicious. The soft corn tortillas are obviously handmade, the crema having just a little hint of spice to offset the rich, fatty fish, which is crunchy and crispy, fried just enough to add texture to the whole thing. “This is great,” I mumble around a
mouthful of food. “My God.”
“PB&J kinda pales, doesn't it?” Rocky jokes, and I nod. “Yeah, I'm going to have to recall this next week when I'm sucking down nothing but protein shakes. Or maybe Sunday when I hit the gym.”
“That's paid benefits, the gym I mean,” I compliment him, and Rocky blushes. “What? Come on Rocky, it may have taken me quite a few years to work up the guts to say so, but you're a good looking guy. I know that you don't focus just on your looks, but you've always known image helps for you.”
“Thanks,” Rocky finally says. “I kinda feel like an idiot though. Until tonight, seeing you in that blouse and skirt... I always knew in the back of my mind you were pretty, lots of people would even say it. But I feel like I've been blind because you're more than just pretty. You literally stunned me when the maitre d’ announced you.”
It's my turn to blush, and I reach over, taking Rocky's hand. “Thanks, Rocky. Hey, can I ask you something? Something just based on talking with Ian and Joey the past few weeks?”
“You can always ask me anything you want, Cora. You... I trust you,” Rocky says, and I feel a twist in my chest, looking at the expression in his eyes. He's an open book to me, and yet... I'm hiding Bella from him. Well, maybe that can change.
“Thank you,” I tell him, smiling, “and I promise to not betray that trust. But my question was... well, have your dreams changed since we were kids?”
Rocky thinks, then shrugs. “I don't know if changed is the word to use, or maybe just matured. I still want to make great music. I still want to be a rock singer. I still want to do a sellout concert over at the Rose Bowl. But I want more now, too.”
