Heart's Tempo

by C. L. Ryder

  I put on my good clothes and checked myself over in the mirror before going down to my apartment’s underground parking lot and hopping into my old VW Jetta. I checked my cell phone and saw that I still had a couple hours till we were scheduled to meet, but with LA traffic I wasn’t going to take any chances. I had wondered if I should take the tablet I used for displaying my portfolio, but I wasn’t sure if this was that kind of meeting or if it would just be a casual hangout. I was fine with both, though I preferred it be the latter, and so I decided to just leave the tablet at home.

  The weather had turned hot. I cranked up the air conditioning in my car and drove out of the parking lot into the afternoon sun and headed south on Lankershim Boulevard towards the freeway, passing by seemingly endless taco trucks and palm trees before hitting the entrance. I was glad that I had left early, because there was a sudden hammering of traffic on the 101 South that hadn’t been there when I last checked the GPS.

  That was the thing about LA, it always seemed to throw curve balls at you, but maybe that was just life in any big city. I loved living here and having access to all the city offered–lots of different food, great weather, and great companies (that didn’t want to hire me)–though at times I did wonder if it was all worth the high rent, terrible city planning, and bad air quality. Today wasn’t one of those days. Despite the traffic, I was happy to be here. I turned my radio from my usual NPR to the Top 40 Hits station and was surprised to be greeted with Winny’s smooth voice. I smiled. The girl just wouldn’t leave me be.

  After an hour of stop and go traffic, I finally was able to take my exit, passing through the overly touristy Hollywood walk of fame area where, in front of the famous TCL Chinese Theater, grimy costumed characters posed and hassled anyone who stopped to take a photo of them for money. I wondered if Winny had her name on one of the stars here.

  I went south to Sunset Boulevard and then east, driving out of the touristy Hollywood area and into West Hollywood where Mr. Nice was located. My GPS chirped that my destination was on the right, and I quickly turned onto the next side street to look for parking, another one of those LA enigmas. In the end, it was usually easier to just park in an overpriced paid lot than to spend time circling the street for an open spot, but today I happened to get lucky. I pulled in, locked up, and headed down the street towards the restaurant.

  It was one in the afternoon, but the place still had a bouncer sitting in front of the door. There was a group of three girls standing outside, one of which was talking with the bouncer while the others stood behind her, staring at their cell phones.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t let you in,” the man said. “You need to be on the guest list.”

  “I know Kenny,” the girl said, throwing her up in exasperation. “Kenny? He’s a waiter here?”

  “Sorry,” the man repeated.

  “Ugh,” she grunted and turned to her friends, pulling her cell phone out of her purse.

  “Oh, my God,” one of her friends said, “we have to get in there.”

  I stepped up behind them. “Is there a line, or something?” I asked, and all three of them turned and looked me up and down. I knew nothing about brand name clothes or accessories, but I could just tell that these girls weren’t driving around used fifteen year old VW Jettas.

  “No,” the first girl said. “They won't let you in, though. Just warning you. I know someone who works here, and that wasn’t even enough.”

  Winny hadn’t mentioned a bouncer or a way to contact her in her e-mail, probably because she never had any problems getting inside. Shit. I walked up to the bouncer.

  “You on the list?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. My name’s Lily Golden, I’ve got a—” I almost said “date” for some reason, and caught myself. “I’m meeting Winona Heart here.”

  The name caught the trio’s attention and they looked over at me, waiting to see if I was the real deal.

  “Uh huh. Lily Golden?” He thumbed through a list on his cell phone. “Mm, nope, I don’t see you here.”

  “Well, shit. Is Winny in there? She could come and tell you I’m with her.”

  “Sorry. If you could please take a step aside.”

  A young couple came up next and gave their names to the bouncer and were let in. I got a brief glimpse of a stylish interior that was quickly shut off to me as the door closed.

  “Shit,” I muttered. The girls eyed me and chuckled to themselves before all going back to their cell phones. There was a side patio surrounded by a high fence, and I could smell cigarette smoke and hear people chatting there. I went to the fence and jumped up to try and get a glimpse over the top. I got a brief look, but all I saw were the tops of people’s heads in the smoking area.

  “Hey. Stop that,” the bouncer said.

  I paced the curb and pulled out my cell phone, opening up Winny’s e-mail. Maybe she had forgotten? She said she would be recording something soon, and I’m sure she had a ton of other more important things to think about than meeting up with some girl she had met at a wedding.

  Just then, a Toyota Prius pulled up to the valet stand that was in front of me, and the attendant seemed to recognize the car. He hurried over to open the door for the driver, and a leggy woman wearing a baseball hat and dark sunglasses got out. I immediately recognized it was Winny. She spotted me and grinned, raising her hand to wave. The girls, eyes glued to their cell phones, didn’t even notice her. I returned her smile and walked over.

  “Lily! Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Let’s go inside, yeah? I’m starving. How’ve you been?”

  “Great,” I said. “I didn’t know how to contact you. Thought I wasn’t going to be able to get inside.”

  “Hey, how’s it going, Winny?” the bouncer said, giving her a little hug.

  “Fine, Jim. How's your little girl?”

  “She’s doing fantastic.” He lowered his voice. “Thanks again for giving her that autographed CD. She won't stop talking about it with her friends.”

  The girls must’ve had ears like wolves because they immediately looked up, their mouths dropping open. Winny seemed to sense the oncoming attention and held out her arm to me. “Let’s go inside,” she said, and slipped in. I passed Jim the bouncer before he shut the door quickly behind me, just as I heard the excited squeals of the girls.

  The place was swank. It was designed in that sort of neo-rustic style that was popular in the hip spots right now, with lots of natural wood and stone elements. The ceiling angled up and contained a skylight that was hidden, but flooded the interior with cool diffused white sunlight and made everything look soft and comforting. In the center was a rectangular bar, its countertops made of a dark, rich wood, and the bartenders were all dressed up in dapper outfits that included suspenders and bow ties. There were tables all around the bar, and the walls had private nook booths. The place was busy but not noisy, a good mix of people drinking at the bar and sitting down at the tables for lunch.

  “Hey, Winny,” the hostess said, grinning as she came up to us. “Your usual spot is ready for you.”

  “Thanks, Casey,” she said, and I followed her over to a corner booth which was already laid out with a series of delicious looking appetizers. She slid in and I sat opposite of her, still looking around the place in awe. I’d been in fancy restaurants before, but nothing like this. This was LA exclusivity, the kind of place you only got to eat at if you had the right connections.

  “I love the design of this place,” I commented. “It almost feels like I’m in someone’s home.”

  She grinned that bright perfect grin that had captivated me on the day of the wedding. I had wondered if I was going to see her differently today after having listened to her music and seen her photos on the Internet, but I still felt that same casual ease I had when we had first met. There was just something about Winny that made that happen, and it seemed like I wasn’t the only one who felt her down-to-earthness, judging from the familiarity the people here had with her. If you were to jus
t look at Winny’s photos on the Internet or see her in a music video, it would be easy to assume that she was a bitchy celebrity diva–but being around her in person, she was anything but.

  My arms were crossed on the table, and she patted my wrist. The sudden warmth of her touch on my skin sent a jolt through me and shiver down my back, a reaction I did not expect. “I know, right?” she said. “When you told me about what your passion was the other night, I immediately thought of this place. It’s my go-to. I had to show it to you.” She picked up a slice of bread that was covered in what looked like cheese, lox, and some kind of sauce, and took a bite out of it. “Mm. You gotta try this, it’s probably the best thing they do here. You want anything to drink?”

  Winny spoke quickly and energetically, hardly giving me a moment to get a word in, but I didn’t mind. Her voice was fantastic to listen to. I picked up one of the slices and took a bite. The smokey, fatty flavor of the salmon mixed with the creamy cheese and the tang of the sauce on top, and it was so delicious I had to close my eyes for a moment. “Damn,” I said finally.

  “Right?” She waved her hand, and the waitress came over.

  “Hey, Winny. What can I get you ladies?”

  “MacCallan, neat,” she said. “Lily?”

  “I’ll have the same.” I was a little worried that what I had just ordered would explode my wallet, but I figured this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, to be able to enjoy myself in a high end celebrity hangout, so I would do just that.

  “Coming right up,” she said, and hurried off.

  “So do you often go out to lunch with random people you meet?” I asked with a grin. “I wouldn’t think that would be standard procedure for a celebrity like you.”

  “Not at all,” she said. The waitress came back with our whiskeys and placed them on the table. “Oh, try those,” she said, pointing to a plate of tiny eggs with bacon wrapped around them. “Bacon-wrapped quail eggs. Delicious.”

  I did, and they were. We cheersed, and I took a sip of my whiskey, which tasted expensive.

  “No, Lily, I don’t,” she said. “But after talking with you that night, I just felt like I needed to meet you again.”

  The way she was looking at me…the way she said that, I didn’t know if it was just her personality, but it sounded like she was…flirting?

  I brushed it off.

  “I was that interesting, huh?” I said.

  “As a matter of fact, yeah. You were. When you told me about your passion for home photography, the way you described it, well, it vibed with me. A lot.”

  “Because you were in architecture school before you became a singer.”

  She gave me a surprised look, and then laughed. “Did you read my bio or something?”

  “Guilty,” said. “Sorry, that’s probably weird, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “I went home and checked out your website, so call it even?”

  “Yeah, but my website doesn’t have my whole biography on it.”

  “True. But my Wiki isn’t exactly accurate, either. So don’t trip about it.”

  I ate another one of the salmon breads and sipped my whiskey. She was right, they were amazing and I probably could eat five plates of them. I leaned forward, interested. “So you weren’t an architecture major before?”

  “I was. But there’s a lot on that page that are half-truths, or truths told from other people’s perspectives. You know?”

  I nodded. It made sense. After all, the thing must’ve been written up by complete strangers, or at the very least, her PR team.

  “You don’t really meet too many people who are into that kind of stuff in my industry,” she said. “Not naturally anyway.”

  We talked about the stuff I wanted to shoot someday, and she told me about how she had first started as an architecture major, despite protests from her mom. She told me how she loved the idea of being able to create a space for people to live in, a place to raise a family in. She took out her cell phone and showed me some of her old designs, architecture sketches and mock ups that were startlingly good.

  “I love sustainability,” she said. “Making something good for the world and good for people.” Her face was glowing as she talked, and it suddenly struck me that this look had been missing from her face when I had asked what it was like to be living her passion. I wanted to ask her why she quit, but I had a feeling that would kill the energy, so I kept it to myself.

  Talking with Winny was easy and fun, and there was so much we agreed on. I didn’t understand a lot of the architecture terminology or process in designing a building or a home, but I could appreciate it, and much of what she talked about wanting to build were things I really wanted to photograph. She described her ideal home to me—a place out in the countryside that was constructed to make use of the earth’s natural energy to heat and cool it, to have a vegetable garden right at the center like a traditional Japanese house, to have all sustainable materials mixed with traditional craftsmanship. I could picture this place in my mind perfectly, and as she talked about it I found myself imagining how I would shoot such a place. We found ourselves caught up in a whirlwind of creative fantasy, sharing our ideas and dreams, and before long we had been in Mr. Nice for over two and half hours and had ordered quite a bit of whiskey.

  I looked at her as she was pulling up some home photography she liked and thought, why did Winny have to be straight? And why did she have to be from such a different world than I was? I’d never met anyone like her before, never had this kind of connection with someone before. She looked up at me and stopped talking, smiling her pearly white smile. God, she was gorgeous.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  I shook my head and scratched my neck, embarrassed at being caught staring. “Nothing. Just buzzed. And…having a really good time.”

  Her smile widened. “Me too, Lily,” she said. “Hey, so…right now I live in a loft apartment. One of those places that was renovated from a warehouse, you know? It’s far from what I described to you, but I’ve done some work to the inside to change it to my standards. You should come over.”

  Her offer surprised me, and for a moment I thought maybe I had drank too much whiskey and misheard her, but no, I wasn’t that buzzed. “Come over to your place?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Yeah. Unless you’ve got something going on?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I’ve got nothing going on.”

  She clapped her hands together. “Sweet. Let’s do it then.” She called for the waitress and handed her a credit card, and when I asked how much I owed she shook her head. “Your company was enough. My treat.”

  When we went outside, the trio of girls were still there. They had given up on getting inside, but that didn’t really matter to them—they were waiting for Winny to come out.

  “Oh, my God!” one of them screeched. “Winny! Winny! I love you!”

  “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a rush,” she said when they rushed up to her to try and get photos with her. She gave me an apologetic look, and I shrugged. “You can ride with me if you want,” she said, and so I ducked into her Prius and like that was on the way to her place.

  Winny lived further west, closer to the heart of Los Angeles near the Arts District. Her place was like she described–part of a former warehouse office building renovated into huge, modern apartment condos. We parked in the subterranean lot and took the elevator up to her floor, and she unlocked the door by placing a small tab that looked like a USB thumb drive on a circular metal panel above the handle. Even though I expected to be blown away by what I saw inside, I still found myself gaping. The interior was like a gallery—a huge, open living space that had a kitchen in the corner and loft bedrooms overhead. The floor was hardwood and the walls brick, lined with huge windows that flooded the place with natural light. In the center of the living space she had built up a raised section that was lined with the Japanese bamboo tatami mat flooring which enclosed a small rock garden in the center.

  “I like
it,” I said, enthusiastically. “You designed all this?”

  “Everything. In the center is my attempt at the Japanese garden I told you about, though in my ideal home it would be outdoors and have more plants and a pond. The sun shines right on it in the afternoon and I like to sit there and play guitar or look at architecture books. The floor used to be concrete, but I replaced that.”

  She gave me the full tour of the place, showing me her mini recording studio and office.

  “This is great,” I told her. It really was, I had seen homes like this one in the home photography magazines I liked, but I rarely had ever seen anything like it in person.

  Winny made tea and brought out a low standing wooden sitting table which she laid on the tatami mat, and two cushions for us to sit on, Japanese style. A potentially sensitive question had settled on my mind since back at the restaurant, and I finally gathered the courage to ask it.