Oceanside

by Michelle Mankin

  Not anything I hadn’t already considered. “I have no problem coming up there to meet with you, but only if you’re thinking about taking the case.”

  “Hell yes, I’m taking it. Holliewood versus Lesowski? Two beautiful bereaved daughters versus their estranged stepfather? I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if I wasn’t. But I play to win. And that’s going to be expensive. So the question for you is, can you afford me?”

  “I wired the retainer.” It had been a sizeable amount. Not crippling considering how well Outside had been doing, but we’d feel the pinch for sure. I’d just have to work harder and talk the guys into releasing that greatest hits album. Do some appearances to promote it. Good thing we had the rights back from Zenith Productions for the Dogs’ songs. Even better to know the guys had my back even if I extended our resources to help Fanny and Hollie. I knew without asking that they’d be with me, my faith in them and theirs in me soon to be proven by actions.

  “Good. I’ll see you up here in LA tomorrow. I’ll share my strategy. If it’s agreeable to you, we’ll bring the young ladies in, and then we’ll really get started.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Fanny

  Maximillian Cash, the guard from Security You Can Trust was ex-military, built like a tank and armed like one, too. He rapped on the penthouse door at ten sharp like Ash had said he would. He identified himself from outside it as I peered through the peephole. His hand resting lightly on my upper arm, I tried to engage him in small talk on the way down in the private elevator, but he wasn’t having any of it.

  “No offense, ma’am, but I’d rather keep things strictly professional,” he said in a thick drawl, his brow wrinkling over the constellation of freckles that spanned his cheeks. “If I’m your buddy I can’t be impartial, and I need to be impartial to keep you safe which is a priority for Mr. Keys and thus my priority as well.” I imagined the hardnosed mercenary with the requisite crew cut even had a redneck tan from propping his elbow out his pickup truck window, but I didn’t ask him to take off his blue blazer with the SYCT pin on the lapel so I could verify my suspicions. Maximillian Cash was a whole lot intimidating.

  “No offense taken,” I replied, falling into step beside him. Well actually, I had to scuttle my purple Chloé high-tops pretty fast to keep up with him. At six and a half feet, he moved smartly from the back of the building to the front where the entrance to Outside was located.

  “Hey,” Ash said, meeting me and my escort right inside the tastefully appointed reception room. “Thank you.” He replaced my bodyguard’s hand with his own and told my non-buddy, “I’ve got her from here.”

  I had been passed off like I was a high-level military asset. I felt very mission-impossible-ish.

  “Yes, sir.” Maximillian executed a crisp military turn and exited outside the same door we had entered.

  “You think it was safe to leave the elevator unguarded for the two minutes and three seconds it took him to get me here?” I raised a brow. “I mean with Maximillian gone one would only need a key to get in the door on your side of the building, a code to activate the elevator, and then another key to get inside the penthouse to get through Simone to snatch Hollie.”

  “Better safe than sorry, Fanny.” Ash frowned, giving me his serious face. It didn’t detract from his handsomeness, just to put that out there.

  “I knew you would say that. Maximillian is just about is serious as you are right now. I appreciate all the precautions even though I think they might be a little much.” The penthouse was secure, and no one knew we were there. “Is everything ok here with you? If you have something you need to do, we can do this some other time.”

  “Might not be a lot of time left,” he muttered cryptically.

  “Um, what does that mean exactly?”

  “Yo, Asshole.” We both turned. The tall, handsome Polynesian standing there gave me the slow once over. I recognized him immediately. “So this is why you didn’t come pick me up at the airport. Nice. Groupies. Not just on the road, but at home now, and in the studio, too. Not your usual type, but I approve.”

  “Fanny is not a groupie, Diesel.” Ash gritted out through his clenched teeth.

  “No way!” Diesel scanned me again with his pitch-black eyes. “So it is her.” This time recognition brightened his gaze. “Fanny Bay Lesowski?” he queried.

  I nodded.

  “Fucking A.” His raven hued brows rose, and his full lips curled at the edges. “Dude, you do know there’s a five-hundred-thousand-dollar reward for her and her sister’s return? I saw it on the entertainment channel on the plane.” He took a step closer to me, and I shifted closer to Ash. “I can retire for good and surf the world with five-hundred large. Where’s Holliewood, sweetness?” he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “About three hours and six minutes north on the PCH without traffic, Despicable.” I lifted my chin. “I mean, Diesel.

  “Nice sarcasm.” He grinned and lifted his dark gaze to Ash. “If I liked women for other than—you know fucking—I might try to take this one from you.”

  “Don’t try,” Ash told him. “She’s taken.”

  “Ah.” Diesel’s gaze traveled back and forth between Ash and me. “I’d heard a rumor some chick had put you on the shelf, but I didn’t believe it. Wanted to see for myself.” He reached past me. Ash surrendered me to clasp his own hand and forearm together with the prickly bassist. “Missed seeing you, bro, when Ramon came out. You should visit some time.” He shifted his gaze back to me. “I was just messing with you, Red. But if you get tired of this loser,” he bumped his gaze up to Ash, “let me know. I’ve always got room for another fuck buddy, I mean, minion. And red is my favorite color.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Le. Get your ass on to the back.” Ash hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I need you to focus and take care of business.”

  “Roger that, boss. I always take care of business.” He grabbed his junk and gave it a squeeze before he bent over at his waist and reached for the bass case he had set down on the floor when he had come in. “I brought my board,” he said as he straightened. “We surfing later?”

  “Yeah.” Ash nodded. “So stay on task.”

  “Might be hard to do.” Diesel gave me a look over his shoulder as he walked away. “If you’ve got more good-looking chicks like this one stowed away somewhere in this place.” His rumbling laughter drifted back to us.

  “I apologize for Diesel in advance. He’s an ass.”

  “Nah, that’s alright.” I shook my head. “I’m a Dirt Dog fan, remember? I know he has a reputation. A bit more dark and edgy than how he seemed just now. Which is the real Diesel Le, I wonder?”

  “Both.” His gaze turned piercing. “Stay away from him.”

  “Whoa. Gotcha. I will. I don’t think he wants to be my friend anyway.” I gave Ash a careful look. “You still up for being a tour guide? Seems like you might have a lot going on today.”

  “Typical stuff. Slower than most days actually. Three of our bands are currently out on tour. Only one is in house.”

  “Ramon’s,” I guessed.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s he calling the band and the album?”

  “Ramon Martinez. Solo.”

  “Boring but recognizable. So it’s just him, you and Diesel. No plans to tour?”

  “I’m lining him up a couple of stops.”

  “You told him yet?” I thought about Karen and the pregnancy, but I didn’t bring that topic up. It had upset Ash before.

  “California. Vegas. Arizona. Colorado. Keeping him close to OB. She could go to him. Or he could feasibly come back here to OB between stops.” He got a faraway look in his eyes like he was calculating something. “Might have to drop some of the later dates.” He refocused on me. “C’mon.” He took a step in the same direction the bassist had gone. “I want you to see some of my equipment. It’s top of the line. A lot has changed since you recorded ‘Tomorrow Today’. I think you’ll be impressed.”

  �
�See your equipment. Top of the line, you say?” I waggled my brows. “I’ve heard lines like those before.” I lifted my gaze to him glad to see the sparkle I had in my eyes was mirrored in his. I was afraid his lightheartedness had been swept beneath the tide of his entrepreneurial burdens. “Lead the way, handsome. Show me what you got. But I think you already saw how oh-my-gosh Ash impressed I was earlier.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ashland

  So new plan. Same one, really. Just accelerated. The same goal. Fanny. Get her to stay and extend this happy for now status as long as I could. To that end I strategized as I led her around the studio with my hand firm on the curve of her back.

  My office had been the first stop. She had taken a seat in my big leather chair, drawn her long shapely legs up, put her buckle adorned purple high-tops on the seat, and given herself a spin while I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched her, completely mesmerized. Uniquely Fanny and so my little gypsy. Nothing in her ensemble matched, but yet it all worked. A knit headband in black with a textured flower that I knew Gonzolo’s daughter Luna handcrafted exclusively for Karen to sell at Offshore. Cuffed jean shorts and a flowy beige top dusted with red roses and a diamond shaped opening between her tits so I could see a hint of what I had missed exploring for myself this morning. I imagined my hands lifting them for my fingers to pluck instead of hers. Catching me staring, she had looked up and said, “Nice office. Very organized. I can totally imagine you sitting here with your feet up on the desk. You like being the boss.”

  I certainly did so I had nodded.

  Yet I had discovered that being in charge was the most sweet when it was Fanny obeying a direct order of mine. There was something about the way she acquiesced. She didn’t have to of course. She chose to because she wanted to please me. For that and many reasons I was anxious to see what happened between us the next time we were alone. Step by careful step, I planned to make her mine.

  After my office, I had taken her to the large conference room with the long glossy table and the best view of the pier. She asked what bands we had signed in that room, and I shared. Her eyes widened recognizing a few of our top clients. Friends, some of them sure, but ones who were tired of being just a number to the larger labels where the fresh college grads who managed them didn’t have a clue what it was like to be a musician or to live that dream out on the road.

  I would have introduced her to our staff, but it was their day off. I’d purposefully chosen a day for a tour when everyone including our receptionist had the option of working out of their homes.

  “Wanna see the recording studios?”

  “Hell, yeah. How many do you have?”

  “Six, but we’re constructing six more in the back. They won’t have the ocean views that the originals do, but they’ll be a little larger.” I pushed open the door on my left. “Let me show you the mixing board in this one here.” She followed me into the small control booth. The studio on the other side of the glass was empty but for a stool, a mic beside it and an acoustic guitar propped in a stand and tied with a red bow.

  I started to explain the pros and cons of the new mixing board, but Fanny’s eyes and her attention weren’t on me.

  “Um, Ash?”

  “Yeah, babe.”

  “Who’s Martin is that?”

  “Ramon’s.”

  “Yeah, I thought so. It’s the one I played the other day, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I confirmed.

  “Why does it have a red ribbon on it?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you go check it out and see?”

  She dipped out of the control booth and into the adjoining recording room as fast as she had once run from me out on the streets. Picking the guitar up, I saw her eyes widen when she noticed the signatures on the back. She went as still as a statue, then lifted her head.

  “I can’t accept this.” The tears in her eyes made them sparkle like the dewdrops on the steel rails of the pier early in the morning.

  I hit the button in my room to open the connection to hers leaning forward to speak into my mic. “It’s a done deal. It’s inscribed to you. It’s yours now.”

  “Ok. Wow.” She sank in the stool. “Thank you.” She ran her fingers lightly over the signatures. Ramon. Linc. Me. And Diesel had arrived just in time to add his. Without another word, she threw the strap over her shoulder, clipped it to the instrument, adjusted the tuning and then she started to play.

  I sat back as I had learned to do after all the years spent in recording studios, faded into the background, set the tape to run and let the beauty happen.

  I let her happen.

  It was magic.

  ~ ~ ~

  Fanny

  The DC-15ME produced such a gorgeous tone. My fingers moved reverently over the East Indian rosewood fingerboard. The beauty of the diamond and square inlays on it wasn’t completely lost on me, but I reveled in the rich warm sound it emitted. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift. Having it signed to me by all the Dirt Dogs made it priceless.

  Closing my eyes, I bowed my head. I let my imagination run free like I had at Ramon’s house. Stepping inside a dream I became the gypsy, his gypsy rose. The E minor and F chords that I played were my hands clapping above my head and my bare feet tapping the earth beneath me. ‘Come closer,’ I said without words. ‘See me dancing for you’. My bangles tinkling on my wrists were my drums. The scarfs I wore swirled around my body. A snaky bass groove materialized through a magical mist. He drew near, my reluctant lover, his face in shadow. Within his eyes lay a portal to transport us both where we needed to be, but only if we went together. My shadowed paramour circled, but he eluded me each time I reached for him. So I conjured a spell. I chanted it, the wordless chorus, a trancelike counter to the rhythm that I played.

  Vaguely realizing that it had been a while since I had picked up the guitar, I brought the stark autumnal song to a conclusion and glanced up. Ash was watching me from the booth, his eyes filled with combustible heat. My lover from the dream for certain. And if the ocean could be set on fire by the sun slipping beneath the horizon, that was the way his eyes blazed right now. He leaned forward. “You got lyrics to go with that, gypsy rose?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Work on ‘em.”

  “Ok.”

  “Seriously Fanny. No bullshit. That’s another fucking hit just like ‘Tomorrow Today’. I guarantee it.”

  “I said ok, Ash.”

  He nodded tightly. Then I noticed the others. Diesel and Ramon. Both of them were looking at Ash and grinning. Ramon was the first to turn away. He gave me a thumbs-up. Ebony gaze mocking, Diesel blew me a kiss. I rolled my eyes at him. Unclipping the strap, I set the Martin in its stand, ran reverential fingers over it one more time and left the room. The guys were already out in the hall.

  “Fucking A-Awesome,” Diesel said. “No joke. Just needs my bass.”

  “Another guitar to deepen the sound.” Ramon nodded his head thoughtfully.

  “Drums to anchor everything together,” Ash concluded. “You like the guitar?”

  “I love it.”

  “I’m glad, little one.” He brought his hand up to my face and stroked the back of his fingers down my cheek, melting me inside like he always did whenever he touched me like that.

  “Then go in the conference room right now, close the door, sit down and write me some lyrics.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Fanny

  I met him at a crossroad

  He was going one way

  I was headed the other

  I thought he said hello

  It was really a goodbye

  Not a maybe

  A tomorrow not meant to be

  Different worlds

  Different dreams

  He sees dead-ends

  I see possibilities

  Can I be me

  and you be you?

  Can we take a chance and see?

  We met again

&n
bsp; On a dark night

  He took me to his lonely tower

  Rescued by a handsome hero

  I was his wounded gypsy flame

  Trying to be more

  My tomorrow finally came

  Fire on the water

  A candle in the wind

  Hope flickering on fragile wings

  A dance neither knew

  A destination unknown

  But a place we had to be

  For there to be a you and a me

  Different worlds

  Different dreams

  He sees a dead-end

  I see possibility

  If I remain me

  And you stay you

  Can love ever be?

  “I’ve got it. I think,” I announced excitedly, brandishing the steno pad up in the air over my head.

  “Let’s have a look.” Ramon crossed to me and snatched it from my hand. The guitarist had been the closest one to the recording room entrance when I had opened the door. Butterflies fluttered inside of me as he glanced over what I had written. “It’s good.” One hand holding his maple topped Les Paul close to his body, he passed my scribbled lines on to Diesel. The bassist took it, flicking glossy strands of ebony hair out of his dark eyes to read it.

  “Works for me.” He turned around, his custom Fender bass with its painted flames swinging with him as he delivered the steno pad to Ash where he sat behind his drum kit.

  “Wait,” I said, my voice betraying my jitters.

  “What’s the problem?” Ash’s platinum brows raised.

  “It’s just that it’s only a rough draft,” I cautioned. “I’m not sure it’s ready yet.”

  “A start is what I expected you to give me. And it is ready or the two seasoned performers who just looked it over wouldn’t have signed off on it. A third counting you,” he stated firmly, crossing his sticks as he set them to rest on top of his snare. “Now is it ok for me to take look?”