“He did?”
“Yeah,” Danny turned towards a rundown Mexican restaurant. “Here—you need to try this ice cream. It’s the best ice-cream you’ll eat in your life.” He led her inside.
The once-white walls were tinged shades of green and brown, and the roof of the building was sinking in. “It smells like sewage in here,” Lily said, covering her nose.
“Oh, I know, it smells awful. But the ice-cream is good.” He waved at the man behind the counter, a chubby old Mexican man, and said, “Two chocolate cones, please.” The Mexican man nodded and went to retrieve the cones.
Sitting down at a long table next to the open window was a man with a scruffy beard. At first glance, he looked like a classic Venice Beach bum. But sitting on his table was a large, expensive-looking camera and a lens case. The man was cleaning one of his lenses when he looked up at Danny. He stopped cleaning his lens and his eyes narrowed, as if he recognized the retired football player.
Danny didn’t seem to notice, but Lily did. She smiled at the man, and he smiled back, returning to his lens cleaning duties, sneaking the occasional peek.
“How did you know I like chocolate?” Lily asked Danny.
“It’s the only flavour they have. Trust me. This place has the best ice-cream in the world.”
Danny was right, the ice-cream was the best Lily had ever had. “You never really told me why you were staying with my dad.” They continued their way down the boardwalk, towards the bright, spinning Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier.
“Sure I did. I’m just trying to save a few bucks.”
“I mean, why you’re staying in LA at all. Your interview is done, my dad’s all moved in. Why not go back home?”
Danny laughed and turned his gaze down to his feet. Even in the dark, Lily could see that his cheeks were turning red. “I don’t know,” he said. “Moral support, I guess. Plus, I love Los Angeles, and I’ll take any excuse to stay here a few extra days.” He looked up and pointed towards the Ferris wheel on the pier. “Just look at that. It’s beautiful. How can you not love this city?”
Lily smiled. “I guess it isn’t so bad, depending on how you look at it.”
“It’ll grow on you. You’ll see. Soon, you’ll be itching to come back and visit your dad. I bet you’ll even end up moving here.”
She looked out at the city. There was a romantic quality to it, the way the lights shimmered along the hills. And Danny was right, there was something strangely calming about the noise, the distant honking, the different music bleeding out from every storefront, the buskers who didn’t care whether or not you left them a dollar. It all blended into a consistent, white noise that was almost hypnotic, that made Burns Bog feel like an empty void. But is that how it always would be? Or was it just a novelty that would wear and wear into an annoyance? “I don’t know about that,” Lily said. “If you love it here so much, why live in Burns Bog at all? Why not just move out here.”
“I might. I think I might sell my place in Burns Bog, and move out here.”
“Or just keep both,” Lily said. “And you can have the best of both worlds. The quiet, slow pace of Burns Bog, and all the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles.”
“Yeah,” Danny said, eyes still at his feet while he awkwardly played with a napkin between his fingers. “I think your friend, Fred, was right. I think I need to start being a bit more careful with my money.”
Lily laughed. “Why? Going broke already?” Her laughter tapered off when Danny didn’t laugh back. She meant it as a joke, but was he going broke?
He smiled—an obviously forced smile—and said, “I had my accountant tell me six million dollars isn’t much these days, the other day. I guess I’ve been a little bit free with my money.”
“Six million? I thought you had, like, fifteen million?”
“I mean, yeah, over the course of my career. I gave a bunch of it to my family, and some to a few old college friends. And then I guess I’ve spent a lot of that over the years, and apparently I still owe a bunch of it to taxes. Then I bought that house in Burns Bog, which was more than I needed—and the car. Fred was right, it all adds up.”
“But you’re okay though, right?”
Danny stopped and turned to Lily. He bit his lip and his smile faded. “I’ll be okay.” He continued to fiddle pointlessly with the napkin. “But I need to sell the house. And the car. Look—this is really embarrassing to admit, so don’t tell anyone—but my accountant told me I can’t afford the taxes on the property I bought, or the insurance on the car. He said I’ll be broke before the end of the year if I don’t sell both right away.” Danny’s eyes wandered around the Los Angeles skyline, avoiding Lily’s line of sight. “But I’ll be alright. Once I sell the house and the car, and a few other things, I’ll pretty much have enough to live off of for the rest of my life. I mean, how many people can say that, right?” It was clear by his weak smile that even he didn’t believe himself.
Lily smiled. “I can’t think of too many people.”
His eyes drifted back to aimlessly wander the city. He was silent, but looked as though he was building the courage to say something. “Just...” he started, “don’t tell anyone. Okay?”
Lily leaned forward on the tips of her toes and planted a friendly kiss on Danny’s forehead. “I won’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A flash of light grabbed the attention of both Lily and Danny. Standing ten feet away on the path was the man from the ice-cream store, holding up his camera as he checked his latest shot.
“Hey man, what gives?” Danny said.
“Fitzpatrick, right? Of the Denver Broncos?” the man said. His voice was grungy and deep.
“That’s right. So what? Why are you taking pictures of us?”
The man reached into his lens case and pulled out a folded form. He walked towards Danny and held the form out. “Can you sign this release?”
“No, I’m not signing your stupid release. Get lost, asshole.”
“C’mon, man. Just sign it.”
“Go to hell.” Face becoming red with anger, Danny approached the man. “Erase that picture. You have no right to take pictures of us like that.”
“Danny…” Lily said, sheepishly approaching Danny from behind.
“If you don’t sign it, I can still use the picture for editorials,” the man said.
“You aren’t using the photo for anything, you piece of shit. Give me the camera.”
“Danny, just let it go.”
Danny took another step forward and the bearded man ran off. Lily could hear Danny’s deep breathing as he tried to gather his composure. “Piece of shit,” he muttered under his breath. He turned to Lily. “You know what they do? They sit around all day, looking for anyone remotely famous, and they try to take unflattering pictures—yawning, sneezing, coughing—just to sell to those stupid magazines that say crap like, Oprah’s actually from Mars. It drives me insane.” His shoulders were up near his ears and his hands were trembling. “Do you think he heard what I told you? You know, they sell gossip too. It doesn’t matter though, right? No one believes that crap.”
“It’s okay, Danny. I don’t think he heard anything. It’s not a big deal. I think we should head back to my dad’s place.” Lily tried to force a smile to cheer Danny back up, but she had her own worries. What if the photo gets back to Burns Bog? What if Aaron sees it and thinks there was something happening between Danny and her?
Danny didn’t sleep that night. It had been a few nights since he’d slept at all—each night since his accountant sprung the bad news on him. He hadn’t told Lily the half of it. His bank balance was sitting around $600,000, which he had assumed was plenty to live off. But he hadn’t realized that he still owed nearly half of that to the IRS. He had no savings accounts, just the single account he’d always had, which contained every dollar he had to his name, collecting no interest. Even then, he thought the remaining $300,000 was plenty, until his accountant informed him that all of his
yearly taxes, mortgage, car, and insurance payments equated to about $310,000. He wouldn’t be able to afford cable by the time Super Bowl 2017 rolled around.
But Danny had a plan, which came to him during his stroll with Lily down on the Venice Boardwalk, after the paparazzo ran away.
Before they took off for Venice Beach, on his way to the guestroom after Kilgore and Ming went off to bed, Danny heard Lily’s music through the wall. He stopped at the door and listened for a minute. The song was familiar, but foreign at the same time. He recognized the singer’s voice. It was Aaron Brown. Every teenager in the 90s and 00s knew Aaron Brown. But this wasn’t any Aaron Brown song he’d ever heard before. It was different, modern, and gritty.
At first, Danny didn’t think much of it. So what? Aaron Brown was putting out new music again—big deal. Unlike the other kids in school, Danny never really saw the appeal. But it was the lyrics that made him think twice. “You were lost out in the snow, the Siren of the Bog.” Those lyrics stuck with him but he couldn’t figure out why.
Before walking into the guestroom, the image of Fred Stein came into Danny’s mind and suddenly everything made sense. The thirty-six million dollars, the comment Stein had made about being a musician—Fred Stein was Aaron Brown. But why would some big-time celebrity like Aaron Brown grow a big beard and move to Burns Bog of all places? Maybe it was just a coincidence, he thought, so he kept the revelation to himself during his walk with Lily down the Venice Boardwalk.
But his suspicion was confirmed after Lily fell asleep, and his curiosity got the better of him. He snuck onto her laptop and saw the e-mails, and sitting on her desktop, was the song he’d heard earlier. A quick Google search of both the song title and Aaron’s name brought up nothing in regards to new music. As far as the world knew, Aaron Brown hadn’t touched a guitar in ten years—to the great dismay of the many Aaron Brown fan websites that Danny stumbled upon in his searching.
Lily was fast asleep. She would never know. Danny could sell the tune to the highest bidder, keeping his name anonymous. If anyone asked, he could say a hacker sent it to him, someone who cracked into Aaron’s home computer. Besides, it wasn’t like sending the song out to a few news outlets was going to hurt anyone. Worst case scenario, no one would listen and no one would care. More likely, everyone would listen, it would reignite Aaron’s career, and it would put Burns Bog on the map. In a way, Danny was doing Aaron a favour. So, making sure to type very quietly, he started looking into the various news outlets which bought stories for tabloids. He found a list of buyers’ e-mails and started sending out feelers. “I have a new, unreleased Aaron Brown song. How much would you pay for it?”
He signed all of his e-mails “Anonymous.” But foolishly, Danny didn’t realize he was sending the e-mails out from Lily’s e-mail address, which would show up as “From: Lily Parker,” to everyone who received one of Danny’s e-mails.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was a beautiful morning in Burns Bog. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and a fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight. Aaron woke up early, feeling great—no headache, no nausea. After brewing a fresh pot of coffee, he looked out of his window at the field of fresh powder and considered going out for a snowshoe. But he could practically hear Lily’s voice in his head, saying “No activity for at least a month!” She made him promise before she left for the airport. “I won’t do any strenuous activity until the doctor tells me it’s okay.” So instead of going out, he sighed and continued to sip his coffee, listening to the birds singing outside.
Then he realized there was another sound that wasn’t a chirping bird. It was a seemingly sporadic, faint dinging. At first, each ding was spaced out by about thirty seconds. Then, the sound became more frequent. Every twenty seconds, every ten seconds, every five seconds… The sound was coming from inside of Aaron’s house. He stood up to investigate.
It was his computer in the basement. Every ding was a new e-mail. By the time he sat down at the desk, the sound was chiming every second. Headache returning, he muted the sound because
His inbox was filled with hundreds of news alerts, programmed to notify him each time his name was mentioned on a popular news website. He was used to getting a couple every day—but hundreds before breakfast? The other e-mails were from agents, managers, and label execs.
Aaron’s heart dropped into his gut as he read the headline of one of the e-mails.
“LEAKED! Aaron Brown’s new song, Siren of the Bog, his first single in over a decade, was leaked last night!”
Lily Parker of Burns Bog, Illinois, the town where music icon Aaron Brown has apparently been hiding out, sent Brown’s new song to STARZ News late last night. In an e-mail sent to Parker, which Parker forwarded along with the new single, Brown confirms that the song, which has been making its rounds through the Internet this morning, was written about Parker, who was in Los Angeles when she received Brown’s e-mail.
Siren of the Bog is the first song by Brown in ten years. It’s unknown whether or not Brown intended on releasing the catchy tune. Sony, the label which represented Brown throughout the entirety of his very successful career, claims they knew nothing about the song, and have not had any contact with Brown for years.
Some are speculating the leak is part of a publicity scheme to create buzz for an upcoming album. “There was no leak. Whoever has the rights to [Brown’s] new album knows exactly what they’re doing,” says promoter and frequent STARZ contributor, Melissa Fawnelle. Fawnelle points to a photo of NFL running back, Danny Fitzpatrick, as proof of a publicity stunt. In the seemingly harmless photo, which also began makings its rounds early this morning, Danny Fitzpatrick, who moved to Burns Bog earlier this month, is having a romantic moment with a young woman, who sources have confirmed is Lily Parker, the woman who sent STARZ Brown’s new single. “You’ve not only got a leaked song, but now you’ve got a love-letter sent by Brown, and a controversy in the form of an affair… All pieces of a puzzle they wanted us to solve. Nothing sells albums like a good controversy.”
And a controversy it is quickly becoming. The photographer of the photo, taken last night on the Venice Boardwalk, claims Parker and Fitzpatrick demanded the photo be deleted. “I thought the picture was harmless,” said photographer Eli Tucci. “The lighting was perfect. I couldn’t figure out why they wanted me to delete it so badly.”
Aaron had to step away from his computer. His headache was back and stronger than ever. It wasn’t helped any by the clenching at his gut, or the dull pain that resonated in the center of his chest. He’d been betrayed, let down. He was right all along—Lily didn’t care about who he was as a person. She just cared about the money, the fame, the glory. Well, she got it. “I hope she enjoys her fifteen minutes,” Aaron muttered to himself. His hand clenched into a fist. He wanted to slam it down on his computer, smash the stupid thing into pieces. He could see the new e-mails coming in, pushing the ones that came before them down the list. He could practically hear the incisive dinging in his head. He picked up his computer and threw it against the wall. It smashed and fell to the ground in shambles. It took all of his willpower not to destroy the rest of his studio.
As he emerged from his basement, he noticed a car parked at the end of his driveway. Three people stood outside of the car. One of them pointed towards the house. The others had cellphones extended, snapping photos of Aaron’s home. “Goddamnit,” Aaron muttered. It was already happening. Life as Fred Stein was over, and he was back to being Aaron Brown, unable to eat lunch without five cellphone-cameras shoved in his face at any given moment. He closed his blinds, and his house became dim, just like his house in Beverly Hills. He paced around, trying to think of what he was going to do. It was only a matter of time before his phone started to ring. Somehow, agents always got their hands on private phone numbers.
Around noon, he peeked out the blinds again. The crowd of curious townspeople had grown. Three cars were now parked outside, and a half-dozen people were wandering around
the end of the driveway. None of them were brave enough to approach the house, to knock on the door, because they all knew they had no business being there. They always knew they had no business being there. Back in Los Angeles, all Aaron had to do was open his front door and anyone who had as much as a toe over the property-line would turn and run back towards the street. The rest of them would hold out their camera-phones. Bunch of useless hick bastards.
Aaron picked up his phone and dialled his realtor. “I want to move. ASAP.”
“There’s only one other listing in Burns Bog. It actually just went on the market yesterday. It’s a large, beautiful house on about two-hundred acres, but I’m not sure it’s your style,” his realtor replied. “Oh, and hey—I heard your new song on the radio today. I love it. Really digging the new sound.”
“Not Burns Bog. Anywhere but Burns Bog. Something remote,” Aaron said through clenched teeth. “And if you mention the new song again, you’re fired.”
“Alrighty. Well, there’s a lot of remote in the country. How remote are we talking here? You’re pretty remote as it is.”
“As remote as it gets. Something move-in ready. What do you got?” Aaron held the phone between his shoulder and his ear, already buzzing through the house, packing up his necessities.
The realtor was silent for a moment. “Help me narrow down the search here. At least give me a direction to work with. South? North? East? West?”
“North.”
“I’ve got a few properties in North Dakota you might like. Lots of natural wood, very remote. You’ll have to fly in to Bismarck and drive about four hours or so—”
“—Great, North Dakota it is. I’ll meet you at the Bismarck airport tonight.”
“But my kid’s got a ballet recital tonight,” the realtor said.
“Your kid just made ten grand. See you tonight.” Aaron hung up the phone and went to his room to finish packing a bag. The moving company could bring the rest of his things once he found a new place—and that moving company would not be Parker Family Movers; even if that meant he had to pay a company in Chicago a few thousand extra to commute all the way to Burns Bog.
LIMELIGHT LOVE: A Small Town Rock Star Romance Page 14
