“No,” he finally huffed. The hooded look he gave her said, Watch out, girl. This is a test of your loyalty. Still, she was relieved that he’d given in. Hand on one hip, she rose to her feet and grabbed her satchel. “Are we going to dinner or not? I’m starving.”
Her fiancé stood like a statue, frozen behind a cloud of smoke, his arms crossed over his ballooning belly. He flashed her a onceover from head to toe.
“You’re not dressed. Where did you think we were going? McDonalds?”
“I just needed to get comfortable. I thought we’d go somewhere casual.” Porter continued to scowl. “I can change—”
He came to life and began pawing through the papers on his desk. “Naw, not tonight. Go home, Tess. I’ve got a ton of work here to slug through before I can leave. Payroll’s due tomorrow and I’ve got some business calls to make.”
“You sure?” She hesitated, happy for a reprieve, but pasting on a deep frown. A vision of a long, hot shower, followed by her latest paperback novel, filled her wistful mind instead. Please say yes.
“Yes, I’m sure. Go on home.”
There were nights when a male was superfluous and fantasy, preferable. Tonight was one of those nights. Yes!
She blew Porter a kiss and was out of his office before he could change his mind. On her way to the side door of the club, she threaded through the crowd in the bar lounge area downstairs. Spotting the head bartender, Jaime, Tess flashed him a smile and a wave.
“Off duty, huh, Tess?”
“You bet. Going home. See you in two weeks!”
“We’ll miss ya!” Jaime, a hardworking father of three and an aspiring screenwriter, blew her a kiss. Tess returned a thumbs-up gesture.
A young woman sitting at the bar caught her eye. With short, curly blonde hair and flashing a lot of bare legs and cleavage, the woman wasn’t one of the regulars. She might as well have worn a sign, saying “Wannabe starlet in search of one-night stand or sugar daddy, whichever comes first.”
The woman stared at Tess during her brief exchange with Jaime, as the woman’s reflection in the wall-sized mirror behind the bar showed. Tess wondered if she’d run into the woman before. The curvaceous blonde looked vaguely familiar.
Stopping to thank a couple of patrons, who’d reached out to shake her hand and praise her show, Tess remained aware of the woman’s presence. In her peripheral vision, she observed the blonde rise, toss back a smirk before taking the same staircase Tess had just descended. The staircase leading to the club’s offices.
Tess processed a new thought as she smiled and thanked her well-wishers. The real possibility that Porter was cheating on her with this curvy blonde penetrated her mind. Or was she a friend of Andy’s? Walking over to the railing overlooking the supper club, Tess surveyed the lower floor, the tables and booths that crouched in a semi-circle around the raised stage. The band was still playing, but the curtain was closed for the night. The house lights were on full, signaling the end of the evening. Andy Barkoff was circulating among the tables, glad-handing and schmoozing with the customers.
Still, the blonde could be going up to wait for Andy in his office. Maybe she was here for a late audition, but Andy wasn’t rumored to give “couch auditions.” Neither was Porter. They were both too classy for such crass behavior. So why would the blonde fling back such a knowing, smarmy smile?
Tess extricated herself from her fans and, with a breezy smile fixed on her face, made for the side exit.
This is L.A. Anything’s possible.
Chapter Two
Some people say that L.A. corrupts or crushes dreams, while others say L.A. fulfills them. For Aaron Peterson, Tess realized, L.A. had done neither.
Her childhood friend still dreamed of seeing one of his musicals hit the Broadway stage. Meanwhile, he took odd jobs around the valley, playing piano and keyboard at whatever venues he could find. To keep him in bread-and-butter, he did occasional musical scores for made-for-TV movies, but his big dream was Broadway. It had been hers, too, once…a lifetime ago. She was only twenty-nine, but the reality of her situation had finally seized her halfway through her gig in Palm Springs. Another pretty face and a bright voice, she’d given up on her big dreams.
For her, the best alternative was to marry rich. A lot of pretty, young things in L.A. did just that…if they were lucky.
Tess took a deep breath as she strode to the little covered porch of the thirties-era bungalow in Torrance Aaron rented from his parents, now retired and living in San Diego. She’d left her car a mile away at the park alongside one of the local public beaches. That way, she’d be forced to do the daily exercise jog to maintain her size-eight figure on her five-nine frame. Plus, the cardio was good for her lungs. Sinatra used to swim a couple of miles every day, it is said, to keep up his stamina and lung power. Breathing was an important part of singing. If it was good enough for ol’ blue eyes, it was good enough for her.
A bold, prolonged knocking prompted noises inside. Moments later, cobalt-blue eyes stared back at her through the peephole. Then she heard a loudly muttered, “Shit!”
“I heard that, Skin! What’re you complaining about? It’s almost nine. You can’t sleep all morning. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Tess was an early riser—had been all her life—so nine on a Sunday morning was halfway to lunch time for her.
“C’mon! The cruise starts Tuesday and we haven’t even gone over our sets yet.”
“Whose fault is that? I’m surprised you didn’t bug out at the last minute—”
The door opened just as Tess cocked her foot, ready to kick it.
“Well, how’s that for gratitude? You know damned well when I give my word, I never back out. I just haven’t had time to practice.”
A tousled, thirty-two-year-old man stood aside and ushered her in with the bleary anger of a teenaged boy. Aaron’s dark blond hair stuck out about his head in skewed angles and peaks like a crazy crown. He was rubbing his left eye with one hand as the other hand yanked up the waist of a sagging pair of gray sweat pants. Not for the first time, Tess observed the developed pecs and washboard abs with detachment. When Aaron wasn’t tinkling the ivories—as Porter put it—he was working out. He said the daily physical workouts sparked his creativity, something she could understand. The mind and body were always linked.
Aaron was tanned, muscular and fit. Long gone were the skinny, gangly arms and bony legs protruding from a waif-thin torso. Skinny—or Skin—had filled out nicely since the age of thirteen, he’d moved from England to Southern California with his parents, a film editor and a set designer. The Petersons had moved into the neighborhood on the middle-class side of Torrance, a town about five miles south of Los Angeles International Airport, or LAX. Because Mac and Aaron had become instant best buddies, Monique and Brad Peterson had welcomed the big, good-natured young teenage boy into their family along with his red-haired, sullen little sister. Taking pity on two raggedy, neglected foster kids, the Petersons had practically adopted them. Aaron’s parents were the only normal, middle-class people Tess and Mac knew at the time. The only people who sat down to a home cooked meal every night and actually spoke civilly to each other. Their succession of foster parents sure didn’t. If they could’ve—if they hadn’t been stuck in the Child Protective Services system—she and Mac would’ve moved in with the Petersons. As it was, they spent every chance they could at their house, the little bungalow that Aaron now rented from his parents. For Tess, the small house evoked a lot of warm, cozy memories and emotions.
“Well, bloody hell. I was just joking, Red. I knew you’d come through for me and I know you’ve been busy with wedding plans. And that old man you call your fiancé. Look, I gotta get dressed.”
Ignoring his wisecrack and overcome with relief and joy at seeing him, Tess flung herself at him and hugged him tightly. “I missed you, Skin. Why haven’t you called more often?” She had to admit, it was so good feeling his hard body pressed against hers. His body was warm from bed�
��and carried a faint whiff of perfume or cologne.
“I did call. Last week.”
“No, I mean, more often. To get together and…go to a club or something.”
“Didn’t want to intrude on your…advantageous little arrangement.” His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, but she said nothing. Aaron eased away, turned and began picking up strewn clothes from the floor of his handkerchief-size living room. Two of the items were a woman’s white bra and panties. Uh oh…she’d interrupted something.
“Oops,” she remarked, “I didn’t know you had company. You want me to come back in an hour? I’ll run down to the beach and back.” She dropped her heavy music satchel on the floor. “Just don’t let her touch it. I mean it. Upon pain of death.”
That stopped Aaron in his tracks. He scrubbed his face wearily. The sheepish smile he shot her gave her a glimpse of the old Skin, always awkward and a little shy with girls. Occasionally, even with Tess.
“Yeah, Red, good idea. I gotta clean up and…y’know, nudge her—” he hooked a thumb in the direction of his bedroom—“gently out the door.”
“New girlfriend?” Her frank look of irony met Aaron’s dark blue gaze before he averted his eyes. He bunched up the clothes and held them in front of him.
“Hmm, not really,” he whispered, pressing a forefinger to his lips. His handsome, boyish face broke into a grin as though he was always astonished that women would find him desirable. “I met her at a party last week. A posh affair in Bel Air. I played, she catered. We kinda clicked.”
Skin went through girls like a rock star through groupies. His good looks, buff bod and English-accented charm drew them in like bears to a honey pot. Then he invariably grew bored, ditched them and went on to new conquests.
“Good for you,” Tess cracked, “She isn’t coming on this cruise, is she?—” He returned a look that said, Are you crazy?—“Okay, I’ll be back in one hour. Make some coffee, will you. We’ve got an all-day session ahead of us.”
Aaron angled a mock salute on his brow. “Yes, ma’am.” He swatted her behind when she turned to leave. “Now, get the bloody hell out of here.”
Tess turned back and said, “By the way, she’s got lousy taste in undies. Plain white. What is she, a forty-year-old divorcee?”
“Ha, I’m laughing myself silly.” He slammed the door shut.
An hour later, true to her word, Tess knocked at Aaron’s front door. Newly showered and dressed in jeans and t-shirt, he ushered her in and thrust a mug of steaming black coffee into her hand.
He gently clicked her mug with his. “Hey, don’t think I’m not glad you’re doing this. Those cruise ships pay well and, y’know, all expenses paid and a good change of scenery.”
All expenses paid! She liked the ring of that. The ship was stopping in two Mexican ports, transiting the Panama Canal and then cruising through the Caribbean. And ten-thousand bucks each on top of all-expenses-paid. Not a bad change of scenery.
“Yeah, no problem. I need to get away. My show…well, I’m so tired of singing the same numbers night after night, I could scream.” She carried her music satchel over to the baby grand piano that took up all of the small dining area adjacent to the living room. An electronic keyboard was positioned along the far wall, so Aaron could turn slightly on his bench and play it with his left hand. Pads of yellow paper and scored music sheets covered the top of the piano in mounds. It appeared that Aaron had been hard at work on his musical. He was already poring over a yellow pad that sat on top of the whole pile.
“Hate to tell you, but that show of yours was what got us this gig. They wanted an R and B singer with accompaniment, so I guaranteed you’d do your club show at least two of the ten nights we’re scheduled to work. Sorry, Red, but the Entertainment Director told me the ship expected half of its passengers to be the old World-War-Two generation. They dig those old Blues numbers.”
“And the other half?” Tess frowned as she sipped her coffee, strong and dense, just the way she liked it.
“Baby boomers…who grew up with all those old love songs from the war. My parents said to include “The White Cliffs of Dover” and “I’ll Be Seeing You”. They said those two will make everyone tear up.”
Tess sighed and assumed an exaggerated, put-upon expression. Aaron reached over and squeezed her shoulder.
“Sorry, Red, but all those old songs’ve gotta be one of our sets.”
“Okay, as long as another set includes best of Broadway hits. That’s always a real crowd pleaser. And I’m thinking of doing a tribute set to the classic jazz singers, like Sarah Vaughn, Pearl Bailey, Etta James, Rosemary Clooney. More contemporary singers like Norah Jones, Diana Krall, Shemekia Copeland.”
“Sure, I’m cool with that,” Aaron said, smiling and consulting his notes. “We’ll repeat our sets twice over ten nights of a twelve-day cruise, so we’ll need three more sets. We’re on from nine in the evening to midnight, ten nights. With our union-mandated fifteen-minute break each hour, that’s one hundred and thirty-five minutes per night. Think we can stretch it a bit?”
She nodded. “Fill in with some glib gab, Skin. You’re better at that than I am.” She was taking her own notes on a scratch pad. She glanced up. Aaron was all business, with his creased forehead and air of intense concentration. His hair was thick and cropped short and grew from the crown of his head to the widow’s peak point on his forehead. He was the only man she knew with a widow’s peak. “Your sideburns are too long. Cut them. Do you have a clean tux? I’m going lux, with probably eight gowns and lots of bling.”
“Sure, my tux is ready to go. What did you think? I was going to play in cutoffs and tank top? I can clean up…Mother.” He grinned.
Time for a tease. “So, is this the one?”
“What?”
“This girl. Is she the one? Does she rock your world?”
Aaron rolled his eyes and ignored her. “Not relevant. I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Not even to me, your lil’ sis?” Tess stuck out her lower lip in true bratty form, imitating the sassy, temperamental kid she used to be.
“Especially not you. You’d have Mack calling me, making jokes about wedding bells. By the way, you still going to marry ol’ Mel Gibson?”
Tess made a guttural, muted laugh sound. “Horrors! He’s more Alec Baldwin than Mel Gibson.”
“Still too old—”
“Still too rich,” she shot back.
“Big mistake…” He shrugged and looked back at his notes. “…still, one you’ll have to make yourself.”
Tess clenched her jaw, rising annoyance making her cheeks burn with heat. “So, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll leave with a couple of million dollars. I haven’t seen a prenup yet. Besides, why can’t a man be a substitute father figure, lover and friend all in one?”
He stared her down. “Because after a short while, with a man who’s so much older than you, just the father figure will remain and you’ll be bored out of your skull. Besides, you know his track record with women. He’ll start looking for wife number five right after you become wife number four. A typical SoCal kind of marriage. Is that what you want? You’re not going to have kids with him, are you?”
That was touchy ground even she wouldn’t walk down. “Haven’t thought that far ahead. C’mon, Skin, let’s get back to business.”
“Sure, sis,” he hissed, drawing out the sibilance. He tapped his yellow pad. “Okay, forties favorites, Jazz and Blues, Broadway. That’s three sets. Two more sets to go. Oh, and we bring our CDs, your Young Lady Sings the Blues and my CD with classic concertos and sonatas. The one we did together…eons ago, the Broadway one. The Entertainment Director will arrange for some of her crew to sell them before, during and after our show. Think, Red! Two more!”
His change of subject had slowly calmed her down, the way he always had when they stepped on each other’s toes, figuratively speaking, as children. The way siblings often crossed the line, then backed away. Still, Aaron had a lot of nerve challen
ging her choice of husband. For him, money meant nothing, having grown up with enough, never having to wonder where your next meal was coming from or whether you’d have a bed to sleep in at night. Childhood traumas weren’t easy to recover from.
“You don’t have a bad voice,” she finally offered. “Let’s do some duets. Y’know, the Willie Nelson-Julio Iglesias duet, only I’ll do “To All the Guys I’ve Known Before” version. That duet from Oklahoma, the one from Phantom—Raoul and Christine’s duet.”
Clearly, the idea had captured him. “The Andrea Bocelli duet with Sarah Brightman—I’ll have to change the key on that—to fit my voice.”
“You have a very nice baritone…” She leaned over the piano, her breasts encased in a black sports bra and mashed against the gleaming surface of piano that peeked out from beneath the pile of paper. Aaron’s eyes flickered there and held for a couple of seconds before moving elsewhere. He stared off into space, frowning.
“Look up famous duets on Google,” she suggested, “I’m drawing a blank. No, wait, what about that Nat King Cole song? And the Frank Sinatra one? And Josh Groban’s…”
Four hours later, they broke for lunch. Aaron changed into a warm up suit and the two jogged down to the Torrance pier two miles away.
“Okay, one set to go,” he said as he handed over a bill to the hotdog-cart vender. “Two for five bucks. What a bargain!”
That was Aaron Peterson, always pinching pennies. Before Porter, Tess had to watch her spending, too, but Aaron took pragmatism to the extreme. A miser with money, he nonetheless was a dreamer and idealist.
The ocean waves on this warm, sunny day in early June drew her attention. A beach volleyball game was in full, competitive swing as two couples, a male and female on each side of the net, battled for each point. A couple of in-line skaters whizzed by, iPods fastened to their waistbands, hips swaying in rhythm to their ear-bud music. A line of joggers pounded by on the hard, wet sand that skimmed the ocean. A young man threw a Frisbee to a black Labrador that jumped in the air to catch it. Tess smiled and inhaled deeply. The fresh, saline-scented air invigorated her. The tangy air and sunny sky made her feel alive and happy to be young and healthy.
Scheming and Dreaming in Los Angeles Page 2
