by Abby Knox
Dusty looked pleasantly surprised. “Really? Wow, that’s great! You’re a good man, Kai, thank you.” She put out her hand and shook his. “Glad to have you on board. Zara will be your point person on party planning, so any questions, just go straight to her.”
Kai thought this could not have worked out any better.
“Hey, why don’t I go ahead and pick up lunch for the three of us and we can start planning right away.”
Dusty seemed overjoyed. “I love your initiative.”
Kai smiled. “Remember, I’m just a guy with a guitar who likes to be useful.”
Dusty winked.
Chapter 5
Zara
How had this guy figured her out already? How did he just…get her?
Last week, he’d brought her her favorite coffee. Then, all through Memorial weekend, he broke into song whenever she passed by, specifically into a variety of 1980s romantic prog-rock songs like “Your Love” by the Outfield and “Pretty in Pink” by the Psychedelic Furs. He seemed to share her affinity for John Hughes soundtracks. She didn’t let him know that she appreciated it. How did he know she had a gushy side? She thought she hid it so well.
Not that any of this was working on her. No. Not working at all. Nope.
And then, today, Kai had picked up lunch from her favorite vegan place and returned to the record store with a sack full of salads, gluten-free pitas and hummus.
She wasn’t sure if she could trust a guy who was so obviously into her. But, she had no other choice as Dusty, over lunch, had announced she was taking a mini vacation to go “find herself.” When Zara had countered with the fact that Dusty hardly had income to support a vacation at the moment, Dusty explained she was just going to stay with her old high school best friend, Marti, in Santa Barbara for a few days. “Just to sit on the beach and think, away from work. You know how it is.”
“And tell me again why you think it’s a good idea to leave me alone with a drifter in the shop?” Zara whispered between clenched teeth as she followed her mother to the car, hoping to hell it was out of earshot from Kai. Not that she cared if she hurt his feelings. Nope. Not at all.
“I checked him out, Zara. Don’t you think I would? No record. Legit Social Security Number. I even called his auntie in Oregon. Everything checks out.”
Well, what could Zara say to the woman who had raised her on her own? She couldn’t exactly stand in front of her car. And besides, she rarely did a thing for herself. A little getaway was in order.
After seeing her mother off, Zara sat on a stool outside the record store while Kai played. It was a pleasant day and the sun wasn’t too brutal. Plus, there was that afternoon slump. There wouldn’t be many customers again until after dinner.
“I feel guilty sitting on your stool while you play,” Zara said to Kai.
“Shawty, I don’t mind,” he sang, winking at her.
“Now you know Usher?”
“A little.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.
“Because you’re letting me,” he replied. “Breakfast Club!”
And then the Usher song was over and Kai was launching into “Don’t You Forget About Me,” and it wasn’t even that weird of a transition.
“How do you do that?” she said, showing him something between a sneer and a smirk, shaking her head and returning to the legal pad she was using to brainstorm ideas for the Fourth of July party.
“You bring it out in me, I guess,” he answered.
Zara cleared her throat and examined the list. So far on the to-do list, Kai had committed to building a small stage for entertainment, handing out fliers, and setting up a misting station for partiers to cool themselves, and arranging for security.
She would submit a request for a permit from the City of Sea Grove to block off the block of Beach Avenue for the party. They would put Dusty and her in charge of decorations and recruiting food trucks.
Between songs, Kai added, “Are we selling tickets to this shindig?”
“I don’t know. Mom just said it was a block party. She didn’t give me many parameters. Rules and parameters aren’t exactly her thing.”
Kai laughed. “Yeah, I picked up on that. What is her thing?”
“Well, she’s really good at being a mom.”
Kai smiled. “Obviously. She made you.”
Zara felt herself blush a little. “Well, she didn’t raise me under the best of circumstances, but she pulled it together and we ended up in a good place. I just wish she would look at the record store as more of a business investment and not a vanity project.”
Kai nodded thoughtfully. “But she’s an artist. You’re the business person. You make a good team.”
“What do you mean, she’s an artist?”
Kai gestured with his yellow guitar pick to the store window. She studied the sculpture of melted 45 adapters in the shape of a giant palm tree. There was also the miniature surf-hut constructed out of record jackets.
“Dusty made that display, didn’t she? She’s crazy talented.”
Zara had never thought about the store window displays as more than her mother’s pulling something out of her ass. But then again, Dusty was pretty good with making fliers and concert posters for all the local bands that played nearby. She did all that stuff voluntarily, though, and refused to take a dime for any of it.
“You know what? You’re right. I just wish she could parlay that artistic brain of hers into some real money. Sometimes I think she’s just keeping the store open to appease the 15 crusty old guys who come by to get their plastic hoarding fix.”
Kai nodded and looked out to the sidewalk. A gaggle of females in midriff tops and flip-flops were about five stores away. Zara could tell he was thinking of what to play next.
“You never know,” Kai said. “Maybe one day somebody super famous will walk into the store and put this place on the map.”
Zara considered this idea. “Even though I’m a wound-up ball of existential dread, I have to say I like your optimism, Kai.”
But Kai was thinking about the music and watching the gaggle of women.
Zara sighed internally and turned to look at them. They were headed their way. She surmised they were in their early 40s and had been to several wine tastings already today. She looked back at Kai. She could see a light dawn in his eyes.
And then, sure as shit, Zara knew exactly what song he was going to play.
As the ladies approached, about one block away, Kai started strumming the first few measures of that one classic song. That one and only swoon-inducing number that would draw all the women of a certain age to flock to guys with guitars at parties.
“Saying I lo-ove you is not the words I want to hear from you…”
Zara could not help it. She fought it, but it was a losing battle. On the outside, she was rolling her eyes. On the inside, she totally melted inside her Doc Martens. “More than Words” by Extreme. Dammit. Why would this amount of commercial cheese work on her?
Normally, she would have said adios and bolted out of there. If a hippie in a Baja pullover had whipped out his guitar at a party and started playing this song back East at college, Zara would exit stage left just in time for all the other females to swoop in like a festival of swoons.
And yet. He sang this song like an absolute angel. The guitar playing was simple and showed off his voice better than any song he normally played. It was beautiful. Despite herself, despite everything she stood for, it was making her hot.
One of the women put her hand over hear heart as he sang. “Oh my gawd,” the woman said when he had finished. “That was the first dance at my wedding.”
Zara handed some fliers to the women.
“Kai,” she said, when they had left.
“What?” he asked.
“You are wasting your time.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a really fucking good singing voice. You should be recording.”
“Why?�
�� He looked incredulous. As if he really didn’t know.
Zara pushed. “So people can know you. So they can buy your records and you can stop busking and working at a record store.”
Kai smiled. “But people are hearing me. That’s enough for me.”
Zara was confused. “But what people? Tourists?”
He smirked at her sideways as he tuned up his guitar. “No. You. Just you. That’s enough for me.”
Chapter 6
Kai
Kai really wasn’t the party-planning type, but then he really wasn’t the anything-planning type.
He could see Zara was very much into planning. She was a regulator. She was wound as tight as a guitar string, and he wanted to be the one to help her let loose.
He had made headway with that comment about her being enough for him. She looked unsettled as he locked onto her eyes. Unsettled with an edge of lust. She revealed it by biting her luscious bottom lip.
He couldn’t wait to kiss it.
He was going to kiss it tonight, he decided.
“Why don’t we continue this planning meeting tonight over dinner?” he asked.
Zara looked at him suspiciously. “Where?”
Kai looked around. “I don’t know. Maybe Angelo’s?”
Zara laughed. You want to meet and talk party planning over a fancy dinner on the pier? Are you asking me on a date?”
Kai immediately manned up. “Yes. It’s a date if you want it to be a date. If you don’t want it to be a date, then it doesn’t have to be.”
He watched as Zara licked her lips. He could see he was making her blush again. This was a good sign.
“I don’t date hippies. But I’ll have a meeting with you.”
Kai shrugged and started picking aimlessly on his guitar, trying to decide what to play next. “You know, we’re not all the same.”
Zara smiled. “I know. I just had a really bad, weird—I don’t really want to talk about it. Let’s just say my dad was…well, it’s a long story. Suffice it to say, I’m extremely careful around men.”
Kai nodded and recalled his own Aunt Jo’s most recent poor choice in men. He shook off the memory and the dark clouds associated with all of that and strummed the opening chords to “The Man Who Sold the World.”
“That’s for you,” he said as she stood up to back inside. “I know you like Nirvana.”
The 40-something customer with the tweed cap and the flannel shirt was getting on Zara’s nerves. That much, Kai could tell.
“It sounds like Smashing Pumpkins but tighter,” the customer was saying. Kai was examining the water stain in the drop ceiling but also listening intently.
“Tighter?” Zara asked, with an edge to her voice.
“Yeah. And better,” the customer replied.
“Better?”
Uh oh, thought Kai. I should say a prayer for that dude right now.
“You’re judging me,” the customer said.
She cocked her head and said sarcastically, “Am I?”
“OK, let me see if I can hum it…” the man said.
She crossed her arms and listened. “Will the rock gods please send me a real challenge? It’s ‘Lazy Eye’ by Silversun Pickups. And how dare you say they’re tighter than Smashing Pumpkins. First of all, they’re not even in the same league,” Zara said, as if she was a fire-and-brimstone preacher just getting ramped up for the big sermon.
“Great! Where’s your alternative section?”
She sighed and closed her eyes, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You’re kidding me, right? We don’t have alternative. We have rock, hard rock, punk, skater punk, metal, emo, prog rock, indie rock, electronica, house, lo-fi, chill-wave, grunge and within grunge we have Sub Pop Records. The list goes on and on. Alternative is an illusion. It’s a label that means nothing.”
“So…”
“It’s in Y2K-era indie rock, over there,” she said, pointing the man to the appropriate section.
When the customer nodded and walked away to find his record, Kai mused at her from his position on top of the ladder.
“Alternative is an illusion, that’s deep,” he said.
“The word annoys me, so I came up with another system,” she said with a shrug and went to re-order the Shawn Colvin in order of year of release.
Kai shone a flashlight into the dark void above the drop ceiling, looking for the source of the leak. He said, “But you’re filing that one in alt-country.”
She said, “It’s a much more specific, homogenous brand and encompasses a group of artists that complement each other. Alternative rock is nonsense.”
Kai nodded. “OK. Explain.” He hopped down from the ladder, leaning against it as he listened, arms crossed.
“OK, so if it’s got electric guitar and drums and minimal electronics, it’s rock.”
“The Shins?”
“Rock.”
“The Yeah Yeah Yeahs?”
“Rock.”
“Led Zeppelin?”
“Classic rock.”
“Ah,” Kai said, lifting his index finger like he was going to try to out-nerd her. “But what is classic? That’s about as nebulous as alternative.”
Zara stated as a matter of fact, “Rock music created post 1968, pre-1985, primarily comprised of aforementioned instruments and minimal pop influence.”
“But who says it has to be that? Who says Duran Duran isn’t classic rock because it’s from the 1980s?”
“That’s pop,” she said.
“Based on what?”
She looked up at the ceiling and thought about her answer. “Commercially driven, teen idols, more concerned with image than with musical quality…”
He continued to push. “So it’s not even rock? Seems to me they have a drummer and two decent guitarists.”
Zara shook her head. “The amount of dated 1980s electronic keyboard, plus their brand—the hair, the makeup, the videos full of supermodels—it all reads as pop. They are also cross-referenced as yacht rock.”
“By who?” Kai said.
“By me,” she answered, as if it was obvious she was the final authority.
“How can you put them in the same category as the Doobie Brothers?”
“It’s only cross-referenced like that because of ‘Rio.’ You know, the video with the yacht.”
He threw his back and howled with laughter. “That’s crazy!”
She shrugged. “You know me. I like to throw caution to the wind. Odd cross-references are my favorite pastime.”
She rang up the customer who found the recording he was looking for. When he left, she grabbed her keys to lock up for the night and announced she would be going upstairs to prep for their date. But first, she approached Kai and gave him a killer arched eyebrow. “And I do like that Nirvana song. But Bowie’s version is better, as you well know.”
Kai agreed with her completely as he watched her leave and round the corner. He hated having to wait for her to get ready, but hell, he didn’t mind watching her cute little ass walk away. He silently congratulated himself. He had a date with Zara.
Kai could not help but smile as he watched this woman put away her crab legs.
It was nice to sit quietly and look at her, talk to her, and not have to think about earning his next tip.
“I’m surprised you decided to take a permanent job here. You strike me more as an adherent to the gig economy,” she said.
Kai set down his fork, folded his hands on the table in front of him and leaned in. He looked her square in the eyes so she would understand he was being totally serious. “For you. I got a job because I want to stay here and get to know you.”
Chapter 7
Zara
Her heart began racing. The heat was reddening her cheeks like a signal fire, and the self-awareness of her redness made the red grow even deeper. Her blood pulsed all the way up to her ears.
She took a drink of water.
“Kai,” she started, barely able to meet h
is eyes. “You’re expecting a lot of me that I don’t know if I can deliver.”
The truth was, she was flattered. Nobody had ever done anything to try to impress her before.
“Zara. You’re scary smart. I can talk to you about Jimi Hendrix and The Weeknd in the same breath. You’re amazingly hot and you don’t even know it. You’re funny. And goddamn, you are killing me in your combat boots and tiny skirts every day. Everything about you makes me feel like I’m just waking up to my real life. And all I want to do is spend all my time with you, if you’ll let me.”
Zara felt a certain energy move back down into her stomach, down her legs, all the way down to her toes. Nobody had ever pursued her before.
“You do know I just turned 21. I’m a bit younger than you.”
“Ten years. That’s nothing. How was your birthday, by the way?”
She smiled and cracked open another crab leg. “It was good. Mom got a little tipsy during the brew-and-view screening of Plan 9 From Outer Space. Then we just walked around some, got some ice cream. It was nice. I kind of forgot this town can be fun. I’ve pretty much spent the last four years on lockdown trying to maintain my scholarships.”
Kai smiled. “You forgot that the sunny beach town of Sea Grove, with its boardwalks, festivals, art galleries, coffee shops, kickass food, and a music store owned by your own mother can conceivably be a fun place to live?”
Zara squinted. “I’m picking up the sarcasm, my friend.”
Kai leaned back in his chair and stared. He looked like he was having a mischievous thought. “Speaking of fun, I’ve got an idea.”
Zara looked at him and was not sure she trusted that look on his face. “I’m pretty sure my idea of fun and your idea of fun are different. As in, your idea of fun would probably fart in the general direction of my idea of fun.”
Kai shrugged. “Well, there’s nobody in this world who doesn’t love karaoke, so I think that could be where our Venn diagrams intersect.”
She smirked. “I think you overstate the universal appeal of karaoke.”
