You’ve got a good life, Ashland Keys. Set the what-ifs and the other bullshit aside that fucks up your brain at night. Live in the moment. Count your blessings. Your glass is half-full not half-empty. Your physical needs are met. Emotional ones, too. Linc. Simone. Your parents, Ramon and Karen. Everyone you love and who loves you are nearby. That other something more that couples have, it’s not for you. You have your part to play. You’re the loyal son. You’re the one who stands strong for your friends. You’re the one who keeps a level head when all hell breaks loose for everyone else.
A flash of purple and a delicate but intriguing dirty face beneath it came immediately to mind. Ok, so maybe my head wasn’t entirely level when it came to the Lakers Girl. But only because she was a mystery I had yet to solve.
Why did she always run? What was she so scared of? She was afraid of me in particular that much was obvious. She often paused and listened when the others spoke to her. But not me. Those unusual purple high-tops of hers that Ramon had mistaken for Converse practically kicked up fire when I got near her. But why?
I shook my head. There were no answers in the mirror to solve the mystery of the homeless girl. No answer to what ailed me, either.
Today, I reminded myself. Not tomorrows. Just today.
Refocused, I reentered the bedroom. I dropped my boxers and pulled on my running gear. After I laced my shoes, I stood and grabbed my favorite OB ball cap from the dresser, turned it backward so the brim was out of the way and headed straight to the kitchen. Simone would be here soon and besides it was time to take my medication.
A few quick strides down the short hall and to the left brought me into an open galley style kitchen, with all the amenities. Six-burner gas stovetop. Cool hammered copper hood. Seafoam and terra cotta hand painted Mexican tile backsplashes. Wrought iron fixtures. Black granite countertops. The previous owners had started a remodel that gave the entire apartment cream colored walls and dark hardwood floors for a knock your socks off understated Southern California Spanish Mediterranean vibe but then abandoned it when their funds had run out. Outfacing floor to ceiling windows framed the sunrise that had woken me while the back wall of the kitchen was lined with distressed wood cabinets of varying size. I opened one and reached for the bottle. Same pill. Same time every day. Miss a dose and the infection could come roaring back. This was my life, the reality I woke to every morning since my diagnosis. A routine I had come to uneasy terms with.
A knock sounded on the outside door. My running partner had arrived. Monday, Wednesday and Friday each week. Just she and I whenever we were both in town, less a given now with her revived singing career and with me out scouting the SoCal coast for new talent for Outside.
In a couple of steps I was out of the kitchen and through the adjoining living room. My previous melancholy dissipated as soon as I opened the door and saw her.
“Hey, Mona.” I leaned in and gave the curvy brunette a quick kiss on the cheek. The only type I gave, and they were only for her.
“Hey, Ash.” Her amber eyes glittering, she lit up the dingy outer hallway with her beautiful smile. “Ready?”
“I’m always ready,” I returned, holding up my apartment key. “But I gave you one of these. You don’t have to knock like a stranger. You can just let yourself in.”
“I know. But what if someone’s with you?” she asked, her brow creasing. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything.”
Ah, so that was it. I captured her chin before she could drop it. “No one spends the night, Simone.”
“No one ever?” Her expression was incredulous, her eyes now wide.
“Never. Not my scene. There’s only one girl I ever would consider inviting for a sleepover and she’s taken. Yeah?”
“Yes.” She nodded. She knew that girl was her. “But…”
“But nothing. I’ve got my life just the way I want it.” I didn’t much care for the troubled look on her face. “You’re not feeling sorry for me, are you?”
“No of course not.” She shook her head. “It’s just that with Linc and me together now, and Ramon and Karen…”
“You’ve been thinking I’m the odd man out.” I filled in for her stumble.
“Yes, I guess. If not for yourself, think of your nephew Chulo,” she gently chided, trying to lighten the mood. Chulo was Mona’s adorable, fourteen-pound, fluffy canine companion. “He could use an aunt at some time in the future. You know how he is. The only thing better for Chulo than one person petting him is two. And you’ve got so much to give Ash. If it weren’t for Linc…”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I get it regularly, Simone.” She paled beneath her golden tan. I had been too blatant, too abrupt. I softened my tone. “What I mean is that I’m content with my life the way it is.”
“Just content?” The crease between her eyes deepened.
“Content, yes.” I wasn’t going to lie to her. She was a friend. She could have been more. There remained that undercurrent between us, but I would never act upon it. I loved her too much to give her less than the best of my affection. “A state of peaceful happiness is a good place to be.” A much better place than I had been after the diagnosis. Under water. Drowning. The crash that hadn’t really been an accident. My prized self-control lost for a time. The long arduous rebuild of my life without the worst of my coping mechanisms. “But enough of this.” I took her arm and turned her, steering her out into the exterior hallway. “I think you’re stalling. Today’s the stairs at Narragansett at the end of our run. You lose and you’re buying breakfast. And just to let you know upfront it’ll cost you. I’m starving.”
Chapter Two
* * *
Fanny
Ducking my chin to my chest, I quickly scurried past the police trailer in the middle of the lot.
Pretend you belong and slow down, I reminded myself. In a second-hand broom skirt and a zippered hoodie from the thrift store, I blended in for the most part with the others who made the streets of Ocean Beach their home.
Leaving the lot, I turned right and took the sidewalk uphill through the palm tree lined center of downtown. Beneath the shelter of colorful shop awnings, I matched my strides to the wet sandy footprints someone had left behind. I wondered if I should risk making a quick run by the surf shop to see if the two best friends who managed it, Simone Bianchi, Lincoln Savage’s fiancée, and Karen Grayson, the surfer girl who belonged to Ramon Martinez, had left anything for me.
You shouldn’t, my inner voice cautioned. It’s too risky. What if he’s there today?
He was Ashland Keys. A today that had never come. Retired from the Dirt Dogs. Now a musical mogul, the co-owner of Outside, an independent record label he had formed with his cousin Lincoln Savage. The offices for Outside and the penthouse apartment Ashland lived in were housed in a four-story building that was uncomfortably close to the sub-pump structure where my sister and I were hiding.
Familiar regret lanced through the center of my chest whenever I thought of Ashland Keys.
C’mon, Fanny, I chastised myself. Forget about him already. That was a long time ago. He had forgotten all about me I was sure. Why he had asked me to meet him at the coffee house in the first place and then never shown up, I would probably never know, and it shouldn’t really matter. I had a life now far removed from the music business. I had a boyfriend, too, a serious one, or at least I hoped I still did. Who knew what was going on inside Tristan Murphy’s head or how the story was playing out for him and everyone else in the media? Everything traceable Hollie and I had we had left behind. Our cell phones. Credit cards. Vehicles. Our ID’s. My mom’s Claddagh ring. Everything had been abandoned in a rush to my sister’s rescue after her fateful late-night phone call.
Passing by the front of the Ocean Beach Hotel with its trio of Mediterranean style arched windows, I nodded once to Charlie. He nodded back, scratched his long grey beard and continued shuffling along the walkway in his bedroom slippers on his way to his favorite spot near the sand. Head ducke
d low, I avoided making eye contact with the rest of the people I encountered especially the guys at the lifeguard station. They didn’t tolerate the homeless congregating around the nearby public restroom. In singles we were ok. Invisible even. But in groups we gave the city a headache it didn’t relish with a potential to spook the paying tourists.
When I reached the Deck Bar, I stopped and scanned my surroundings again. No one was around the popular second story restaurant that overlooked the water. It wasn’t open yet, but the trashcan beside it was full to overflowing from the previous night. After one more furtive glance around, I unzipped my hoodie, threw it on the ground as a catchall and started combing through the contents of the receptacle. Glass bottles were a low score worth only ten cents each. They clinked together as I dropped them on my jacket. Plastic bottles netted a dollar each. Aluminum cans were the best. I could get a dollar fifty-seven for them. Discarded food inside sacks or takeaway containers I had avoided in the beginning. I didn’t anymore. Desperation made me less picky about what I put inside my stomach.
It was near midday and the rays from the rising sun were hot on the exposed skin of my neck and shoulders by the time I had sorted through everything.
I stuffed fries and a quarter of a burger wrapped in crinkly paper inside my pocket to eat on the way back. I didn’t trust such fare for Hollie. In her present condition, it might make her sicker. I put everything I didn’t want back inside the can. Someone else might come along and find the ten cent glass bottles or the leftover moldy bread worthy of their attention.
Feeling exposed in just my tank and skirt, I gathered the sides of my hoodie and hefted it like a knapsack over my shoulder. I glanced at the sun and sighed. I was running later than usual. A wealth of broken bottles in the trash had slowed me down. Wanting to make up time, I broke into a jog, slowing only to take a bite of my food. My purple Chloés served me well, but my unwieldy bounty bounced awkwardly against my shoulder blades as I increased my pace.
When I finally arrived at the church, the line had wound around the entire complex. I bypassed it. Those on the sidewalk were waiting for a free lunch and entering their names into a lottery for a cot tonight. I already had a place to sleep, and I had eaten. The char-boiled hamburger and greasy fries now sat heavy in my stomach, but it was sustenance. As long as it stayed down, not a given unfortunately, it would do.
Behind the sanctuary, the side door to the warehouse was propped open with a cinderblock brick. I ducked inside and scanned long rows of bins for recycling. There were only two people inside the small office by the entrance and both had their backs to me, a blonde and the usual security guard. I could clearly see them through the glass half-wall. They gave cash on the spot for recyclables here. The guard was a necessary precaution. Most of the street people were harmless like myself. We had our own ethical code and looked out for each other as best we could. But there were other factions around—dangerous ones—at the ready to take advantage or do us harm.
I knocked on the glass and dropped my gaze to the ground. Outside or inside, I tried to avoid eye contact or conversation. A pair of flip flops with sandy feet and pink toes appeared in my field of vision.
“It’s you,” a recognizable voice stated.
I jerked my head up.
Karen Grayson. The owner of Offshore. Ramon’s surfer girl. I had once pushed her out of the way of a moving car that had almost hit her. She had only been knocked unconscious. It could have been much worse. Everything was ok now, but at the time Ramon had completely lost it.
I started to back away toward the door, but found my retreat blocked by the security guard. My eyes went wide. Panicking, I jumped away from him and dropped my knapsack/hoodie. Plastic bottles clattered and aluminum cans pinged on the concrete. I barely noticed over the sound of my racing heartbeats.
“It’s ok, Lakers Girl,” Karen said gently. That was what she and her OB friends called me. “I’m not going to hurt you. We’re not gonna hurt you. Are we Jackson?”
The security guard shook his head.
“Then have him move away from the door,” I demanded softly, my voice warbling in my near panic. Swallowing, I shook my head and spoke more firmly. “I don’t like being cornered.”
“Sure. It’s ok.” Karen lifted her hands spreading her fingers wide in a placating gesture. “Jackson, I know this woman. She’s the one I was telling you about. The one I’ve been looking for. Can you give us two girls a moment alone?” She was talking to him, but she didn’t take her gaze off of me.
“Sure Miss Grayson.”
“Thanks.”
Wary, I watched him retreat. When he was outside she spoke again.
“I’m Karen Grayson, but I think you already know my name.” She took a step closer, both hands clasped in front of her now. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to thank you. Your quick thinking saved my life.”
“You’re welcome,” I whispered. She was pretty. Blonde hair, light brown eyes, golden skin, toned body. A SoCal surfer girl through and through, she didn’t have a bit of trouble blending in Ocean Beach. Ramon’s nickname suited her. But more importantly to me, she had a gentle manner. I had seen her at the beach teaching kids how to surf. I’d seen her walking hand in hand with Ramon downtown. I had accidently seen them doing more much more than hand holding down by the pier. They were hot together. But thinking about that didn’t conjure up longing thoughts of one of Tristan’s kisses like it probably should have.
“What’s your name?” Karen asked.
I shook my head.
“You don’t wanna tell me, huh?”
I nodded.
“You in trouble of some sort?”
I nodded.
“With the law?”
“No.” I shook my head. I didn’t think so, but who knew what my stepfather was telling people to try to get Hollie back.
“No surprise there. You seem way too industrious and smart to be a criminal.” She scanned me head to toe, thoroughly as if taking notes.
“Your face is dirty. But the rest of you is clean.” She was observant, and I kicked myself for stopping to wash up in the public restroom last night at Dog Beach. But I couldn’t sleep when I was grimy. “If you could keep your appearance presentable and come into the shop reliably each day I could really use some help organizing.”
My eyes got large. She was offering me a job.
“I’d like a chance to pay you back at least in some way for what you did. When I think of what might have happened…what I could have lost….” She trailed off, bringing one of her hands up and placing it on her lower abdomen. Protectively. Like my mom had all those years ago.
Was Karen pregnant?
“Well, anyway,” she confirmed when I didn’t speak. “It seems to me you could use a little help, and I could, too, honestly. Simone is gone so often with her singing. I couldn’t pay you a lot. I’m still trying to make Offshore profitable again. But I think I could pay you more than you make turning in cans, and I would provide meals, too.”
“Why would you do that? You don’t even know me. I could be dangerous.”
Her lips slowly lifted into a sweet smile. “I don’t think a dangerous person would warn me that she’s dangerous or bother pushing me out of the way of a moving car. Do you?”
I shook my head and grinned back at her. She was kind and funny, her humor contagious.
“So what do you say?”
“I can’t.” Without the dirt on my face, someone might recognize me. I wasn’t the celebrity Hollie had become with her acting. Most people had forgotten me. My success had been short-lived, my fame a flash that had come and gone. The way I had wanted it to of course. I glanced at my feet where the cans and plastic bottles had scattered. “Can I turn these in? I need the money, and then I need to get going.”
“Alright, Lakers Girl.” Karen looked and sounded disappointed. I was, too. I liked her. A lot. She and Simone had been leaving gifts for me, clothing and food inside a box behind their shop. Neith
er looked through me pretending I didn’t exist like a lot of people did. They didn’t seem to think less of me because I was dirty and combed through the trash for cans and food. “But I want you to know that the offer stands. If you change your mind all you have to do is come by the shop.”
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I appreciate the offer. But I can’t accept it. I can’t explain why. If you need someone to help don’t wait on me. You should hire someone else.”
“Alright.” She sighed. “Let me get Jackson back in here. He’s got the code for the cash drawer. We’ll get you your money so you can be on your way.”
Moments later, I left the recycling center with a wad of bills and coins jingling in my pocket. Yet, my heart ached. It hadn’t been easy to refuse Karen, and to leave her friendly face behind. I felt so lonely. Overwhelmed. Frightened. Karen would be the first person I would turn to if Hollie didn’t get better.
Toughen up, Fanny girl, I admonished myself. And get going. I was even more behind schedule now. It would be busy at the gym where I used one of the rental lockers to store my guitar. The beat-up pawn shop find had cost me only thirty-five bucks. But that had been everything Hollie and I had scraped together after my purse with most of our cash had been stolen. You had to have money to make money. The acoustic wasn’t pretty like the Martin I had left behind. It had a cracked headstock which was why I’d gotten it so cheap, but it played well enough.
And isn’t that a lot like me and my life right now? I mused philosophically. Yet, Karen had noticed there was more to me than met the eye. And didn’t her ability to see beyond the grime and the tattered clothes say a lot about her and who she was as a person?
Lost in my reverie, I almost didn’t see the two men coming out of the gym. Two handsome blue-eyed blonds, one with platinum hair the other golden. Ashland and Lincoln. Holy shit. I quickly dashed into the thick underbrush beside the building.
“Leg seems better. You don’t favor it at all anymore.”
“Yeah, brilliant suggestion about the rowing machine. It’s been a good exercise for it. You wanna hit the beach and do some surfing with Mona and me later?” Linc asked his cousin, cracking open a water bottle and tipping it back for a long swig. I scooted further into the dense foliage not wanting to leave but not wanting to be spotted, either.
(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5) Page 59
