“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
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?”
“Alright.” I gave him a nervous head bob. He dipped his gaze. I suddenly wanted to snatch it back. The lyrics gave too much away. About my feelings. I could see the sudden tension in his frame as his eyes moved down the page.
“There’s a lot of uncertainty in this song.” He lifted his gaze. “Pessimism with the hero. Me?
“It’s just a song.”
“Hmm. It’s somber. Not as hopeful as ‘Tomorrow Today’.” His fingers tightened on the pad. “My influence?”
I shook my head. How could he think that? Did he not read the part about him being my hero? I tried to explain. “The other song was for my mom. To remind me how she was and how she would want me to be even without her.” My throat clogged. I swallowed to clear it and continued. “This one is a love song.” His considering gaze immediately became more intense. “I mean not that I think we are,” my hands fluttered, “or that we can be, but maybe…” I trailed off and I could feel the attention of Ramon and Diesel on the periphery of my vision, but I focused on him. “But I hope we can. Trying is hoping for more, isn’t it? Otherwise why even try in the first place, right?”
“So your theme is hopeful possibility.” His voice sounded as thick as a southern California
fog.
“Exactly.” I nodded my head vigorously.
“That’s you in a nutshell, gypsy rose.”
“Ok,” I allowed. But didn’t he see the possibility in us, too? My brow creased. “That’s a good thing, right?
“You are a very good thing.”
I smiled slowly, and he gave me one of his own in return. I pulled in a shuddering breath. I’d been so tense during that interchange that I’d only been shallowly sipping air. I gulped it now, gobbled it greedily down like I did his affirming words.
“We finished the stuff for Ramon’s album an hour ago.” Had I been in the conference room that long? I hadn’t realized. “We’ve been messing around on the individual components of your song. Would you like to try to put all the pieces together with us? See how it sounds?”
“Work on my music with the Dirt Dogs? Are you serious? Hell, yes!”
“Good.” He grinned. “Go get your new guitar, Fanny. It’s in studio five. As soon as you return, we’ll bring that song to life.”
• • •
Ashland
“So,” Diesel began as soon as Fanny disappeared. “You met this chick before and reconnected recently.”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Wow. Well just based on the song alone I’d say she’s onto you, dude.”
“I don’t know about that,” I protested. She knew what I had shared and had that startling knack for drawing accurate conclusions. But I wasn’t totally fatalistic like the guy in her song. Was I?
“She does,” Ramon confirmed. “She reads him like you read a surf forecast.”
“Fucking A, that is serious. I need to get off the island more. Homeless girls that turn out to be Academy Award winning artists in disguise?” Diesel shook his head in disbelief. “Only in OB.”
“You do need to get your ass out here more,” I agreed, “especially since you’re collaborating with Ramon.” I thought it best to steer clear of the topic of Fanny with the self-proclaimed man whore of the group.
“We’ll get to that in a minute.” Diesel glanced toward the door that remained empty and then back at me. “But just so you know, there are only two types of women. Ones who just want to fuck around, like your Renee. And ones like Fanny, who mean business, as in a ring so they can own your ass.”
“Renee is not my Renee.” I recoiled at him making a comparison between Renee and Fanny. Diesel and Ramon exchanged a look. “Shit, man. Give me a little fucking credit. You know me. Would I bring Fanny into the studio to hang with us if she were just another meaningless lay? Did you not hear what I told her? Do you not see how incredible she is?”
“They all seem incredible in the beginning.” He waved a dismissive hand at me. “No. No. Don’t get your boxers in a bind. I’m just looking out for you. From what I see she’s got her hooks in you. You wanna fuck her? Fine, but scrape her off fast afterward. Mark my words…”
“Enough,” I cut him off slicing my finger across my throat. Fanny had reappeared. Her guitar was strapped onto her shoulder and her eyes were wide as a full moon.
“What’d you hear?” I asked her, getting right to the point.
“The fuck and scrape her off part.” Skin blanched of color, she licked lips that were obviously dry from the shock. Diesel was not chick friendly.
“You hear what I told him before that?”
She nodded.
“So you know that shit is his own convoluted philosophy, and it’s not where you and I are, right?
“Sure. Yeah.”
“Good. Glad we’re square. Diesel’s an asshole, and he knows it. Don’t pay attention to him. Told you that from the get go. Meant everything I said to you, Fanny. You got any doubts or any questions, you talk to me direct. Now let’s play some fucking music.”
Chapter Thirty
* * *
Fanny
“Huh?” My fingers loosely wrapped around the mic stand, I swiveled around to look at Ash.
“I was trying to tell you what the song needs, but you seem distracted.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Of course I was distracted. I was singing lead with the Dirt Dogs. Ashland Keys on drums behind me. Ramon Martinez on my left side duplicating my chords but playing them better. Diesel Le on the right elevating the song with his groove but censuring me with his gaze. All while his words to Ash repeatedly mocked me inside my mind.
You wanna fuck her? Fine, but scrape her off fast afterward.
Was that Ash’s usual pattern?
On the one hand, it certainly seemed to be. Never kissed anyone. Never even tempted by the groupies, not that he lumped me in that category. He’d made that clear on more than one occasion. But what was I to him?
The trying for more thing wasn’t a promise. In fact, at the moment, it felt awfully nebulous. He might say positive reaffirming things about me. The intimacy we’d shared in his bedroom might be an indication that he was taking us beyond friendship, but friendship meant different things to different people. To him was this just a test drive to see if we were compatible? Or more troubling just another arrangement like he had with ‘not my Renee’?
A love song brimming with hopeful possibility.
Could I have been any more obvious or impulsive?
That’s you in a nutshell, gypsy rose.
Me not him.
A definite distinction.
So here I was with my heart out in the open, penned on paper no less, my feelings exposed for all to see.
“Do we need to take a break?” Ash asked. He sat on a stool behind his drum kit while I stood a couple of feet away, yet he was the one with the upper hand.
You got any doubts or any questions, you talk to me direct.
Yeah I had doubts. But did I want to question him about them and potentially have each and every single one of my reservations confirmed?
“No, I’m ok.”
“If you’re sure.” His brow crease deepened as he searched my features.
“Just feeling a little out of my league with you guys.” I let out a little nervous laughter. “I mean I got lucky with ‘Tomorrow Today’ but it’s just one hit. Not a career certainly. So I feel a little silly standing here with real musicians who have proven it time after time.” I cast my apologetic gaze to Diesel and Ramon then returned it to Ash. “Maybe instead of a break, we should just call it quits.” I released the pole, my fingers curling tight into fists at my sides. Would he give me this out? Would he let me off the hook I had skewered myself on?
Ash frowned.
A voice cleared on my left. “Appreciate the compliments, Red,” Diesel said. “But the rest is shit. I’ve heard you play, heard you sing. You’re a real musician alright. It’s your heart that makes you an artist not the number of hits you have. And your pretty little heart is splattered all the fuck over this piece.”
Oh, ok. Just great, I thought and sighed.
“It’s not my type of thing, mind you, but I can certainly see where it might be for a lot of people. Ash wasn’t blowing smoke. You’re onto something with it. It’s cute that you’re humble, but don’t waste my time. Or Ramon’s. Or Ash’s by giving up. Alright?”
“Ok,” I nodded.
“Great,” he acknowledged and turned to Ash extending his hand out with a flourish. “You were saying.”
“Fanny, I think you ought to change your key and maybe your inflections on the chorus.”
“Why?” I asked.
“To make it stand out more,” he replied. “To accentuate the theme. If Ramon could do harmony with you…”
“No way, man. I’ll do what I can to help, but I’m not singing a romantic duet. Let Fanny do the harmony track.”
“No.” Ash shook his head. “That’s not the sound I’m looking for.”
“Then loop your drums and come up here and show us what you’re talking about.”
“Alright.” Ash picked up the remote control he had set aside on a small table beside him while we’d been talking. He stood, his faded grey Dirt Dogs’ t-shi
rt molding to his chest and turquoise board shorts hugging his narrow hips and muscled thighs. I watched him as he smoothly navigated the tight quarters pretending not to notice my heart beating faster as he came closer.
“Mind if I share your mic for a minute, gypsy?”
“Of course not.” I replied breathily. Singing with Ash? I quickly tossed my misgivings aside. Yes, please.
“Ok. Squeeze in here close. No guitar picking for you right now.”
“Alright.” I unclipped my strap and carefully placed the autographed Martin in a nearby stand.
“Good.” He placed his hands on my shoulders, his fingers flexing into my skin as he shifted closer and peered down at me. “Just you and me now on the mic while we try this out,” he said low, his expression serious. He meant more. Like him and me more. I knew it by the way he spoke and the way he was looking into my eyes. My skin vibrated with the intensity he radiated. “Ramon,” he called while still holding me captive with his gaze.
“Yo,” the guitarist replied.
“Give us that riff.”
“You got it.”
“Diesel…”
“Already on it,” the bassist cut in.
“Good. Ok.” Ash eased back to hit a couple of buttons on his remote and the sound of his steady drumbeat filled the room. “We’re starting the song again on three.” He squeezed my shoulders. “You ready?”
“I am.” I realized in that moment with him touching me, with him staring deep into my eyes that I was ready to go wherever he led.
“Me, too. Let’s go.” He released my shoulders, but the tether of his gaze remained to steady me. “Counting it out.” He stretched out his hand and held it up in the air. “In one, two, three, four.” His eyes on me shone crystalline blue like the ocean, deep, vast and compelling. Lips lifted to the mic, I sang the intro to him. He angled his head reflectively, his gaze burning intently while I poured out my soul. On the chorus, he took my hand. He brought me closer as he lowered his mouth to the mic. Our swaying bodies separated by only a couple of inches, our lips each pressed to the mic, we sang the words together. His deeper voice melded with mine, not overshadowing but enhancing it. I couldn’t help but smile by the time he drew back to give me the mic again so I could sing the next verse and the bridge alone. He kept my hand, and his fingers pulsed around mine. His entire focus was on me.
(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5) Page 76
