by Tripp Ellis
We shook hands.
Her eyes narrowed with recognition. “You’re that guy. That cop. I’ve seen you on TV. You dated Bree Taylor.”
I nodded. “Briefly.”
“Such a shame what happened to her. She seemed like such a sweetheart.”
“She was.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry.” Sierra sighed. “Well, I guess I should let you get back to whatever it was you were doing.”
She lingered with a devious sparkle in her eyes. I think she was hoping I would keep my attention focused on her. At the moment, I couldn’t think of a better place to focus it.
“I’m not particularly busy at the moment,” I said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I really should get out of this swimsuit and into something less revealing.”
I looked over her makeshift bikini one more time. With a straight face, I said, “I don’t see anything revealing about this.”
She chuckled. “This outfit doesn’t leave me with any secrets.”
“I don’t think you have anything to hide.”
“How about I go get changed, then I’ll come find you for that drink?”
“I believe that sounds acceptable.”
She smiled, spun around, and sauntered toward the side of the stage where she had left a duffel bag with her clothing. From there, she headed to the women’s restroom.
I made my way back to the bar and waited for my new drinking buddy.
3
Sierra joined me at the bar for a piña colada. The outfit she changed into wasn’t as revealing as the dental floss bikini, but it was still pretty slim on fabric. She wore a cream-colored bikini top that accented her tanned skin. The seams of the taut garment screamed for mercy, struggling to contain her prize-winning peaks. She wore a cream sheer sarong around her waist that acted like a flowing skirt.
She looked good. Damn good!
“Is that one of your designs?” I asked.
She smiled, and her pearly teeth glimmered. “It is. You like?”
“I do. It’s a little more substantial than the dental floss.”
“So, are you saying you’d like to see less of me?” There was a naughty glimmer in her eyes.
“Quite the contrary,” I said. “The dental floss certainly had its charm.”
She giggled.
I introduced her to JD and Sloan.
“This was all his idea,” I said.
“So, I have you to thank for my $10,000 check?” Sierra asked, playfully.
“And you deserve every penny,” JD said.
Sloan rolled her eyes.
JD gave Sloan an innocent look and shrugged.
“Sierra designs a line of swimwear,” I said.
“And lingerie,” she added. “I’m entering as many of these bikini contests as I can, hoping it will be a springboard for my designs. It’s good marketing.”
“You know, Tyson and I are accomplished photographers. We do a lot of model photoshoots. We’re the official photographers of Coconut Cream Sunscreen.” JD couldn’t help himself.
Sierra lifted an impressed eyebrow. “Is that so? I need better photography. What I’ve got on the website doesn’t really showcase my designs to their fullest.”
“We’d be happy to help,” JD said.
“That’s fantastic. What would you charge? I don’t have a lot of money right now.”
“You just won $10k!” JD exclaimed, incredulous.
“This venture isn’t generating a ton of revenue at this point. I’m dancing over at Forbidden Fruit to support this whole endeavor. I plan on dumping the $10K into manufacturing and, of course, marketing, but that doesn’t go very far. This whole entrepreneur thing is expensive.”
“Tyson is the finance manager,” JD said. “I’m sure you can work out something with him.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’m sure we can.”
Sloan watched with amusement.
JD had thrown the ball into my court, trying not to look too eager to fill the boat with bikini-clad hotties. I didn’t figure Sloan for the jealous type, but she certainly enjoyed watching JD squirm as he fought against his natural inclination to surround himself with beautiful women.
JD tried to twist the situation to his advantage. “Maybe you could do me a favor,” he said to Sierra.
She arched an intrigued eyebrow.
“I’ve been trying to get this one to go on a date with me,” JD said, nodding to Sloan. “But she says she’ll only go with a chaperone. Apparently, she doesn’t trust me.”
“Is that what I said?” Sloan muttered dryly.
“If you agree to go on a date with Tyson, we could all double, and through peer pressure, Sloan would have to agree to go on the date.”
“Would I?” she asked with a playfully skeptical tone.
“Yes, you would,” JD answered with a smile.
Sierra pondered the situation. “I guess I could consent to something like that.”
A wide smile curled JD’s face. “It’s settled then. We’re all going on a double date. How’s tomorrow night sound?”
“No can do. LA tomorrow, remember?” I said.
“Sorry,” Sloan said. “I have a tournament next week. Leaving town tomorrow as well.”
JD frowned.
“But, I could be talked into it when I get back,” Sloan added.
“I will most certainly take a rain check.” JD was on cloud nine.
Sierra finished her piña colada. “I hate to win the contest and run, but I need to go.”
I frowned. “You’re not staying for the fireworks?”
“I’d love to stay for the fireworks, but it’s my grandmother’s birthday. I told her I would swing by the assisted living facility after the contest and make sure she got to see some fireworks.”
“You can bring her back here,” I suggested.
She looked around the venue. “I think this isn’t quite her style right now. A little too crowded.”
“Understood.”
“But I’ll be looking forward to that double,” Sierra said with an optimistic smile. “Give me your phone.”
I handed the device to her, and she programmed in her number.
“Don’t be afraid to use it.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Anytime.” I watched her gather her things and saunter out of the bar.
“I’ve gotta hand it to you,” Sloan said. “You two are slick. Real slick.”
We both played innocent.
Sloan arched a skeptical eyebrow at JD and muttered to herself, “What have I gotten myself into?”
4
JD's band took the stage in the late afternoon. He had changed out of his traditional outfit—Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts—and into his rock 'n' roll attire. JD assumed his stage persona, Thrash.
He had a red bandana around his forehead, and his long blonde hair flowed past his shoulders. He wore leather pants, a leather vest over a concert T-shirt, skull rings on his fingers, studded bracelets, and eyeliner.
Sloan chuckled with amusement at his getup.
Styxx took his place behind a candy-apple red drum set, and Crash plucked a groovy baseline. It was in perfect time with the kick drum and the ticking of a high-hat. Dizzy riffed on guitar, buzzing like a chainsaw. The wall of sound washed over the crowd, and JD howled into the microphone, “Are you ready to rock 'n' roll?"
The crowd went crazy.
JD's tribute band was a spot-on, time capsule replica of a beloved ‘80s hair-metal band. They pounded out a setlist that kept the audience craving more, throwing in a few of their original compositions along the way.
A horde of the band's regular groupies swarmed the venue. There was a lot of teased hair, heavy eyeliner, and fishnet stockings. Diver Down turned into an odd mix of metal-heads, beach bums, sun-seekers, college kids, and regulars.
Sloan stayed for the whole show.
Afterward, JD and company left the stage amid a sea of adoring grou
pies.
Jack usually reveled in the attention, but it was easy to see that someone else was on his mind. He signed a few autographs, then escaped his fan club to rejoin with Sloan.
He was a love-sick puppy dog.
"What did you think?" JD asked.
Sloan shrugged, feigning disappointment for a brief moment. Then she smiled. “I gotta admit. It's growing on me. Like a fungus. But it's growing on me, nonetheless.”
JD scowled at her playfully.
Sloan finally came clean. “It was good. I mean, it's not totally my type of music. But you guys are tight. And, if I'm being honest, I like your original songs better."
A prideful grin curled on JD's face. "I'm kind of partial to those myself. Who knows? Maybe one of these days, that's all we’ll play?”
"It seems like you've got a growing fan base."
A blonde with teased hair dragged her brunette friend to JD. She wore a low-cut top, revealing ample endowments. She arched out her chest, practically sticking her boobs in JD's face. “Would you sign these for me?"
Jack's eyes were drawn to the voluptuous mounds. He swallowed hard, then looked hesitantly to Sloan. “Um, sure."
Jack prepared to sign both of the girls’ bosoms with a black sharpie. He looked for the best surface to write on, and the best angle to approach it from, studying the mounds carefully. With Jack’s resemblance to the famous ’80s singer, it was hard to tell if they were genuinely asking for his autograph, or the celebrity’s?
With a delicate touch, Jack started to sign the women’s breasts.
“Don’t be shy. You can touch them as much as you want,” the blonde said.
JD cupped her boob, creating a stable writing platform.
Sloan seemed amused.
With Jack’s signature complete, the girls bounced up and down with excitement and gave JD a hug, then flitted off.
JD shrugged. “Gotta give the fans what they want.”
Sloan rolled her eyes.
The sun had settled over the horizon, and it wasn’t long before fireworks exploded in the night sky. The dazzling pyrotechnics sparkled with colorful hues of red, blue, and white. Deafening explosions thundered, rattling my chest. The rockets’ red glare reflected across the water. Colorful bursts were followed by pops and crackles. Smoke drifted with the breeze. There were oohs and ahhhs from the crowd as they were awed by the glorious display.
JD put his arm around Sloan, and she didn't remove it.
After the show, the crowd thinned slightly, but the bar was still pretty packed. The rest of the band—Crash, Dizzy, and Styxx—drank their fill at the bar.
At the end of the night, Sloan gave JD a peck on the cheek before leaving. He seemed delighted. He practically skipped toward me afterward. "Did you see that?"
"I did."
"My plan is working.”
"She's a nice girl. I like her."
"That's number seven right there."
My brow lifted with surprise. "What!?"
Jack smiled.
"Have you lost your mind? You barely know each other."
"I got a good feeling about this one."
"I'm sure you had a good feeling about the other six, too." Jack went through wives faster than most people traded in cars. It was an expensive hobby.
He frowned at me. “Yeah, but that was different. I was going into those for the wrong reasons."
I shook my head. "Just take it easy."
"Oh, don't worry, I'm all about easy. I'm just saying, I think she's the one. I could be wrong, but I got this funny feeling inside."
“That’s called lust.”
“I think, by this point in time, I know the difference.”
I raised my hands in surrender.
JD hesitated, then sheepishly said, "So, I'm not going to fly out to Los Angeles with you tomorrow."
I raised a curious eyebrow. "What about your show?"
"We're still playing Sour Mash Friday night. I'll fly out later tomorrow or the next day. Sloan said she'd have lunch with me tomorrow, and I promised to take her to the airport in the afternoon."
"Um, okay. Whatever you want to do."
"The band is going to drive the gear out to Cali in the van. I could use a little more time to help them load up and prep everything for the show, anyway," JD said, making excuses.
"You don't need to explain anything to me," I said, trying not to harass him too much.
JD hung around the bar for the rest of the night, talking incessantly about how amazing Sloan was and how well they clicked. I was happy for him, I really was. But it was starting to get nauseating.
The bar closed at 2 AM, and I helped Alejandro and the staff clean up after the event. When the chairs were stacked atop tables, and everything wiped down, I ambled to the Vivere and packed a bag for the morning.
Teagan said she would look after the animals. I had dropped them at her apartment before the festivities. She was getting along well but wasn't quite up to standing behind the bar all day. She said the little fur-babies would keep her company and lift her spirits while she recovered.
The last thing she had said to me as I was leaving her apartment was, “Be careful out there. I don’t mean to freak you out, but I’ve got a bad feeling.”
I had assured her that everything would be okay. Whether she was truly psychic, I couldn’t say. But I knew when Teagan issued a warning, it was worth heeding.
5
What could go wrong?
The ominous thought cycled through my brain as I boarded the G750 Slipstream aircraft. The private jet was the epitome of luxury. Sleek, modern lines. Plush beige seats that fully reclined. Polished wood trim, surround sound stereo, flatscreen displays, and an accommodating staff.
"Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Wild?" a gorgeous flight attendant asked, a shimmering river of blonde hair dangling around her shoulders.
I smiled. "Bottled water, please."
"Right away, sir."
It wasn't my jet, but the studio gave me access every time I needed to travel to Los Angeles on official business.
I buckled my safety harness, reclined my seat, and tried not to think about Teagan's warning. It could have been in reference to anything. Was there a mechanical fault with the plane? Was it going to crash? Was something terrible going to happen when I was in Los Angeles?
I dismissed it and gave it no more credence than I would any other word of caution coming from a friend. Though Teagan was often right when it came to predicting future events.
The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. He announced our flight time and urged me to “Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight."
The engines whined, and the aircraft raced down the tarmac. The fuselage rattled, and the acceleration forced me back into the seat. The nose lifted, and we gently glided into the air. A moment later, the wheels retracted, and we angled toward the sky.
The flight attendant brought me a bottle of water after we had leveled off.
"My name is Cassandra. Let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."
There was a delicious sparkle in her blue eyes, and she seemed eager to please. I wondered how eager?
With the time change, the flight would put me into the FBO at Burbank at a little after 11:30 AM, Pacific time. I had a little over five hours to kill.
I think Cassandra was a little bored because she checked on me again in 15 minutes. "I have breakfast tacos if you would like some. And for lunch, you have the option of meatloaf, chicken Parmesan, or a chicken salad."
"Breakfast tacos sound good. In a few hours, I think I'll take the chicken salad."
Cassandra smiled. "Excellent choice. I also have beer, wine, and cocktails."
"It's probably a little early for that."
"It's 5 o'clock somewhere."
“Look at you trying to be a bad influence."
"I'm just here to serve,” she said, not sounding so innocent.
She certainly looked enticing in that tight uniform, the
short skirt hugging her hips.
"Did you have a good 4th of July?" Cassandra asked.
"I did. You?"
"I had a layover in Coconut Key. So, I went to Oyster Avenue with some girlfriends, watched the fireworks, and had a good time."
"Are you based out of LA?"
She nodded.
"Do you fly strictly for the studio?"
"Yes. The studio has an exclusive charter with us, and we take their clients all over the world."
“I bet you’ve met some pretty famous people.”
"I have. It's an interesting job. Most of the people are really cool."
“I’m sure there have been some real jackasses, too.”
Her subtle smirk said everything. "Your words, not mine."
"Don't worry, I won't give you much trouble."
"I had you pegged as one of the good guys from the moment you stepped aboard. But trouble… you look like a handful.“
"And what makes you say that?"
"Just a hunch. Am I wrong?" she asked with a flirty glance.
"I'm an evil villain, watch out!"
She laughed.
“So, what’s your evil plan? World domination?”
“Something like that.”
“Need a sidekick?”
“Maybe.”
“Wait, no! Villains don’t have sidekicks. They have henchmen. You need a hench-woman.”
“What’s your superpower?”
A devious smirk curled on her full lips. “You’ll have to discover that for yourself.”
We entertained each other for most of the flight. When we landed, she gave me her number and said to call if I wanted someone to show me around LA. I'm sure she could show me a few places I hadn't seen before.
The studio sent a limousine to pick me up from the airport. The driver met me on the tarmac, holding a sign that read: Wild. He introduced himself, grabbed my bag, and escorted me to the car. He got the door as I slid into the comfy leather seats, then loaded my bag into the trunk.
Nash was his name—a different driver than last time, but equally as cordial. He chauffeured me through the city, over the hill, down Highland, and west on Sunset Boulevard. The route had become familiar, and it almost felt like coming to a home away from home. Massive billboards with movie posters towered over the avenue. There were blockbuster advertisements on the sides of buses and a constant bustle of foot traffic on the sidewalks.
