“What’s the price?”
“Oh, huh…” he scratches his head. “She’s just under ten thousand.”
Ten thousand is nothing, but I didn’t plan on spending money on something so frivolous. I’m already worried about making sure the money I do have continues to grow even when the music stops. I could be faced with paying two college bills if either boy doesn’t receive a scholarship. I’m fully expecting Noah to receive one, but he could change his mind about sports and chose a different path.
“I’ll take it,” I tell him without second-guessing myself. I know I don’t need it and I know that I’m contradicting every reasonable thought flooding my mind, but I’ll just have to add it to the list of things I need to tell Josie about. Fuck, if that list isn’t getting long.
The salesman looks at me like I have two heads. I probably do. I pull out my wallet and hand him my credit card. He takes it, looking at the name and back at me.
“I’ll just…” he points his thumb over his shoulder. He’s nervous and probably hoping that I don’t say anything about his poor sales technique to his manager.
“I’ll need a helmet too, please.”
“Right away, Mr. Page.”
I can’t help but smile as he rushes to his cubicle. Others linger around, a few of them whispering. It’ll be exciting if someone comes up to ask for my autograph. It’ll make me feel like I matter again. I sit down on my bike, getting a feel for how she feels between my legs. She’s smaller and lighter than the one I have at home, but I have a feeling this one will be ridden more. I’ll even teach Josie how to ride it. This will be perfect for her.
A flash gets my attention, and when I look up, I see one of the young saleswomen quickly typing on her phone as she turns away from me. My heart drops, knowing that my image is about to hit social media. I won’t have to tell Josie what I’m doing because this chick just did it for me.
“Hey,” I call out, stopping her dead in her tracks. “What did you say when you posted my picture?”
“I… I didn’t.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head slightly. “Lying is very unbecoming and I do believe taking photos of your clients without their permission is against company policy, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Page. I’ll remove it immediately,” she says as she walks away. The damage is done. She knows it and is probably at her desk crying. I’m faced with either telling her boss or letting it go. Today is not the day that I want to ruin anyone’s life, so she should be thankful. My picture is out there and there isn’t shit I can do about it. When I call to talk to Noah tonight, I’ll tell Josie that I had an impulse and bought a new motorcycle.
Once the paperwork is printed and everything is signed, I’m pushing my new toy out of the showroom and onto the streets of LA. Slipping my helmet on, I turn her on, letting the bike idle while I get a feel for her. I can’t wait to see what she does on the road.
It’s not long until I’m weaving my way through Mulholland Blvd. After being gone for a few years, I’d have thought things would’ve changed, but they haven’t. I slow down when I get to my grandma’s street. I haven’t been back here since I moved into the penthouse and I’m not sure why I am now. Shutting off the bike and removing my helmet, I look up at the big white house that I called home for a short time of my life.
The black gate and fence that protected her from intruders still stands tall. Whoever is living here has been maintaining the landscaping that she loved so much. In fact, everything looks freshly painted. My heart swells with pride for my grandparents, knowing that the home they shared is being loved.
“Can I help you?” A lady walking her dog stops next to me.
“No, just looking at the house. I used to know the previous owner.”
She looks at me with confusion written all over her face. “The lady that lived here died, but her family took over her estate.”
She’s right, she did die... but now I’m confused. I run my hand over my hair and think back to when my grandmother died. I told Sam to sell it or donate it, but never followed up on it.
“Do you know who owns it?”
The lady shakes her head and offers a small smile. “West something or other. The family is never here but they make sure the house is well maintained. You’d think someone lives there.”
“Don’t they?” I ask, even though I know the answer. The only person, other than me, who could stake a claim, is my mother and I’m not sure she even knows her mother died.
“Not for ten years or more. I’ve lived next to this house for fifteen years. There was a young kid one time, but haven’t seen him since she passed away.” The neighbor looks at the house and sighs. “I’m sure if you were interested in buying, they’d sell. The County office will have the information.”
She and her dog are down the street before I’m done processing everything. There’s no way I still own this house, but someone does. Someone has been taking care of this property all these years and I need to figure out who they are and why they’re doing it.
When I arrive back at the club, the back alley is lined-up with cars. At best, there have been two or three back here at a time, but nowhere near a dozen or more. The benefit of having a bike is that you can park anywhere, squeezing into the smallest spots, even making your own. That’s what I end up doing, right by the back door.
As soon as I’m inside, Harrison is pulling me into the green room. He looks pissed off, and that’s not a good thing. It takes a lot to piss him off.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Oh yeah, he’s pissed.
“I needed to get some fresh air.”
Harrison pulls off his trademark beanie and runs his hand through his short hair. “Remember when Trixie asked if Sal sent us?”
I nod, remembering well. Harrison and I had no idea who she was talking about.
“Sal is Mr. Moreno, as in Sam’s father, as in majority owner of Moreno Entertainment.”
I shake my head, disagreeing with him. “Nah, Sam’s dad is named Anthony, but he prefers to be called Moreno. It’s like he thinks he’s Madonna or some shit like that.”
“No,” he says, with his head moving back and forth. “Salvador Anthony Moreno is his name and right now he’s out in the club with a shit load of fucking reporters. Trixie hired him to do some promo work for the fundraiser and he’s scheduled a press event.”
“What?”
“Yeah, apparently he and Trixie go way back and she’s always called him Sal. When he started his company, he started going by Anthony.”
“Um… this isn’t good.”
“No, it’s not. We haven’t done a legit interview since Sam was managing us and now that she’s not here to monitor questions, I’m afraid of what shit is going to be asked.”
I start to pace, thinking about what we can do. “We don’t have to do it. We’re not under contract to perform so we’ll skip the interviews.”
“You know, I thought about that as everyone was setting up,” he pauses and puts his hat back on. “But we need the press. We need to be in front of the people again.”
I shake my head, not willing to put myself out there. “I can’t.”
The door to the green room opens. Trixie steps in, looking like the Trixie of old. Her hair is jet black and her lips are painted crimson red. She looks like she’s about to shatter the dreams of every wannabe musician tonight.
“I need you, Page.”
“No can do, Trixie. Interviews are messy and we don’t have an agent or manager to ward off fucked up questions.”
Trixie walks up to me with her hands on her hips. “I gave you a shot when you needed it and now I need you. I need people to see that it’s never too late to come home.”
“I know that, it’s why I left LA.”
“You may have left LA, but it didn’t leave you. You still depend on the industry to provide for you. I need you, Page. You came back to help, so do it. You owe me.” Her hands drop from her hips and her posture changes. She looks sad and broken. I shouldn’t fall for this, but I am. She’s right, I do owe her.