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“Homicidal thoughts?” Keane says. “That’s no bueno. Come on, Reed. Z and I will fix you right up.”
Chapter 31
Reed
Once outside on the patio, Keane, Zander, and I move toward a dark, isolated corner by a low retaining wall, where we can smoke out and gaze at the amazing view without a hundred people approaching to kiss my ass, or bum a hit off the joint, or gush over Keane. But when our threesome comes to a stop, Fish’s voice rises up from the ground only a few feet away.
“Well, hello there, fellas,” he says. And when I look down, there he is, camped with Georgina’s stepsister on the opposite side of a low retaining wall, their backs against the wall as they gaze out at the sparkling view.
Keane, Zander, and I look at each other, nonverbally acknowledging what we all instantly understand: we’re totally cockblocking Fish right now.
“Sorry, brother,” Zander says. “Carry on. We came out here to smoke a joint, but we can certainly find another spot.”
“Oh, no need to do that,” Fish says, hopping up with a laugh. He pulls his girl up with him. “Did everybody meet Alessandra at the pool?”
“Yeah,” Keane says. “Hey, Ally Cat.”
She waves shyly.
“Hello again, Alessandra,” I say. I met her briefly this afternoon, but she was so intimidated, she barely held my gaze. And this time isn’t much better. Which, frankly, annoys me. Whether she’s intimidated or not, she needs to put on her big girl panties and try to impress me. She’s a music student, for fuck’s sake! And I’m the head of River fucking Records. If she can’t pull her shit together enough to at least try to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, how is she ever going to make it in the music business? Has this girl never heard the phrase “seize the day”? How about “fake it till you make it”?
Exhaling with frustration, I take the joint from Keane and inhale extra deeply and then hold it out to Zander, who takes an extra-long hit, too. He offers it to Fish, who does his thing, before offering it to Alessandra, who, not surprisingly, politely declines.
“Give Reed her share,” Keane says. “Murder can really fuck up a guy’s life.”
“Not if they don’t catch ya,” I say, taking the joint from Fish. Another inhale. Another hand-off. A long gulp of my gin and tonic. And I’m feeling pretty good. I smile at Alessandra. “If you’re worried about breaking the law, don’t be.”
She looks at me blankly.
“Weed. It’s legal in California.”
“Oh,” she says, catching my meaning. “Only if you’re twenty-one, right? I’m nineteen.”
We all chuckle, thinking she’s kidding. But when her face blasts with color, we all have the good sense to respectfully pipe down.
“You want another bottle of water?” Fish asks, looking at his girl. “Something to eat?”
Alessandra looks relieved Fish has just offered her an eject button out of this stressful situation. “Yeah, I could use a water. I’ll come with you.”
“Why don’t you stay here and chat with me for a minute, Alessandra,” I say.
She freezes, looking like she’s about to crap her pants.
“Just for a couple minutes,” I say soothingly.
“Uh oh,” Keane says. “What’d you do to get called to the principal’s office, Ally Cat? You done fucked up, sis. Godspeed.”
“She didn’t fuck up anything,” I say. “I just want to chat with her for a minute about music. Georgina mentioned you’re studying music at Berklee.”
“Yes,” she manages to say.
“I know a lot of people who graduated from there,” I say. “It’s a great music school.”
She nods.
I address the three men. “Will you boys excuse us for a few minutes?” I look at Alessandra. “That is, if you’ve got a couple minutes to spare?”
She looks like she’s going to throw up, but she says, “Of course. Great.”
“I’ll come back in a bit,” Fish says. He looks excited, like he’s thinking this could be a once in a lifetime opportunity for this girl, if only she plays her cards right.
“Okay,” she squeaks out.
“If you’re not here when I get back for some reason, I’ll find you.”
“Great,” she replies, but her red cheeks make it clear she’s inwardly freaking out.
When Fish and the other guys are gone, I lead Alessandra to a nearby bench in a quiet corner. Once we’re situated, I take a long swallow of my drink, finishing it off. I put the empty glass on the ground next to me, gaze for a long moment at the view, and then say calmly, “I’ve heard your demo, Alessandra. All three songs.” I look at her. “And you’ve got some work you need to do, if your dream is to make a living as a professional artist.”
She presses her lips together, her eyes wide, but says nothing.
“The good news? I like the quality and tone of your voice. I love your vocal control. Very impressive. I also think you’ve got a good sense of melody and how to build a song. But if you don’t figure out who you are as an artist—as a person—then these next two years of time and tuition are going to be wasted, assuming you went to Berklee because you want to make music your career. As things stand now, I could get you work as a demo singer. Maybe even a backup singer. You could write songs for other artists. But if you want to be an artist in your own right, if you want to perform your songs and make a living doing that, then you’ve got a lot of work to do.”
