Page 3 of Driving Beats

I pick up the rake and begin the calming and repetitive task of making sure the lines are the exact same distance apart. When I veer too much to the right, I self-correct to ensure the garden is a quiet sanctuary. If someone enters the gate from the side, this is the first thing they will see. However, I don’t do this for visitors.

I do it for myself.

I’m finally starting to find the peace I need. This will satisfy me until I can get to the retreat and refill the well.

Finished with this aspect of my practice, I place the rake in its proper spot and take a seat on one of the boulders. My cell rings and, with a clear conscience, I pick it up. “How are you doing, Mom?”

“Good. Just wanted to hear my baby boy’s voice.”

Even though I’m thirty-one, I’ll always be her baby. With a smile, I reply, “You’re always my priority. What’s going on over in Jersey?”

“Oh, the usual. Your father thinks he’s about to become a professional golfer, your brother’s buried in work, and I’m trying not to strangle people ordering centerpieces at the last minute. I’m thinking about joining a new book club at the library. Figured it’s time I did something for fun.”

I bought them a house and membership to the country club when UC earned their first platinum album. Sounds like my father’s getting good use out of it. “Seems as if everything’s normal.”

“It is. Hey—did I tell you your grandfather’s living it up in France with the cooking group of his? Getting hit on by all the ladies.” She laughs.

“And being Grandpa, he’s turning all of them down. Grandma was it for him.” She died eight years ago, and he still talks about their great love. He used to say there’s one lid for every pot. Don’t I know it.

“Well enough about me. How are you doing, Mr. Oscar Award winner?”

“Other than losing my luggage, everything’s fine.”

“Excuse me? Aren’t you guys flying private? How did this happen?”

I adore how indignant she gets on my behalf. “Our team’s trying to get to the bottom of it.”

She takes a moment to process, then in typical Mom-style, surprises me. “I should thank whoever took it,” she laughs. “I’ve been after you for how many years to buy yourself some new clothes.”

“Seems like you finally got your wish. Most annoying is I’m about to buy a whole wardrobe thanks to the help of UC’s stylist. I told Luke I could order stuff off the internet, but that was a non-starter.”

“Thank God for the stylist. You’re going to have to send me photos of you in your new duds.”

My head bows. “I will.” We end our conversation with an update about my brother’s family. After hanging up, I retreat to my bedroom. It’s decorated exactly the way I want, with a large king-size bed covered in plush, deep purple sheets—a nod to my everlasting respect for the king of guitarists, Prince. The drapes match the sheets and have blackout shades behind them.

In my closet I carefully fold the clothes I’m wearing, then turn on the shower. The steam rises in the en suite, which I allow to regulate my system.

I rinse off and prepare for bed. Although it’s too early to sleep, I have the perfect solution. Naked, I slip under the covers and instead of reading—I’ve been doomscrolling in my mind too much today—I click on a streaming service and select my favorite movie. Soon, Gandalf the Grey is leading a group through mythical realms. The final clink of calmness overtakes me.

Tomorrow will only be a blip on my month-long vacation. I’ll get new clothes and be ready for the retreat next week.

Nothing will interfere with my hard-earned Zen.

2

NESE

Iput my cell down after doing more recon about where I’m going to meet Coop tomorrow to start shopping for his replacement wardrobe. Frankly, the fact that his luggage got lost is not a bad thing. That man really needs my skills to give him a makeover. I worked wonders on him for the stage. Now I get to do his off-gig clothes too.

I rub my hands together.

Plopping down onto the bed in my hotel room, I decide I need to adjust my plans. UC’s on a four-week hiatus, so I can extend my reservation until then—if I leave early, the hotel won’t care. My flight home, though? Better cancel it. I’ll deal with rebooking once I know when I’m actually going back to Georgia.

Flipping over, I grab my phone and make the changes. Thank you, UC, for paying me more than enough to foot this bill.

Done, I notice the hotel provided a glossy magazine about LA on the nightstand. Since I’ve only been here for two days, which was taken up entirely by the Oscars, I skim through the pages. Skipping the museums and movie sets, I focus on the stores.

So many to choose from. I told Coop to meet me at M. Marcel tomorrow, which is featured in a gorgeous multi-page spread. I talked with other stylists at the Oscars last night, and they all said this was the place to go for men’s fashion—the reason why I chose the store as our starting point. The magazine has tons of clothing stores for men, so I tear out the most promising ones. Buying a whole new wardrobe isn’t something to be done overnight. It takes several stops to make a man look good.