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“Hello there, Rory. I’m Don. I assume you’re the owner of this house?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry about the accident, sweetheart. These things happen, but I do promise you I will have it fixed for you tout suite.” Rory nodded at Don’s reassurance. No scoffing sounds this time; those are reserved only for me, Arsen thought.
“I am sure Arsen is sorry for all this. So am I. We shouldn’t be disrupting your life like this.” Don made the apologetic face that he was so good at making. One of the reasons why he was the best in the business. He always adapted to the situation instantly and made himself appear whatever he needed to be.
“Thank you so much for taking care of my boy here. Y’know how boys are. They can get rowdy sometimes.” Don spoke in a matter-of-fact tone and Rory nodded in agreement. Arsen knew that Don could sense some hostility between him and Rory, and he was irked at the stupid picture Don was painting of him. But what do I care what she thinks of me? I’m never going to see her again.
“Thanks, Don. That really paints me in a favorable light,” he couldn’t help but mutter. Hell would freeze over before he’d have himself called silly in front of that proud girl. Don gave him a stern look as if to say, “Shut up and let me handle this.” Arsen merely shrugged.
“Are we fucking done here? Don, you said we were just coming to pick up Arsen and then we’d be off. I left the hot tub running back at the villa,” Mickey whined.
Always the selfish one. I knew you didn’t come on your own, you jackass. Don made you come here. Don was desperate to patch things up between his two superstars but so far, he’d failed miserably.
“Take it easy, Mickey. Why don’t you go outside in the garden and let me handle this,” Don said in his authoritative tone.
“Good idea! Let me show you around, Mickey. I’d love to!” Lizzy exclaimed. Mickey shrugged his shoulder, put his arm around her, and walked out.
If there was one thing that Mickey loved, it was women. The younger the better, he always said. You can put him in the worst of situations, but if a petite, young, good-looking girl was involved, he would get through it without a sigh. Rory, however, didn’t seem too happy at the idea, and her eyes followed both of them as they walked out.
“As I was saying… do you want me to cut you a check for the damages or should I have someone fix it?”
“Either would be fine,” Rory replied. She seemed much calmer in Don’s presence than she was before. Not the first time the old man had had this effect on someone.
“Okay, I’ll get it fixed for you. Let me also compensate you for letting Arsen stay overnight.’
“That’s okay. I would’ve done the same for anybody else. No big deal,” Rory replied.
“See, she’s the kind of nice people we need more of in this world.” Don turned to Arsen for an affirmative reaction to his statement, but got none. “Bless you, girl. You’ve done a huge favor to me and to the music world by taking care of him. We were very worried when we couldn't find him all night. I’ve barely slept a wink and all my staff have been running around trying to locate him.”
With Don at least, Arsen could believe it. No way in hell did he believe that Mickey spent a sleepless night worrying about him. He probably spent the night with a bunch of women while on three different kinds of drugs at the same time.
Arsen was sure that if Mickey could fire him from the band, he would. But both he and Don knew Arsen’s value to Insurrection. Arsen often chuckled at the thought of Mickey or the rest of the guys writing songs without him. The rest of the guys were nice for the most part, but Arsen knew that they couldn’t put together a tune to save their lives.
“I also have some swag for you.” Don pulled out a bag that he had carried in with him. “A bunch of stuff that is signed by the whole band. I hope you like it.” Rory seemed confused, but accepted the gift. Don’s old trick to get people on his side—give away free signed merchandise.
“Thanks. I am sure my friend Lizzy would love all of this.”
Oh yes, your friend would. Because you are too high and mighty to care about our stupid little band, Arsen thought. He felt strange at feeling resentful toward her. For someone with a pleasant, girl-next-door look, she always seemed to be in a bad mood. How could someone so attractive be such a crank? And why do I care what she thinks?
From the sound on the windows, rain had started to drizzle down and for once, Arsen started to relax. There was something about sitting in this old house with its great acoustics, vintage décor, and homey feel, that lent him a calm that was missing back at the rented villa. He zoned out and turned his thoughts away from the band.
Instead, he was taking in the room, admiring the numerous paintings that were hung on the old walls. There was vintage furniture that one would usually find in a grandmother’s house, and large glass windows that gave the house a very open, spacious look. Voices traveled through the room, hit the walls, and their faint echo—that could only be perceived by the ears of a trained musician—traveled back to Arsen. This house would make a great studio.
Most of all there was a certain vibe to this house. Something he could not put his finger on. It reminded him of that story about the legendary Rolling Stones and how they had hired a villa just like this in the south of France to record their hit album, Exile On Main St. Arsen had always wanted to do that and it was part of the reason why he had come to Montcove—to find his own exile.
He’d thought that by locking themselves up in a villa, the band would work hard and write some quality songs, being away from LA and all the temptations that came with it. Little did he know that Mickey would ensure that all of those temptations followed them here too. In the end, the trip so far had been nothing but a long party. Now more than ever, Arsen was sick of it all.
He just wanted to sit in a room with his guitar and write some songs. If I owned this house, I would instantly make a studio in here. The natural reverb in this place would be worth any hassle.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of thunder outside. Everyone else in the room looked out the windows too. Does it ever stop raining here? It doesn’t rain this much even in London.
Thunderous sounds from the sky were followed by the sounds of running feet. Lizzy and Mickey came rushing inside, half drenched. A fierce wind banged the door behind them and even Mickey’s chauffeur came in to take refuge.
“There’s a storm coming, I think.”
“Yeah, looks like it,” Lizzy said, straightening her wet hair with her hands. The next lightning strike was really loud. A strong downpour was unleashing itself on Montcove.
