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His office is full of framed records, a pair of drumsticks, and even a famous article of clothing worn by a popular artist from the fifties. The guitar I acquired for him will be displayed in the glass case sitting to the left of his desk. All of this to impress potential clients, tricking them into thinking he knows what he’s doing.
“Cash,” he greets me, pushing his chair out and standing to shake my hand politely.
“Mr. Whitney,” I respond politely, and set the package on his desk.
“Please, call me Glenn.”
Glenn is a nice enough man, with thinning strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He wears a suit even on the weekend, readjusting his tie as he leans over the desk to take a look at the box.
“I hope this wasn’t too hard to find,” he says as he pulls open the package.
“Not when you can be the highest bidder,” I say seriously, and he laughs like I made a joke.
Money is no object for a man like Glenn, and that’s a very dangerous thing. Being the highest bidder is an advantage for him because there were many other wealthy people who wanted to take this home. No doubt Glenn revels in the fact that he won, and now it will sit in his office as a further reminder that he can get whatever he wants.
In my back pocket, I can feel my phone vibrate. I pull it out while Glenn opens the package and read the text from Greta.
I feel my stomach drop, an innocent reaction to the information provided, but I should have been expecting it. I hadn’t spoken to Greta since Mia and I got divorced.
Here’s Peter’s address. He lives in San Francisco.
After my conversation with Wade last week, I reached out to her and got some information from Jay without giving away Sasha’s identity. It’s important for her to be the one to decide whether she wants to explore this option. I can place his address in the palm of her hand, and she can make the choice on whether to contact him or not. That also means I’m going to have to have an uncomfortable conversation.
I watch as Glenn carefully unwraps the guitar, wishing I could leave without being rude, but now I’m eager to get back to the store.
The auction house does an excellent job of making sure there is no damage in transport, and I wish they didn’t so Glenn could open it quicker. He will want to inspect it before I leave, to make sure he got what he paid for. Once all the layers are peeled away, he picks the guitar up carefully, holding it in his hands as if it will break. This guitar, even though it’s a rarity, was meant to be played. I understand that some guitars have been touched by greatness, signed by their famous owners, or played in extraordinary circumstances, but they were always meant to be played. When he places it on the stand inside the glass case, I shake my head a little.
“This is a beauty.” He marvels at it, and I take the opportunity to excuse myself.
“I’ll just let myself out.”
Distracted by the guitar, he briefly recognizes my departure. “Thank you so much for delivering it. It already looks excellent in my collection,” he says politely.
I walk back down the hallway and Blanca races ahead of me, preparing to open the door for me. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell her, feeling uncomfortable at being escorted.
“It’s my job, Mr. Morgan,” she says.
I walk outside and see Gabriel’s landscaping truck parked behind my bike. Blanca rushes past me.
Gabriel exits the truck and tips his chin to me in greeting.
“Workers are supposed to use the south entrance,” Blanca yells at him.
“Why does he get to park here?” Gabriel protests.
“That’s none of your business,” Blanca chastises him.
Gabriel responds to her in Spanish, and she narrows her eyes at him, briefly looking behind her. “English, please,” she instructs him, and Gabriel bristles.
Gabriel’s friend, Ricardo, hops out of the truck and starts to walk towards the back of the property. I gave Mr. Whitney Gabriel’s information because he mentioned he had a big job to redesign his backyard, so I wasn’t surprised to see him, it’s just a coincidence we are here at the same time.
I take the opportunity to approach Gabriel before I leave. “What was all of that about inDeSoto’s?” I ask him, remembering the commotion between him and Mariana when I was getting my bike worked on. “Did it have something to do with Sasha?” I worry because I don’t want her getting mixed up in his drama. If Mariana was jealous that he was spending time with her, I don’t want Sasha getting mixed up in the crossfire between them.
Gabriel laughs and juts his chin defiantly, “Don’t worry, your girl’s all good.”
I can tell that’s all I’m going to get out of him, and really, it’s none of my business what goes on in his love life. I nod goodbye and walk the few feet to my bike, kick my leg over the seat and flip my sunglasses down, hitting the kick-start.
I don’t look back as I hit the clutch and take the driveway out onto the street on my way back to Santa Monica. Sasha has been watching the store for me until I return, and there’s equal parts trepidation and elation at the thought of seeing her. I’ve let myself fall, and in a way it feel’s freeing, giving up control. That’s what she does to me, makes me lose control. Now it’s time to let go of my baggage.
