More Than Anything (16 page)

“Sage won that recent talent contest in New York. Did you see it?” June asks.

“Mmm, no.”

“She’s doing a record with my brother. It’s going to be big time.”

“Oh, wow. That’s awesome,” Trish manages, but her attention’s already wandering along with her gaze. She waves at a new arrival and smiles at us both, and then pushes her way into the room, leaving us staring at each other.

“Looks like she’s back on the skag. That’s a shame. She’s got a real problem with it.”

I think about Derek’s mom and about how different Trish’s life must be than hers, but how the same destination’s at the end of both their roads, and I shake my head. “It gets a lot of street people, too.”

“It’s super big in the party scene here. I don’t touch that shit, but you’d be surprised how many do. Stupid,” she says, her tone bitter. She holds up her martini glass and clinks my still full one. “Cheers.”

I meet more of her friends, none of whom seem particularly thrilled to be there, and recognize a young actor who’s currently one of the hot names at the box office. He’s talking to a male friend who looks like a wannabe beat poet, right down to the beret.

It takes June a half hour to introduce me to everyone. A few of the people saw the show and recognize me, but they’re way too cool to do anything but nod knowingly. I’m wondering whether it’s the money, or Hollywood, or maybe Beverly Hills, that has so many girls not much older than me acting like their poop doesn’t stink, and shrug it off. My drink’s empty, and I decide to go for something tamer. June’s on her third cosmo, but she’s showing no signs of getting drunk. I ask for champagne, and the wrestler/bartender nods and pours me a flute full of something French, and then asks if I’d like him to make it a kir royale. I nod. Why not?

He pours a small dollop of red liqueur into the glass, and I taste it. Not bad. Not bad at all. For a moment, standing on the imported distressed marble in a house that costs as much as some countries, I marvel at how far I’ve come from the Haight, and remember Sebastian’s warning about keeping it real.

We leave after an hour and a half, and I’m yawning by the time we make it to the car.

“What do all those people do?” I ask.

“Most of them are in show business or in school. I call it the Club.”

“The club?”

“The Lucky Sperm Club. None of them made their own money – it’s all their parents. They’re second generation show business money, for the most part – sons and daughters of actors, directors, producers, attorneys, who are going to the best schools and have every opportunity. Yet none of them’s likely to do anything but this.” She shrugs.

“Doesn’t sound like you like them very much.”

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s more like self-hate. My dad was the head of a studio back in the day and left Mom a small fortune. I grew up maybe four blocks from here.”

“Really? But you don’t strike me as…well…”

“I’m not a junkie or a jerkoff, you mean?”

I’m blushing. “Something like that.”

“Maybe we were raised differently. We had to claw for everything we got. My dad was a workaholic, and that rubbed off on us. When my mom died, we each inherited half the fortune, but it didn’t go to our heads. For a lot of these people, their job is waiting for their parents to die. I want something more.” She sighs. “I’m just not sure what.”

The ride home is slower than the drive there, June being more careful now that she’s drunk her body weight in vodka. She hesitates as I get out of the car. I turn to her.

“Thanks for everything, June. It was fun.”

“Yeah, no problem. It was fun. We have to do it again sometime soon.”

“Remember my friend’s here in a couple of days. He’s a one-man fiesta. You’ll love him. He’s Broadway show people. Liza with a Z,” I say, and she looks puzzled. “Never mind. You saw him on the show. He’s the guy with the different color hair.”

“Oh, my God! Jeremy?
That
Jeremy? I love, love, love him!”

“Then it’s a date, because you’ll be able to love him in person. In a sisterly way.”

She smiles sadly. “All the best ones are either taken, or…not interested. Why is that?”

“Beats me.” I want to ask what her brother’s deal is, but I haven’t drunk nearly enough to blurt that out, so thankfully I don’t embarrass myself.

Upstairs, after brushing my teeth and stripping off my clothes, I fall asleep holding Derek’s postcard, the thin piece of cardboard a lousy substitute for the real thing.

The next morning I’m dragging a little. Sebastian can tell, but I put my game face on, and we go at it. Saul’s approved all the songs we picked, so now it’s about agreeing on arrangements for basic tracks, which we’ll start that afternoon. Jeremy’s bringing Yam with him on the plane, and I’ll do my bit once my guitar’s here. I know it’s superstitious, but Yam’s treated me right so far, and we’ve done well together, and I don’t want to jinx it by cheating on him with another guitar.

Sebastian is fine with that – he tells me stories about really odd rituals some of his acts go through, and my little eccentricity pales in comparison.

June shows up before we’re done, and doesn’t let on that we were out together last night. Sebastian begs off when she invites him to dinner – he’s in the middle of setting up drum sounds with a studio heavyweight who plays on half the records Sebastian does in the studio. Meanwhile a world famous bass player who just got off a one year tour supporting a household name is lounging in the pinball room – it’s clearly going to be a long night.

I watch as he sits hunched over the console, brow furrowed as he dials in the exact sound he’s looking for while the drummer hammers on the kick drum like a metronome. Maybe I’ve got the better part of the job on this one. June tells me that he’ll probably be there till four or five in the morning, and only catnap before I show back up at nine. I wonder what could drive a man who apparently has everything to choose that as his existence.

Jeremy arrives in Los Angeles with the force of a hurricane. By the time June shows up with him at the studio, they’re new best friends. I’m not surprised – Jeremy has that effect on people. We’re in the middle of listening to the tracks Sebastian has selected for basics on the first couple of songs, discussing possible vocal arrangements, when they arrive, which I don’t discover until we emerge from the control room and hear laughter and screaming from the pinball room.

June and Jeremy are having an epic battle of
Grand Theft Auto
, which is immediately forgotten when he sees me. He leaps to his feet and rushes to me and hugs me like I’m his long-lost sister, which is a little bit how it feels. I’m glad he’s here. June’s right – all work and no play grinds you down. The perfect antidote is Jeremy, whose hair is now a relatively conservative ebony black, like mine.

“Look at you with your hair and clothes! Get down with your bad self,” Jeremy howls, taking in my leather pants, which I’ve donned in honor of his arrival.

“Jeremy, this is Sebastian. Sebastian, Jeremy. We were roommates in New York.”

Sebastian shakes his hand politely, his mind obviously still back in the control room, and after a few minutes of small talk, excuses himself.

“What’s with Mr. Grumpy?” Jeremy whispers to me in a stage voice.

“He hasn’t gotten laid in too long,” June offers brightly.

“Ooh, that’ll do it, all right. Let me know if I can help in any way,” he says with a theatrical leer.

“Oh, I don’t think you can, Jeremy,” June says and looks hard at me.

“What?” I ask, but June and he exchange a glance and shake their heads.

“Nothing, doll. Just go back in and make a hit record while Juju and I dish about gossip. How long will you be?” Jeremy asks.

“At least another four hours. We have a lot to do.”

June winks at Jeremy. “I know a couple of spots where we can get into trouble while we’re waiting. Have you ever been to L.A. before?”

“The closest I’ve come to California is a fireman from Fresno. Strong, silent type,” Jeremy quips, and they laugh like schoolgirls.

“All right. I’ll leave you to your evil plan. Figure we’ll wind this down by 7:30 or 8:00 tonight,” I say.

“I’ll take good care of your friend,” June promises with a wink, and I have no doubt she will. “Come on, cowboy. I’ll show you the ropes.”

“Careful, dahling, I bruise easily,” Jeremy says, and they titter as they make their way to the metal door. “I left your guitar by the couch,” Jeremy calls out, and then they’re gone. I shake my head and return to where Sebastian is waiting.

“Seems like my sister found a soul mate,” he says.

“It’s hard not to like Jeremy,” I agree.

“They seem perfect for each other. You ready to take another stab at this?” he asks, and I nod, by now used to the marathon hours involved in making a record.

It seems like I just turned around when June’s back with Jeremy. I look at the time – it’s almost 8:00. Both of them smell like alcohol, and I have no doubt they enjoyed their afternoon, judging by their grins.

“You ready to grab something to eat?” June asks, and I nod.

“Sure. I’m starving. But we need to drop Jeremy’s stuff off at my place first. Unless you’re okay with your stuff in the trunk.”

“Never minded a little junk in the trunk,” Jeremy quips, and he and June exchange a look and giggle.

“You are so bad,” she says.

“That I’m good,” he agrees, which brings more laughter.

I say goodnight to Sebastian, who’s oblivious to everything but the board. We cram into June’s Mercedes and drive to Melrose. Jeremy’s requested seafood, and June knows just the place.

Dinner’s a blast – all I have to do is sit back and listen as June and Jeremy riff off each other to the annoyed glares of nearby diners, which they cheerfully ignore. When we’re done, they agree that we should do a tour of the Sunset Strip, and then Jeremy wants to see West Hollywood.

The Strip is just coming alive when we arrive, cars inching along as throngs of partiers jaywalk to the clubs. We park a block off the main drag and walk the infamous stretch of Sunset Boulevard. Jeremy’s taking photos every five feet, insisting that we all group together in front of whatever landmark catches his eye.

By the time we make it back to the apartment, it’s almost midnight, and I’m yawning every few minutes. June gets out of the car and hugs Jeremy tight, and they agree to hook up again tomorrow, but not too early.

I show him around, and he’s impressed. We sit on the contemporary leather couch, and he leans into the soft back before fixing me with a frank stare.

“So, my sweet, you’ve got quite a friend there. She’s a doll.”

“She’s really nice, isn’t she?”

“And her brother’s a dish. I don’t see how you can work with him all day and not be distracted. I’d just be staring at him.”

“I manage.”

“And how are things with what’s-his-name?”

“Derek.” I pause, trying for the right word. “Frustrating. I wish he was here, or I was there.”

“Sounds like you’re back to where you were when I met you.”

“Except we have no reason to be just friends anymore.”

“Ah. I forgot your silly rule.”

“It wasn’t mine. But we agree it was dumb.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know. I can’t really get away, and neither can he.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Of course you can. Take a long weekend. If you think you can get everything you need to do with Derek done in only a couple of nights. God knows I’ve had whole relationships in a matter of hours.” He laughs. “Hop on the red-eye back to L.A. and you’ll be in the studio right on time.”

“I wish it was that easy. Sebastian wants me there all the time.”

“I’ll bet he does.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”

“He does not.”

“Does so.”

“Not.”

“So.”

I swat him. “Did you come here just to torture me?”

“My dear, you’ve got the torture thing covered on your own. If I had two strapping young stallions chasing after me like you do, I’d be trying to figure out a way to ride both horses. But you? I’ve seen more action in a convent.”

“You sound like Melody.”

“Wise young lady, she is.” Jeremy purses his lips. “But enough about you. Let’s talk about how exciting my life is!”

I smile. “Tell me all about the show.”

“Well, I’m the phantom, and they’re paying me two grand a week for as long as I can hold a note. Which isn’t a fortune by your lofty standards, but for me it means no more waiting tables and a shot at something bigger and better if the reviews are kind.”

“Which they will be. You’re a genius.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere. Bless you, my child.”

“I’m serious. When’s opening night?”

“Too soon. This is my last fling before I really knuckle down.”

“Any interest from record companies?”