“I thought the lower garage was out of action,” grumbled Adam.
“For everyone else, yes,” said Mal. “But it takes more than a parking gate to stop me. Ever since Sam started to share his cool commando spy tips, I’ve been unstoppable.”
“By spy tips, you mean whining until the super gave you the emergency override codes?” asked Anne without even a hint of sarcasm. What a woman.
The elevator chimed and slid to a stop. Bon stepped out and put his hand over the door opening to stop it from closing. Adam grabbed my hand and followed, tugging me along.
“Let’s not change the subject from Adam’s misdeeds,” continued Mal in a low voice so as not to wake the sleeping baby. “I’m sorry, boy, but you know it’s for your own good. Also, it’s past your bedtime. Don’t forget to brush your teeth first though.”
“He’s about the same age as you were when we met,” said Anne.
“Yeah, but drummers mature faster than guitarists. Everyone knows that, pumpkin.” Mal sighed. “Adam, you’re just not emotionally mature enough to deal with sexual intimacy and adult relationships. Not sure you ever will be. Take my advice and stick to the hand. I appreciate that this is the first time you’ve attempted to bring a lady friend home—that I’m aware of. Which makes me even more curious about just who she is. But the rule still stands. Send the nice girl on her way, please.”
We stood in another hallway with doors leading to apartments at either end. More white marble on the floor. This place must cost a small fortune, and Adam lived here now. Yikes.
Adam turned back and stared at the drummer.
Mal tipped his chin. “What?”
Anne waved at one and all. “Ignore my idiot husband and have a nice night.”
Without comment, Bon removed his hand, and the elevator doors started to close.
Then Mal grinned. He grinned like a man who found himself immensely amusing. I had to admit, he was kind of funny. “Mystery girl is smiling,” said Mal. “She likes me!”
His wife shushed him. “You’ll wake Tommy.”
“Sorry, sorry.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “By the way, it’s not called ‘whining’ when spies do it. It’s ‘working an asset.’”
And then they were gone.
“I’m not sure if he’s different than how I thought he’d be, or exactly how I thought he’d be.” I frowned in thought. “You live with actual rock stars. Wow.”
Adam frowned in annoyance. “I am a rock star.”
“Eh.”
“At least he got you to stop crying.”
Bon opened the apartment door and dealt with the security system before looking back to Adam with some unspoken request. Sure enough, he took over holding open the door so the bodyguard could move into the apartment, turning on lights as he went. There were wide wooden floorboards, tall arched windows, and an interesting color scheme. A long, pale blue plush-looking sofa, a grey rug, and a couple of white leather armchairs. A silver resonator guitar hung on the wall along with a collection of gold and platinum albums. The rest of his guitars would be somewhere close. Even before all of the money, he’d owned a minimum of three or four at any given time, including a Martin he’d won in a poker game. And then there were the amps, a veritable wall of them. Old valve amps that looked like they dated back to the ark, and gleaming new ones with enough buttons and knobs to intimidate an air traffic controller. It was a wonder we could move about in the tiny living room at my place with all of his stuff. For certain, he wouldn’t have the same issue here. The apartment was huge.
“How many records did you have to sell to get those?” I asked, looking at the framed records.
“Half a million for the gold, and a million for the platinum.”
“No wonder so many people try to friend me on social media to discuss you and how I ruined our perfect relationship.”
His brows went up. “People do that?”
“Yep.”
“I never told anyone your name.”
“Word got around anyway.”
The man did not look happy. He slipped a hand to my lower back, urging me into the apartment. “Bon will be finished with his security check in a minute. Come on in.”
“Has anyone ever actually been hiding out in your shower or under your bed?”
He shook his head, tucking his straggly long hair behind his ears. “This building’s secure. It’s why I bought the place. Along with Dave and Mal being here already.”
“You’re close to them, huh?”
“They’ve been good friends. Most of the time.” He glanced over at me, his forehead furrowed.
“What? What is that look for?”
“Nothing.” He paused. “It’s just strange seeing you again. You in this context is…interesting. Not bad, just unexpected.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I thought you hated me.”
My shoulders slumped. “Ignore what I said in the car. I was having a very small and probably long-overdue meltdown. But the truth is, I never hated you. It probably would have been easier if I had. You just disappointed me, big time.”
Bon wandered out of one of the back rooms, standing almost at attention. “Will you be in for the rest of the night, Mr. Dillon?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay put. Don’t worry. You can head home.” From out of the glossy double fridge, Adam retrieved two beers and set them on the white stone countertop. The rest of the kitchen was navy. Very dramatic.
On silent feet, Bon exited the apartment, locking the front door behind him.
“This sure is a change from my crappy little apartment.” I took the beer he offered, taking a long gulp. My throat was still itchy from the totally unnecessary tears. “You must love it here.”
He shrugged.
“Did you buy it already decorated?”
“Yeah. Some financier asshole lived here last.” He sprawled out on the white couch. “Pretty sure Mal annoyed the dude into moving. None of them liked him. Apparently, he complained about the bodyguards coming and going, the fans out front, and all that.”
“Guess it would take some getting used to.”
He took a swig of his beer.
“Are we going to talk about the check?” I asked, slipping into one of the armchairs. Very comfy. “I think we should.”
“What’s there to say? You deserve the money, Jill. As far as I’m concerned, you earned it.”
“Adam—”
“No one supported me and my music like you did. Showing up for every gig you could, helping to lug equipment, giving me space to write my songs.” He stared out a window at the lights of the Pearl District. “Even if it was too much for you in the end…”
I downed some beer. The less said about ye olde days, the better. It would only lead to more fights. And what was even the point of rehashing the past yet again?
His sneaker tapped out a beat against the floor and he pulled out his cell. Soon enough, Howlin’ Wolf played over the sound system. Blues had always been his go-to when stressed. “Too damn quiet in here.”
“Is that why you go out all the time?” I crossed my legs, waving my foot in the air. Guess we were both a little wired. “Heard Martha say something about it when you got in the car. And then there’s the tea being served in mighty amounts. Did you really trash a hotel room? Isn’t that a bit clichéd?”