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  “What’s going on?” I ask quietly, but she brushes by me, obviously not trusting her voice. I exchange a glance with John and hand him my cup. “Will you excuse me for a second?”

  “Um, sure.”

  I follow Melody to the steel street door and she pushes it open without a word. We walk out into the night and she turns to me, her lip quivering. “He says he’s too busy to see me right now.”

  “He gets that way, Melody. This is what he does. It’s kind of his life.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s that. He was all cold. Like I was a stranger or something.”

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  “I know. I told him we were going to the restaurant, and if he wanted to come, he could. He said he’s too busy. So I asked him about tomorrow, and he said the same thing. That only leaves Sunday night, and then I’m gone.”

  “What did he say about Sunday?” I ask quietly, dreading the answer.

  A tear drifts from her right eye and rolls down her cheek as she tilts her chin up to the moon. “He said, ‘We’ll see.’ He said it like he was my frigging dad and I’d asked him if I could stay up late.”

  I hug her tight. “Oh, Melody.” I don’t know what to say, what advice to give her. I have no idea why Sebastian would turn permafrost on her over a period of, what, two or three weeks, but something has obviously changed.

  I so don’t want to get involved, but with my friend’s heart breaking, I feel like I have no choice.

  “Wait here,” I say.

  “No. Sage. Don’t.”

  “This’ll only take a minute.”

  “Let’s get a cab.”

  “Stay. Here.” There’s steel in my voice. I turn and approach the door. It’s not completely closed, so I push my way through it and march down the hall to the control room. Out of force of habit I look up, but the light isn’t on, so I shoulder my way into the room. Sebastian’s standing by one of the racks of preamps, alone. He looks up at me, surprised, but quickly regains his composure.

  “Hi, Sage.”

  “Sebastian, sorry I came by without calling, but I thought you’d like to see Melody again. Looks like I got that wrong, huh?”

  “I wish you’d called…”

  “Would you have picked up?”

  He gave me a sad smile I know too well. “You got me.”

  “Look, this is none of my business and I know it. But whatever is going on, Melody’s pretty upset. That’s all I wanted to say – that and apologize for barging in.” I want him to know I realize I took advantage of our relationship by bringing Melody here. But I also want him to know that my friend’s hurting, and it’s his doing.

  He looks back at the preamps. “You’re right, Sage. It isn’t any of your business.” His tone softens. “I’m sorry. You know I’m not that great with people. It’s been a long day. Tell your friend I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.”

  “I think it would be better if you told her.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve got way too much to do…”

  “Okay. Fine, Sebastian. We’re going to grab dinner. Forget this happened. Have a nice night.”

  I don’t want to lose my temper with him. He’s my producer, and he’s bent over backwards to make my record a smash. I’ve done my part for Melody. He knows I’m not happy, and I’ve stuck up for my friend.

  I walk back down the corridor to where she’s waiting for me. My phone’s in my hand as I lead her to the gate and I’m talking to the taxi company as we near it. They assure me they’ll have a car there in ten to fifteen minutes, and I tell them to have it come to the corner market at the other end of the block.

  The guard smiles at us as we wait for the gate to slide open. “Nice to see you again, Miss Sage.”

  “Same here, Carl. Don’t let the boss man beat you down.”

  He laughs good-naturedly. “Never.”

  We walk slowly, Melody teetering on her five-inch heels, our fingers entwined.

  “What did he say?” she finally asks as we approach the market.

  “That he’s crazy busy.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “He’s always busy,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.

  “He’s full of shit, isn’t he?”

  I look away. “Melody, I have no idea what’s going on in his head. He’s a top producer. He’s a workaholic with the most insane schedule of anyone I know. I never thought it was a good idea to get too…you know. To get your hopes up.”

  “I thought he really liked me,” she says in a tiny voice. “I thought…it was…something…special. Different.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe it’s just not the right time.” What else can I say? I want to be supportive, but she’s a high school senior and he owns his own recording studio. In what universe is that going to work?

  She sniffs. “That’s not how it feels. There’s something else going on.”

  I don’t want to ask, but I can’t help myself. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe…maybe he’s got someone else.”

  This water’s getting way too deep for my liking. I don’t see the point of speculating about Sebastian’s love life, so I punt. “That would surprise me. I never saw him with anyone when I was making the record.”

  “Yeah, well, he wasn’t interested in me.” She stops walking and holds out her arms. “In me! How often have you seen a dude uninterested in me?”

  She has a point. Jeremy and Derek are the only two men I know who seem immune to Melody’s charms. I eye her, and she unquestionably looks like pure sex waiting to happen. I honestly have no idea what Sebastian is thinking, but I can see the confusion on her face. The idea that a red-blooded male wouldn’t be fixated on Melody is like saying bears are flying overhead – it makes no sense to her.

  “Could be he’s…I don’t know…I can’t read him.”

  “Well, he’s making the mistake of his life,” she says, her tone angry. I know Melody, and she doesn’t deal with rejection well. Mainly because she has no experience with it. She blossomed when she was about thirteen, and ever since then she’s been a dude magnet, so I understand her confusion and hurt.

  “Maybe he is. Hang on. I need to call the restaurant and make sure they have a table.”

  “No, I don’t want to go anymore.”

  “Come on. Tasty lasagna. Num num num.” I poke her ribs and she giggles in spite of herself. I know Melody’s weaknesses, and she’s incredibly ticklish.

  “Damn you, you black witch.”

  I press speed dial. “Let’s hope they aren’t slammed.”

  The host assures me he’ll do his best after I pull my best disappointed star routine. He’s seen me enough times with Sebastian to know I must be somebody, and in Hollywood, if you’re somebody, you don’t get treated like everyone else. It must be how royalty feels. I’ve never played that card, but this is an emergency.

  We survey the candy in the market as the old Korean man who owns the place keeps an eye on us with the suspicious air of a casino pit boss. I have to smile – he’s always here, no matter what time of day or night it is, and always with the same sour expression. He’s probably seen most of the biggest stars in music cross his unlikely threshold over the years, but to look at him you’d think he was waiting for us to whip out Glocks and rob him.

  The taxi arrives faster than I’d hoped, and honks. I pay for two bottles of water and we climb into the car. Melody’s regained her composure, but she’s obviously not talkative, so we ride in silence.

  At the restaurant the host apologizes for the crush at the front door and promises us our table in a few minutes, which turns into twenty. I can’t complain, though, because getting a spot in the popular eatery on a Friday night without a reservation is on the level of winning the lottery.

  When we take our seats in the red booth, Melody pouts as she looks over the menu. “I could really use a dozen beers. Think they’ll overlook my age and bring me a tub of them?” she asks.

  “You could alway
s try, but my hunch is not so much.”

  “Figures. Just not my night.”

  “Hey, the salad rocks and the lasagna’s to die for. Could be worse.”

  “Could be better, too.”

  I’m not going to go there. “So you going to come with me tomorrow and watch us play?”

  “Hang around a train station? You read my mind. That and buses are the way to a girl’s heart.”

  She sounds better, but I can still see the hurt in her eyes.

  The server arrives and takes our drink order – two sodas, hold the keg of Bud. He returns in moments and I order the salad to start and a single serving of lasagna. We settle back in our seats and slurp our drinks while the din of conversation swirls around us. Melody leans forward after a few moments.

  “What exactly did you say to Sebastian?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just that he was a miserable shit rat and I hoped he died of brain cancer.”

  “You did not.”

  “Well, maybe not that bad. But he knows I’m not happy with the way he’s treating my friend.” I smile. “Why?”

  “Because he’s walking over here and I want to know what we’re in for.”

  I manage to blow soda through my nose and mouth at the same time, spraying the table. The only good news is I don’t have a mouthful of bread to go with it. My eyes instantly tear as I gasp and wipe at my face with my napkin. Melody can’t resist laughing.

  I’m mortified and struggling for breath when Sebastian reaches our table. “Got room for one more?” he asks quietly, eyes locked on Melody.

  “It’s a free country,” she says with a shrug.

  He slides in next to her and takes in the wet table and my tearing eyes. “Did I interrupt something?” he asks.

  “Sage here was just demonstrating how to play fire hose with her Diet Coke,” Melody says with a sweet smile.

  “Oh. Nice.” Sebastian’s expression is confused – he clearly doesn’t understand what Melody’s talking about. I manage to soak up the worst of the mess and close my eyes.

  “Fancy meeting a guy like you in a place like this,” I say, recovering from the effervescent burn in my nose.

  “Yeah, well, I was in the neighborhood…”

  “I thought you were too busy,” Melody says flatly.

  I stand. “I’m going to the bathroom. If I’m not back in an hour, call the police.”

  Now that Sebastian’s here, for whatever reason, my work is done. Melody’s got her chance to talk with him, and I don’t want to be there when she does. I’m a maybe not-so-innocent bystander, but if things go poorly between them, I don’t want to be collateral damage.

  My shirt is wet, with brown stains spackled down the front, and I do my best to get them out using paper towels and water. I debate just taking it off and washing it in the sink, but think better of it when a pair of elderly women totter in and give me a disapproving look. I ignore them and do as much damage control as I can, and then pull my phone out of my pocket and check my messages. Nothing. I study my reflection, and I opt for zipping up my jacket rather than looking like a toddler who spilled her sippy cup down her front.

  I wash my hands, take a deep breath, and return to the booth. It’s been about four minutes, which I hope is enough to get whatever needs to be said over with.

  Melody’s squished up next to Sebastian like a stripper trying for a lap dance, and he has a sheepish grin on his handsome face. He flashes his white teeth at me as I sit, and I raise one eyebrow as I catch Melody’s eye.

  “I asked the waiter for a bib,” Melody offers helpfully.

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “I told the nice man you’re on a new medication, and that if you start screaming obscenities not to freak.”

  “You have no idea how close that is to the truth.”

  “Consolation prize – free soda refill if you promise no more spitting,” she says with a smile.

  “Ooh. It is my lucky day.”

  The salad arrives, and the waiter has thoughtfully brought three plates. We load up with greens, and I watch Melody pick at her food like it’s poison. I’m stuffing forkfuls into my mouth with relish – I could be wearing clown makeup and Sebastian wouldn’t notice, he’s so fixated on Melody’s charms.

  The conversation is light banter, staying away from anything serious, and by the time we’re finished with dinner it’s as though nothing’s changed from Melody’s last visit. Sebastian offers us a ride home and apologizes for not being any fun, but he has more work to do at the studio and has to go back. Melody looks crestfallen, but he promises to set more time aside tomorrow night, and I see the glint of victory in her eyes as the valet arrives with his car.

  I’m relegated to the tiny backseat, apparently designed for toddlers or midgets, and I wind up sitting sideways with my legs up on the companion seat. Sebastian drives like a Formula One racer all the way home. I’m thrown around like a feather in a windstorm, but I don’t complain. When we arrive at the building, Melody gets out of the car and pushes her seat forward so I can crawl out, feeling like a pretzel as I stretch.

  “I’ll see you in a minute, okay?” she says in a low voice.

  I nod. “I’ll buzz you in.” I look down at Sebastian. “Night. Thanks for the bumper car ride.”

  “You know better than to drive with me.”

  “How soon they forget,” I say and leave them to each other.

  Ten minutes later the intercom sounds, and I let Melody in. She’s at the front door moments later, pulling her shoes off and sighing as she hops in. She tosses them onto the floor in front of the sofa before collapsing onto it. “God, I’m starved,” she says, rummaging through the Reese’s bag, which is filled with wrappers.

  “You should try eating. It’s very popular at restaurants.”

  “I thought I explained that to you.”

  “You did.” I stand by the breakfast bar. “So what was that all about?”

  “Sebastian? He was just confused, is all.”

  “Confused? About what?”

  “Apparently he was having second thoughts because I’m a little younger than the old ratbags that are trying to get their hooks into him.”

  “Ah. Right. And you reminded him that you’re wise beyond your years.”

  “Sort of. I told him that I completely understood, and that as much as it would break my heart forever if he did something really stupid like stop seeing me, if he wanted to ruin his life and his one true chance at happiness, I care enough about him to let him do what he must.”

  “Oh, good. So you didn’t oversell it.”

  “We agreed that he might have been hasty. Especially when I told him I fantasize about him every night.”

  “You did not.”

  “This is serious business. I used the big guns.”

  “You’re shameless.”

  “I’m back on his radar. And I plan to stay there.”

  “So it was your age?”

  “Mostly. I think that once I got him thinking about me naked instead of in a schoolgirl outfit, he saw the error of his ways.” She stops to think. “Although I can’t swear there wasn’t a schoolgirl outfit in there somewhere.” She shrugs. “Whatever. It worked.”

  “So you’re back to being a couple?”

  “Well, closer, anyway. I pointed out that I’m going to be eighteen almost any day now, and that seemed to help.”

  “Liar.”

  “A small white lie. Nothing’s going to change about me in the next six months except I’m going to get even more…more.”

  “Not if you don’t eat. I’m worried about your anorexia.”

  She pops the button on her jeans and sighs contentedly. “I call dibs on the rest of the candy.”

  “We can order you a pizza if that doesn’t do the trick. I think it’s two-for-one with extra cheesy crust.”

  “No, but I need to keep my energy up. So if you don’t mind…” She takes a Reese’s and drops it into her mouth. I yawn. I’m getting tired, a
nd I want to talk to Derek. I walk over and sit down next to her and give her a big hug. She makes a face. “Ew. You smell like partially digested soda. And snot.”

  “I love you too, Melody. I’m going to get ready to go to bed. If you’re still hungry once you eat the pound of chocolate, I think I have a side of beef in the fridge.”

  “Say night to Derek for me,” she says as I stand. “And Sage?”

  I look at her, and for once she’s serious.

  “Yeah?”

  She hesitates.

  “Thanks.”

  Chapter 21

  The train station is located in downtown L.A. It’s deserted on a Saturday morning, which is almost better than if it was packed, because it will be harder to make any money – the whole point of the exercise. Melody’s by my side wearing what for her are conservative clothes: jeans and a blouse she’s not completely falling out of. I’ve got my undercover spy hat pulled low, my shades wrapped around my eyes, and Melody’s makeup darkening my complexion. To my eye I look like a complete dork, but she’s assured me I’m fine, and I wonder whether this is more of her twisted sense of humor or if she’s telling the truth.

  Jay’s taken up a position near the main entry, off to the side, and is tuning his guitar. We approach and I toss him the blanket I brought.

  “Morning. Can’t do this right unless you’ve got a blankie. Spread it out – your butt will thank me by the end of the day,” I say.

  He complies and I eye his open guitar case. There’s no money in it.

  “How long you been here?”

  “Maybe twenty minutes.”

  “How many songs have you played?”

  “Only a couple. I’m just getting warmed up.”

  I sit down next to him and glance up at Melody, who’s already looking around, plainly bored with the empty square. “There’s a great sandwich place a few blocks up for lunch. Famous. Most awesome French dips in the world,” I say. I’ve been there once before, with Terry for one of our meetings, and still remember the melt-in-your-mouth sandwiches, eaten at indoor picnic benches, the place packed.

  “You know I eat like a bird,” she says, running her fingers across her bare, tanned midriff, her navel ring glinting in the sunlight. Jay’s eyes are drawn to the gesture like a largemouth bass after a spinning lure, and I sigh.