Page 50 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)
“I’m worried the studio won’t hand over the footage without a warrant, or agree to cut his scenes. If they don’t, his only option is to go to the police, but …”
“He’ll probably lose everything in the process,” Lennon finished for her. She sank further down the seat as the pit in her stomach deepened.
They passed a Stonethread store, a popular sportswear brand.
A series of large, black and white photographs of athletes from different sports hung over the tall windows.
A baseball player was noticeably absent among them.
They were one of the brands that had dropped Dylan shortly after the accident.
Any goodwill he’d managed to earn back since then would be gone. The backlash would be even worse. All over a lie.
“I don’t know how I’m going to stomach the wedding,” Lennon said. The small car jostled over a pothole, rocking her.
“So, you are going, then?”
“I have to. It’s part of my contract because it’s the season finale.
” Lennon sighed. “Annoyed as I am with Avery, I agreed to be her bridesmaid and it’d be pretty shitty of me not to show up for her wedding.
She’s been texting me, trying to make amends.
I think it was just a lapse of judgment after a long night. ”
“As your best friend, I’m not obligated to forgive her.”
A smile pulled at Lennon’s lips. “Besides, it wouldn’t just be for her. I’m supposed to perform at the reception. I’m even booked to record the song at a studio this week. I did this show for a reason, and I’ll be damned if I give up my last chance to at least get my music on the show.”
Erin smiled, pride gleaming in it. “That’s my girl.”
She turned down a familiar side street lined with mom-and-pop shops. The brick-laid street clattered under the tires, echoing off the old buildings. Warmth unfurled in Lennon’s chest as she realized where Erin was taking her.
The vehicle slowed down to turn into a small parking lot shaded by palm trees, then into a space facing a turquoise stucco wall. Erin shifted the car into park before placing a hand on Lennon’s shoulder. “Let’s go feed your soul for a bit, shall we?”
They walked around the small building to the street side where the same big neon sign from the seventies hung above the door, welcoming them to WAXED POETIC VINYL.
A bell chimed as they stepped inside. The musty scent of aged wood, paper, and cardboard jackets with a hint of incense transported Lennon back to all the weekends she’d spent thumbing through the crates searching for hidden gems. The same vintage posters and framed records hung on the walls up to the dark turquoise ceiling.
The orange sofa beckoned her from the back corner beneath Christmas lights, where she used to curl up to sample records with her headphones.
Behind it, another neon sign read “Screw normal, I want magic.”
Erin couldn’t have chosen a more perfect place to bring her. Lennon sent her a look of gratitude and immense love, and Erin winked.
They lazily combed through the vinyl records for the better part of an hour while listening to the immaculately curated playlist drifting from the speakers and occasionally chatting with the owner.
Coco, a woman in black overalls with long grey hair, 20mm gauges in her ears, and tattoos covering most of her body, still remembered them.
“Ever heard of this artist?” Erin held up a record with a baby-faced teenage Raquel Rosas on the cover, her debut album from the late eighties.
“You haven’t heard? We’re practically best friends now.” Lennon accepted the record from her and admired the image of Raquel in a white dress on the beach, her signature long, curly hair blowing around her smiling face. “Man, she started so young.”
“I used to babysit her,” Coco crooned as she dusted the wood shelves behind the register. She was currently wiping down a statue of a gold hand making the devil horns sign. “Sweet kid. Painfully shy.”
“Are we talking about the same Raquel?” Lennon joked, only knowing the self-possessed woman and global superstar who could sell out a stadium.
“She came out of her shell on stage.” Coco rose up on the toes of her well-worn leather boots to snag one of the framed photos from another shelf, the step stool she was on creaking with the motion.
She hopped off with a childlike bounce and brought it around the desk to Lennon.
A young Coco in a leopard mini skirt and fringed black leather jacket hung an arm around teenage Raquel’s shoulders, who was clad in a stage outfit of tight white pants and a bedazzled crop top.
The Arden Beach Music Festival stage was in the background.
Coco tapped a chipped, neon green fingernail on it as she leaned an elbow on the tall metal desk.
“That was the summer before her record deal.”
Lennon performed on that same stage decades later when she was a few years older than Raquel had been.
The same night Dylan proposed. An ache bloomed behind her ribs.
Erin must have sensed the shift because she jumped in, taking the photograph from Lennon and complimenting Coco on her outfit in it, who began telling her the story behind the jacket.
They continued chatting as Lennon turned to look through the crates toward the back of the store.
Soon, Erin’s hand came to rest on her back. Don’t Dream It’s Over by Crowded House drifted from one of the speakers above their heads. Lennon continued to pick through the records, even as her gaze shifted inward.
“I’m falling for him again, Erin.”
Erin rubbed her back. “I know, honey.”
“I’m scared the timing still isn’t right for us,” Lennon admitted quietly, the truth carving a deep, painful hole inside her.
“Things are only getting more chaotic for him, and I don’t even know what my future will look like.
We may not be in a position for a relationship any more now, than we were when we got married.
I don’t want to get hurt again.” Her throat tightened.
“We didn’t know any better then, but we do now. ”
Erin had begun to gently flip through the records in the carton beside her. “That’s all true,” she said after a moment. The validation gave Lennon’s heart a painful squeeze. “But you’ve never been the pragmatic one. Why start now?”