20
Noon arrived the following day, and I pulled over on a road to read his latest message.
There was a change of plans. He’d arrived early to the place he'd chosen for discretion but was recognized by the staff.
He grabbed the coffee and now wanted to meet at his place to ensure privacy.
Moments later, he sent over the lower Beverly Hills Post Office address and I grew sick.
In many ways, venturing into someone else's home tended to result in a commentary on your own with the endless comparisons.
I prepared myself for the sights, smells, and inner workings of an alien domain.
What if his friends are there? Normally that wouldn't present an issue, since I was highly sociable, but something about the idea of meeting friends from his new life daunted me.
Worse, what if she was there? What if he wanted us to meet?
What if I saw her things strewn about, marking her territory?
I plugged the address into my GPS and allowed the humorless voice to guide me.
He was technically over twenty minutes away, but it took me a mere fifteen to reach him, flooring it whenever possible.
It was a quiet, wooded street with two empty lanes.
The properties were steep and many of them hedged about so deeply it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.
Rome's place was just so, lost among shadow and hillsides and great neighboring facades.
Located at the end of a private drive off the main street—the approaches were locked behind a tall white gate.
If it weren't for the navigation system, I would’ve missed it nine times out of ten.
I imagined he had one hell of a time finding it at night himself.
Turning near a post that displayed the address, I stopped at the intercom.
"Yeah?" he answered.
"Rome? Hey, mate...it's me." There was a pause and a bit of interference in the speaker, causing him to break up.
"Rafe, hey. Glad you made it. Come on in."
There was a distant cranking, then the gate parted and revealed another stretch of sequestered pavement.
No house in sight yet; just a long driveway flanked with so many hedges it looked like a tunnel.
He was dwarfed by palatial homes on all sides—many upward of 20,000 square feet.
Simply unlivable. The esteemed handiwork of mad developers—more so statements of capital than actual homes.
Who could really domesticate those cold, outsized things?
He stood at the end of the driveway, so I slowed. God, he was a dream, crucifix glinting in the sunlight. When I hopped out of the car, he approached and gaped at the model—a black Audi R8 coupe.
“Bro, this is sick.”
“Thanks.”
He set the coffee on the hood and hugged me. So much like last night. Except this time, he squeezed me so violently my feet left the ground.
“Rome…” I shut my eyes, allowing him to crush me as long as he wanted.
"Rafe..." he whispered, so tenderly my breath hitched.
"I missed you.”
"You too...so much."
As I pulled away, he allowed his fingers to slide down my arms, absently clasping one of my hands on the way out.
"Thought you'd never get here," he grinned.
"Good thing I floored it."
"Got this for ya. Cheeky lil coffee.”
"Caffeine. Thanks, mate, I needed it." I shoved my glasses over my hair, pinning it away from my face.
"Taste alright?" he wondered. I took a sip and went ‘ah’ for his benefit.
"Perfect, actually. You remembered?"
"Yep," he chuckled, the blue of his eyes lucid in the daylight. “Black, Iced Americano. Barely any sugar.”
"Nice. How's everything?"
"All good. You?"
"M'alright. Change of plans, huh?"
"Yeah, it was nuts. The minute I walked in, they were just shocked. Couldn’t stop callin’ my name, snapping pics," he snickered. "M'not complainin' or anythin'...I'm just like, shit, this won’t work. We’d make headlines faster than we could have a decent conversation. Know what I mean?"
"There aren’t many places we could go without being spotted, y'know? Not in Hollywood anyway."
"True," he nodded, placing a hand along his furrowed brow to shade the sunlight. Already it was understood we couldn’t be seen together.
Although for how long, I was unsure. "You look amazing, Rafe.
" He was being charitable. I was wearing my usual. Vintage graphic tee and ripped jeans. Leather combat boots that’d seen better days.
"So do you." He was in his usual, which was rather similar to mine. Except, he loved a black button down.
"Still with a different ride every time I see you, yeah?” He kicked a tire with his unlaced boot. “How's that garage lookin' these days?" We laughed.
"I’ll be honest…it's a bit out of hand. My accountant’s upset.”
“Damn straight. Cars only depreciate.”
“Haven’t learned that yet, I guess.”
“Mate, you change cars like girls change handbags."
“This is true." I bit my lip. Realizing how well he still knew me made me flush all over.
"C'mon in."
He led me between two oversized urns and into the main lounge. He forgot his coffee on the hood, but I’d grabbed it and sipped mine along the way. Out of respect for the polished concrete floor, I kicked my boots off inside.
"Want some slippers or somethin'?"
"I'm good, thanks."
"Mind your step, alright?"
"Will do."
He didn't want me to slip. Hadn't changed a bit in that regard. I grew nostalgic, remembering he was always the first person to run to me whenever I fell on stage.
As I registered the living room, nothing seemed intimidating anymore. Nothing unfamiliar. I got an overwhelming sense I'd been there before; and instead of ridiculing me, everything welcomed me with a resounding warmth.
The decor was minimalist to the point of being bare—almost boring. Except for the rooms he’d taken pains to renovate, like the master suite and recording studio.
"Mate, this is sick."
"Think so?"
"I love it. Very 60s."
"Fanks," he grinned, shrugging a bit. "Took sum gettin' used to."
"What's not to like? It's nothing like the place in London, from what I can see."
"No, not at all. And nothin' like me mum's either. Just a different sort of vibe.”
I rejoiced that we were alone. No other guests or roommates present. That took a load off. I didn't have to acquaint myself with new faces or be concerned with them interpreting my body language around him.
The place was moderately sized. Later I learned it was a 4,000-square-foot compound, situated just shy of a solid acre.
During a brief tour, which we embarked on with lots of laughter and reminiscing, I learned he’d built a sound studio in the garage when he first moved in, even before he updated the bedrooms. He’d also renovated the kitchen with exposed brick and updated all the appliances.
"M'favorite place," he muttered as we entered a dark, oblong room. There was an explosive galaxy painted on the ceiling. The walls were deep purple, contributing to an immersive effect. It was also windowless, so when he shut the door, the only source of light fell from the luminescent art.
"Unreal..." I breathed, gazing at the ceiling. "Who did it?"
"Some cheeky bloke I met downtown at an art show. Talented as fuck." He stared up as though he hadn’t seen it before. "It almost reminds me of...what d'you call them things? With the fish?"
"A tank?"
"No, uh…the aquarium."
"Oh yeah, I see it now. It surrounds you…"
"Exactly."
"Ever smoke in here?" I asked, noticing the two giant bean bags and a small coffee table at the far end of the room. I could also smell traces of his latest session. He hesitated before allowing a knowing grin.
"How can I not? What else would it be for?” We laughed. “When I'm really fucked up—and I mean, like, trippin' balls, bro, I lay in the middle of the floor there and pretend the walls are closin’ in on me. It's surreal. Kinda unnerving."
"Well now I've gotta try that," I laughed.
We moved on and I followed close, studying the gorgeous cross tattoo that ran down the length of his neck. It was his best ink, in my opinion—aside from the large Atlas shouldering the globe that graced his left bicep—lending an understated elegance to the hard-wired outer shell.
"That’s just a toilet," he flung the door open to a nearby bathroom and I caught a whiff of its piney air-freshener and expensive soap.
"The spare room's over here." It was a modestly sized guest space furnished with a leather recliner and a double bed of dark linen.
"Me cousins are always fightin' over who gets to stay in here. "
We entered the master suite and he spun around to gauge my reaction. I could tell he was as pleased with this renovation as he was with the space-themed smokeroom, having taken care to furnish them with eccentric art.
"Home sweet home," he exhaled, tossing his arms out.
"Holy shit, it's massive."
We refrained from making a 'that's what she said' joke and laughed instead. It was funnier unvoiced.
"Incredible, Rome. I’ve never seen a room like this!"
"I sorta did that. It used to be two rooms..."
"Unbelievable..." I strode from one side of the room to the other. "Fuck’s sake...there's so much space in here—"
"For activities!" he finished my Stepbrothers reference with a lazy chuckle. Our voices echoed from either side of the room in a commotion.
"HELLOOO!" I shouted.
"YOOOO!" he replied.
I wondered briefly what it would sound like if we made love in there. We were both pretty vocal, but I shook the thought from my mind and followed him towards the front of the house. He made a concerted effort to pass one last door without drawing notice to it, but I pressed him on it.
"What's this one?"
"Nothin'. Just storage. Used to be the game room."
"Oh yeah?" I inched toward it, pretending I would slip inside.
"Nothin' to see here," he chuckled. "Just some old books and shit."
"Mate, c'mon...it's me," I insisted. “I know there’s something weird in there…”
"You haven't changed a bit, have you? Nosey as hell."
"It's my strong suit," I smirked, trying to use my dimples to my advantage. "C’mon…what's inside?"