Chapter Twenty-Nine
RAVEN
THE ELEVATOR bell rings softly as it reaches the ground floor. Hearing loud playful barking from inside, I step to the side. As the door slides open, three massive dogs come rushing out, dragging their poor owner with them on their leashes.
“Evening, Carl,” I say, recognizing the man who lives a few doors down from me.
He looks away from his pets. “Hi Raven.”
“Walk-o-clock?” I ask, watching as the three Alaskan Malamutes attempt to drag him towards me. All three sniff loudly, noses pointed toward the brown bag I hold in my left hand.
“Yeah, I think we’re going down to the beach today. They need to wear off some of this energy.”
“I’ll alert the local bird population,” I say, recalling watching these three chase after sparrows and gulls in our communal green space.
Carl chuckles, even as he struggles with the three of them.
“You know I used to feel bad for the birds, but after watching them for a while, I’m pretty sure we should feel bad for the dogs. I’m pretty sure those birds are taunting them.”
I lift my bag high over my head as the smallest of the three, Shadow, breaks free and bounces ten feet over to me. She immediately starts begging, panting loudly, tail wagging furiously.
“I’m sorry, Ray,” Carl says, grabbing Shadow by the collar while still trying to wrangle the other two.
“No worries. Let me get out of here so they aren’t focused on the smell of my food anymore.”
“Have a good evening.”
“You too, Carl,” I say, stepping into the elevator and pressing the fourth floor button.
As I step into my apartment, I drop my keys in the bowl by the door and kick off my shoes, glad to be flat-footed after hours in heels.
I keep moving through the space, pulling off my light jacket and hanging both that and my purse on the wall hooks.
The kitchen is directly off the hallway, so I step in, taking my food over to the counter and placing the bag beside the giant vase of flowers that were delivered to my apartment three days ago.
They look as beautiful as the first bouquet that was delivered my first full day back to California.
I lean into the flowers and bury my nose in them, taking in the sweet scent of bird of paradise blooms and orchid flowers.
It’s a lush tropical smell. I’m not sure when I told Knox that bird of paradise is my favorite flower, but he remembered that little detail from some conversation.
Deciding I want to eat and keep enjoying his thoughtful gift, I pull over a nearby bar stool and grab a fork.
I take that first bite of the chicken pot pie, steam rising from the dish where I speared it with my fork.
I take a big bite of the meal, savoring the flavors.
Five bites later, my phone rings beside me, and I glance down to see who it is.
I answer with video.
“Hi honey,” I say in a sing-song voice when our phones connect, and Knox’s face appears.
“Hi sweetheart.” His smile widens. “How are you? How was your day?”
I pause before saying, “I’m good. My day was productive.”
“Yeah, did you meet with Alice like you talked about last night? What did she have to say?”
“The thing about Alice is, if you present her with a convincing argument, 8 times out of 10, she’ll go with it.”
“So she went with the idea?”
“Yeah, actually,” I smile.
Just a few months ago, the idea of slowing down my work schedule and career plan for any reason would have seemed like a death knell in my professional path.
Now, however, I feel my needs shifting. It’s not just the idea of wanting to spend more physical time with Knox.
Being with him has reminded me of how much I’ve missed playing music myself.
My first night back, he called me, and we talked for hours.
At the end of that call, Knox asked me if I would play something for him on my little electric keyboard. So I did.
The next night he made the same request, so I played a longer piece with two movements.
Playing for just him these last two weeks has eased much of the tension I’ve felt when playing for others.
I know when he says he doesn’t care if I miss a note, he is telling the truth.
He just wants to hear me play, and he actually means it.
I’m nowhere near being able to play in front of paying attendees yet.
Still, the idea of sitting in front of a piano in a bus station or public square and playing a few pieces for strangers passing by doesn’t bring on a low-grade panic.
Slowing down a little at work and focusing my efforts are our current venues, means I can have more opportunities to play for real audiences again.
“How was your day?” I ask Knox.
He shrugs.
“I’ve had worse,” he says.
“Well, that doesn’t sound like a great day,” I tease.
“It wasn’t a bad day, but I did spend like an hour of my time playing whack-a-mole with some bot accounts today.”
“Yeah, what happened?”
“Nothing really, just some nasty comments left on some old posts followed by some DMs from three different accounts.”
“What were they saying?” I ask, curious.
Knox shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, honestly. They are always different but somehow boil down to do things how I like it or else.”
“Hmm…” I muse aloud.
I take another bite of my pot pie.
“Two of the accounts were probably bots but…I don’t know, one of them might have been a real person.”
“Why do you think that?”
Knox looks away from the camera in thought. “I don’t know. It got kind of specific. They said I look better with a longer beard.”
He scratches his chin, proving that it’s quite short at the moment.
“I mean you do,” I say, keeping my tone lighthearted, even as my thoughts turn darker.
Knox smiles, but it doesn’t make it to his eyes, nor does he respond right away.
His expression shifts thoughtfully. His brows pull down into a firm line.
His expression triggers my unease, my mind turning back to my last night in Colorado.
In hindsight, I wish I would have stopped Knox and Zeke from destroying the iFind tag and instead encouraged them to take it to the authorities.
Maybe they could have traced it back to the owner.
“I’m thinking about closing my DMs for a while, at least the DMs to my page. We probably don’t want to completely cut off access to the band’s official page.”
“That sounds like a healthy boundary to set for yourself. Have you reconsidered my idea about getting a social media manager? I know plenty of people who would take that on,” I remind him.
“Maybe.”
“Float it by the rest of the band,” I suggest. “The more popular you all get, the more frequent these things will happen. It’s a shitty part of the deal that no one really talks about enough.
I’ve seen it happen to several bands in the past. Having a media manager can do wonders for your peace of mind. ”
“Yeah…maybe,” his expression remains contemplative.
“Really think about it, okay? You don’t want that energy in your life.”
After another long pause, his frown shifts to content.
“You’re right. I’ll talk to them tomorrow, maybe get a few of those names of available managers from you then too. So what are you eating?” he asks, shifting the conversation.
“My favorite from a local restaurant.” I angle the dish so he can see it.
“They call it the ‘everything from scratch’ chicken pot pie. And when they say everything, they mean everything. The veggies are homegrown, the crust is made fresh every day. I’m pretty sure they raise the chickens themselves too. ”
“Yummy. Wish I was there to try it.”
“Me too.” I pause, looking over at the flowers again. I haven’t been able to repeat his I love you verbally, but I feel it more every day, even with the distance between us. The closest I’ve been able to express the L word is, “I miss you,” I say, my tone turning sad without my permission.
“I miss you too, sweetheart.”
“So as part of the new work arrangement, Alice wants me to check in on Danica and Hendrix and make sure the business is still doing well. I think I’ll be out there at the end of September.”
“I will never say no to a chance to see you again, but you know you’ve got an inside man that could tell you anything you would want to know, right?”
Chuckling, I say, “Okay, inside man. Tell me everything you know.”
“Business is good.”
I laugh harder. “Very helpful.”
Knox starts laughing too.
I stand up from my bar stool, stretching my limbs out.
“So what are your plans for the rest of the evening?” Knox asks.
“Finish dinner and clean the apartment. Maybe do some laundry before the weekend rush.”
“Something tells me there isn’t much to clean. You’re a very tidy person.”
I look around the space. I live by a 30-minute rule when it comes to the cleanliness of my apartment. I never want it to take me more than a half hour to get it ready for unexpected company.
“I don’t know, you tell me,” I turn my camera so he can see more of the space around me.
“Oh my god, is that a cup I see out of place? For shame.”
I cackle.
“Show me more,” he says, “Give me the full tour.”
“Okay.” I take one final bite of my food before I move across the living room. “Balcony.”
“Nice.”
“And…” I reach out and pull the sliding door open. “If you come out and turn this way, you can see the ocean.”
“Oceanfront property, impressive.”
Giggling, I say, “It’s not exactly oceanfront, but I am high up enough on the hill and on the fourth floor, so I can see the ocean.”
“A beautiful view for a beautiful woman.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Stop flirting with me.”
“You can’t make me.” He sticks his tongue out like a kid, and that sends me into a fit of laughter.
“Okay, back to the tour,” I say, stepping back inside and closing the door behind me. I take a slow circle in place to show off the living room.
“Nice big TV,” Knox observes.
Sighing, I admit, “It was an ex’s. He was always buying oversized shit that he couldn’t really afford and then expecting me to bend over backward to accommodate.”
“Idiot.”