Driving Beats

1. Coop

COOP

Ineed to summon all the Zen in the world after my luggage went missing… together with that photo.

On my dresser, the brochure “Advanced Meditation Retreat by Masters Ten” promises respite.

Four separate week-long courses, the first of which starts tomorrow.

I pick up a pair of old shorts that should be alright for the retreat.

I try them on, but they cut off my breathing. Damn. Too many burgers on tour.

Why am I the only one in the band who didn’t get their suitcases?

Río wouldn’t miss his—given he’s shacked up with Hayden, our drummer probably isn’t wearing any clothes anyway.

Same for our lead singer Bennett, who’s “hanging with” his wife Jenna.

Tris is such a clotheshorse that our new keyboardist would view losing his luggage as an opportunity, while our bassist undoubtedly has articles of clothing stashed in three full closets at his house. Plus the neighbor’s.

Me? Empty hangers mock me. The ratty items I have here aren’t fit for public consumption.

Our manager’s solution? Luke sicced UC’s very young stylist on me to “help” replace my wardrobe. A vision of the spunky stylist makes me cringe. I tried to tell him I can order clothes online, but he insisted on involving Nese.

My phone pings with an incoming text and I drop the shorts on the nearby chair. It better not be her.

Damn.

Nese:

Luke says you need my help. I’m on it.

Don’t bother. I’ll order stuff off the web.

Nese:

Are you kidding? Why on earth would you do something as dreadful as that? I’m still in Los Angeles, so you’re not out of my way. No problem at all! I’ll get you more exciting things to wear than those boring jeans and solid shirts you always wear! Why don’t we meet up tomorrow first thing?

My hand goes to my right earring. Tomorrow’s the first day of the first week of the meditation retreat. I encircle the hoop for a full minute before responding.

Don’t go out of your way.

Nese:

I love clothes, silly! Even if I’ll be buying menswear fashions, it’ll still be exciting! How about we meet at M. Marcel at ten o’clock? Too early? Let’s make it eleven. I’ll bring the lattes!

My shoulders lower. Might as well man up. There are three more weeks of the retreat available.

Fine.

NESE:

Good call! We’ll get you all outfitted better than before. Oh, and we’ll have to pick up a couple of suitcases, as yours are lost somewhere between Ireland and here, right? That sucks. But I’ll make you happy yours went missing! TTYL!

Isuck in air. How can someone be so excited to shop for clothes? Suitcases, too?

And while I may be many things, “silly” is not one of them.

I dial Luke. “You have got to be kidding me. I don’t need a stylist to buy me stuff to wear. This is ridiculous.”

He retorts. “Your luggage never made it to your house. We have a stylist on staff. Since UC’s on a thirty-day break before the tour picks up in Australia, it’s perfect. She’ll get you a whole new wardrobe that might even make Tris jealous. Problem solved.”

Keeping my shoes off, I put my only pair of jeans back on, and pad to my favorite room, what Río dubbed my “Reflection Room.” It’s exactly how I envisioned it—minimalist and serene. The plants are placed at exact angles, each with pillar candles in between.

“This will be a one-day thing, right?” Because I’m missing the start of this week’s meditation retreat, I can substitute by checking in at my favorite bookstores. I could even take a yoga class in Darren’s honor, to work out the kinks I’ve picked up during the tour. Maybe.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Luke replies, knowing the band’s penchant for betting on every little detail.

Big ones too. Río’s sobriety comes to mind.

“You know how Nese is. When I told her what happened, she was determined to go shopping with you in person because she said it was ‘personal’ and not ‘for the stage’.”

“That’s what worries me.” I rub my fingers on the leaves of a fern. Having caretakers water my plants and keep my house tidy when I’m out on tour has its benefits. “What exactly did you tell her?”

“Dude, nothing other than your luggage never arrived and you need help getting a new wardrobe. She’s a professional. You’re in good hands.”

“She’s pretty young. I’m too old for the skinny jeans crap.”

Luke chuckles. “You sound like someone from a reality show franchise, and not the guitarist for the hottest band in the world. You’ll be fine.”

“Can’t wait.” I click off and wander through the room, touching the various zafu pillows, rugs, and plants. My mind calms and releases most of the noise inside.

Even though I won’t be able to join the retreat for another full week, I can start meditation practice now. I light the candles throughout my Reflection Room, which cast a calming glow.

I sit down on a pillow and try for a half lotus position, which isn’t comfortable since I’m in the jeans Tris gifted to me over Christmas, which are pretty form fitting.

Trying to ignore how my jeans restrict, I simply close my eyes.

Tuck in my neck to align my spine and back.

Massage my jaw and cheeks to release the massive amounts of tension in my face.

Place my hands on top of my knees and attempt to clear my mind.

Inhale.

My missing luggage tries to claw its way in, but I shunt it away.

Exhale.

Tomorrow’s one-day shopping trip sneaks in. To be conducted by the ever-effervescent young stylist who joined our team at the beginning of this tour, Nese Dalton. I can hear the echoes of her laughter invading my meditation and shake my head. My eyelids pop open. No.

Inner calm and tranquility, Coop. Leave her be.

Shutting my eyes once more, I take another deep inhale.

My mind blanks. Good. Once again, I seek mindful awareness.

A moment later, Lillian makes her appearance. As she always does. One master told me she would disappear when I no longer need her. I argued that she hasn’t been in my life for years and I don’t want her to return. He gave me a knowing smirk and bid me to keep meditating.

So, I do.

I order her to leave and, after a minute, she obliges.

Only to be replaced with the two ladies I met in Nice, France when Jenna finally came to her senses and put Bennett out of his misery.

They were gorgeous redheads—nothing like Lillian’s blonde.

They were hanging on me and I knew I could easily do the deed with them.

At the same time. It certainly would get the rest of UC off my back.

They kissed me. I even permitted myself to kiss them back.

Their hands roamed. Over my arms, my chest, my ass.

It felt good. So good. Like the other times I allowed myself to become intimate with a woman.

And just like all the other times, my whole body froze when it was time to take off their clothes. Not because I didn’t think they were beautiful. Not because they didn’t pique my interest.

Because I’m defective.

I blew my chance years ago.

Lillian reappears, now laughing at me.

Foster a non-judgmental attitude towards thoughts and feelings, Coop.

I try.

Fail.

Again.

Frustrated, I open my eyes and rise to my feet. Walking around the room, I put out the candles with my fingertips—which doesn’t affect me given my calluses—and seek to regain my center. At least my heart rate slows.

The need to do something positive in order to ground myself propels me forward. Since meditation didn’t do the trick, maybe spending time in my Zen Garden will. I open the door to the side area, beyond sight of the pool. Where my landscape artist outdid herself in creating this ideal oasis.

Manicured bushes line the area. Various rocks—boulders, actually—are placed at perfect angles, with white sand connecting the bushes to the rocks. The sand is raked to perfection, but there’s always room for improvement.

I pick up the rake and begin the calming and repetitive task of making sure the lines are the exact same distance apart.

When I veer too much to the right, I self-correct to ensure the garden is a quiet sanctuary.

If someone enters the gate from the side, this is the first thing they will see. However, I don’t do this for visitors.

I do it for myself.

I’m finally starting to find the peace I need. This will satisfy me until I can get to the retreat and refill the well.

Finished with this aspect of my practice, I place the rake in its proper spot and take a seat on one of the boulders. My cell rings and, with a clear conscience, I pick it up. “How are you doing, Mom?”

“Good. Just wanted to hear my baby boy’s voice.”

Even though I’m thirty-one, I’ll always be her baby. With a smile, I reply, “You’re always my priority. What’s going on over in Jersey?”

“Oh, the usual. Your father thinks he’s about to become a professional golfer, your brother’s buried in work, and I’m trying not to strangle people ordering centerpieces at the last minute. I’m thinking about joining a new book club at the library. Figured it’s time I did something for fun.”

I bought them a house and membership to the country club when UC earned their first platinum album. Sounds like my father’s getting good use out of it. “Seems as if everything’s normal.”

“It is. Hey—did I tell you your grandfather’s living it up in France with the cooking group of his? Getting hit on by all the ladies.” She laughs.

“And being Grandpa, he’s turning all of them down. Grandma was it for him.” She died eight years ago, and he still talks about their great love. He used to say there’s one lid for every pot. Don’t I know it.

“Well enough about me. How are you doing, Mr. Oscar Award winner?”

“Other than losing my luggage, everything’s fine.”

“Excuse me? Aren’t you guys flying private? How did this happen?”

I adore how indignant she gets on my behalf. “Our team’s trying to get to the bottom of it.”

She takes a moment to process, then in typical Mom-style, surprises me. “I should thank whoever took it,” she laughs. “I’ve been after you for how many years to buy yourself some new clothes.”

“Seems like you finally got your wish. Most annoying is I’m about to buy a whole wardrobe thanks to the help of UC’s stylist. I told Luke I could order stuff off the internet, but that was a non-starter.”

“Thank God for the stylist. You’re going to have to send me photos of you in your new duds.”

My head bows. “I will.” We end our conversation with an update about my brother’s family.

After hanging up, I retreat to my bedroom.

It’s decorated exactly the way I want, with a large king-size bed covered in plush, deep purple sheets—a nod to my everlasting respect for the king of guitarists, Prince.

The drapes match the sheets and have blackout shades behind them.

In my closet I carefully fold the clothes I’m wearing, then turn on the shower. The steam rises in the en suite, which I allow to regulate my system.

I rinse off and prepare for bed. Although it’s too early to sleep, I have the perfect solution.

Naked, I slip under the covers and instead of reading—I’ve been doomscrolling in my mind too much today—I click on a streaming service and select my favorite movie.

Soon, Gandalf the Grey is leading a group through mythical realms. The final clink of calmness overtakes me.

Tomorrow will only be a blip on my month-long vacation. I’ll get new clothes and be ready for the retreat next week.

Nothing will interfere with my hard-earned Zen.