12. Nese
NESE
Ihaven’t talked about the cult to anyone since I left it with nothing but the ridiculous clothes on my back and a copy of Kelvin’s manifesto.
Which ended up in a trash can outside Memphis.
Ma didn’t come with us when he dropped me off at the bus station.
She said everything to me beforehand. Why does it feel safe to share this with Coop?
Maybe it’s how he’s the go-to band member for advice.
Maybe it’s how deeply his ex hurt him.
Maybe it’s how he let my “moment” in the restaurant pass without comment.
The valet brings the Rover as I stare at the guitarist. “Do you really want to hear how I ended up on tour with UC?”
He opens the door for me and I slip into the vehicle. “No pressure.” Confirming I’m inside, he closes my door and takes his place behind the wheel.
All his controlling vibes from earlier in the week have evaporated, leaving only a steady kindness beneath. Can I do this? The need to share my excruciating past with someone who won’t judge me is undeniable. I feel safe with him.
“Is there somewhere we could hike?”
“I can do one better.” He puts the vehicle into drive. “Let me take you to a place I go when I’m working on a new song.”
After navigating through what I have learned is normal LA traffic, we pull into a semi-full parking lot for the botanical gardens. Without fuss, Coop pays our entrance fees and we wander through a formal topiary area, then follow a paved pathway that parallels a creek.
“I usually take this trail,” he explains. “As you can see, most people gravitate toward the roses.”
In the opposite direction. The more I learn about this enigmatic man, the more I understand how this suits him. “By all means.”
We begin walking and, unlike with the topiaries, these plants do not have little plaques identifying them. Nonetheless, he points out some of the vegetation by name. We pass a group of yellow flowers. I wave at them. “Hey there, Harold.”
He turns in a slow circle. Nobody’s on the trail with us. “Who?”
I crouch beside one of the flowers as though introducing myself. “You were naming all the plants. I thought I would be helpful and name this one.”
He tucks his sunglasses into his shirt. “This is a—” He stops. “Never mind. From now on, it shall be called Harold.” He waves at the yellow flower.
We hike for a short while until we cross the creek over a wood-hewn bridge. I sit on a boulder, while Coop takes a perch to my right.
I take a deep breath.
“So, you know I was kicked out of the cult. What I didn’t tell you is Ma was grateful she didn’t have to deal with me anymore.
Kelvin left me at a bus stop in Oklahoma with nothing more than five-hundred dollars.
Oh, and after I told him I wanted to return to Georgia, he bought me a one-way ticket there.
The trip took over twenty-eight hours.” I shake my head to halt the memories.
“Anyway, once in Gainesville, I got a couple of waitressing jobs, and stayed in a shelter until I saved enough money to cover rent with roommates.”
Because his sunglasses aren’t on his face, it’s easy to see the concern in his expressive hazel eyes. He leans over and places his hand on my arm. “You were cut loose with only a few hundred bucks and nowhere to go?”
I square my shoulders. “I knew I wanted to return to Gainesville. That was my sole motivator at the time. Once I got there, finding a couple of jobs wasn’t too difficult. I stabilized and found my footing pretty fast.”
“I’m impressed.” He rubs his hands on his thighs. “You’ve told me how you ended up back in Georgia, working in restaurants. If you don’t mind me asking… How did you get into the fashion world?”
I smile. “That’s an easy one. Remember, I got in trouble by Kelvin for having a copy of Vogue?
” He nods. “With every extra dollar I made, I bought more magazines about clothing. Went to the library and scoured the internet for more information. It’s free there.
” I glance at him, then continue, “Fashion fascinated me, probably because when I was in the cult, I had to wear the same ugly uniform day in and day out.”
“You certainly have a knack for style.” He replaces his sunglasses over his eyes, ending my ability to read him.
I stifle my urge to yank them off.
“Thanks. Well, my roommate Alexis asked me about an outfit she was considering for a date, and I switched things up for her. Have I told you she’s applying to college?”
The sunglasses move from side to side.
I flip my hand. “No matter. In any event, pretty soon I was helping a bunch of people look their best. Within two years, I became known as the guru for fashion advice in the area. I probably watched every single episode of Emilie Dubois’s show at least ten times. She’s amazing.”
“I don’t know her, but she and Cole Manchester used to be a thing, if I remember correctly.”
I shrug. “She’s my hero. She married his former bodyguard.
Anyway, I saw an ad for a stylist position that Platinum ran in Vogue.
They were scouting in Atlanta, so I took a train out there and interviewed with some people.
I hit it off with them, and they recommended me to Luke.
I have no idea how many stylists they sent to Luke, but when we met, I really liked him.
He reminds me of how I remember Dad. The rest, as they say, is history. ”
Coop sits straighter. “Your dad left when you were young. Luke never would walk away from his daughter—if he had one.”
“I know he wouldn’t. I’m just saying he has this air of competence around him that I associate with Dad.”
“True enough. Luke is more than competent.” He chuckles. “With UC, I bet it’s like herding cats sometimes.”
I laugh. It’s good to laugh, even while telling him such a sordid tale. “I can see that. Río sure did give him a run for his money.”
“I’m thinking those days are over now.” He slants me a sidelong glance. “Perhaps you might be able to get him to wear a shirt.”
A full-on belly laugh explodes. “I may be a fantastic stylist, but I’m not a miracle worker. The man has an aversion to shirts unlike anything I’ve ever heard of. He says it’s because he doesn’t want anything to interfere with his drumming. I think he wants to show off his abs.”
“You might be right there. Although, he’s never worn a shirt when he played drums, even when we were in middle school and scrawny as shit.”
I picture each band member as pre-teens. “I can’t imagine any of you as scrawny.”
“Believe me, we were. Now, back to your story. Are you in touch with your mother at all?”
“Way to give me whiplash, guitar boy!” I reassemble my thoughts. “No. We said everything we needed to back in Oklahoma. Ma’s fully integrated into the Luminous Covenant. I don’t see how she’ll ever leave.”
“I’m sorry. She’s missing out on an amazing daughter.”
I slow blink, then smile. “I am pretty amazing, aren’t I? I got you all wearing hot stage outfits, and now you’re gonna flex your trendy clothes in real life.” I blow on my knuckles.
“I wouldn’t take it that far.” He chuckles. “I have to say, in all honesty, I’m very impressed by you. You’re only twenty-four and I bet you have more life experience than most baby boomers. Pulling yourself up from literally nothing is an amazing feat.”
I gaze at the ground. “Thanks.”
“One thing’s been nagging at me though.” He swallows, “Tell me, how did your vocabulary get so strong? I’ve heard the words you use, so don’t deny it.”
I shrug. “After breaking free of the cult, I recognized my education was lacking despite having graduated from high school there. So, I took online classes when I could and read the classics. You know, Shakespeare, Austin, Conan Doyle. I love Agatha Christie the best, truth be told.”
He rubs his chin. “Can’t say I’ve read her.”
“Oh, you should! Her mysteries are great. They’ll leave you guessing until the end of the book. Miss Marple and Poirot are better than Sherlock Holmes, IMHO.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, when I’m looking for my next read.”
“More interesting than the boring ones you bought yesterday, to be sure.”
His head cocks. “I enjoy my deep dive into Zen and Buddhism. Like your online classes, I consider it to be my higher education. It centers me.”
“Yeah, well, after growing up in the tender mercies of the Luminous Covenant, I can assure you that your books are safe from me. No religions interest me in the slightest.” I look at him. “No offense.”
Coop raises his hand. “None taken.” He stares into the creek. “Do you believe in any sort of higher being?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “I don’t know. All I’m sure of is formal religions can suck it.”
He toys with his earring. “You have a way with words, Nese.”
My shoulder lifts. “That’s how I feel.”
“Did you always?”
I consider his question instead of giving him a flip answer. “I used to love going to Christmas services and seeing the church all decorated. I also liked the story around Jesus’ birth.” My hand waves. “Emphasis on story.”
“Then you grew to dislike religion when you were in the cult.”
“Among other things.” I stand and rub my hands together to remove the loose dirt. My heart rate flutters. This man knows everything about me. What was I thinking? “Ready to leave?”
He gets to his feet. “Sure.”
We pass by a treehouse and another set of wildflower beds. My mind is filled with images from my time at the cult, and Ma’s last words to me. “Go be a nothing out of my sight, Agnes.” She never accepted the name I'd chosen for myself. Even all these years later, her words still sting.
My chin rises.
I’m not a nothing. UC relies on me for their style, both on and, now, off the stage. They’re major rockstars—I am someone.
Coop interrupts my thoughts. “Nese, if I never said it before, I’m grateful you’re our stylist. You gave us an edge we never had, yet tailored it to each of our personalities. Thank you.”
His words hip-check Ma’s out of my being. In the middle of the trail, I stop and wrap my arms around my upper body. I take one deep breath.
I try to take another.
I can’t get any air.
The next thing I know, tears flow, unchecked, down my cheeks.
Coop comes and wraps me in his strong embrace.
He doesn’t say a word, merely lets me cry out all the years of being inside the cult, then not.
And all the time I spent rebuilding—no, building—a life for myself.
My arms travel up his torso, and I hold onto his frame while I succumb to these memories.
Finally, I regain my control. Against his new shirt, I say, “No one has ever said anything like this to me. Thank you.” I step back.
Coop touches my chin. “Hey. You’re Nese fucking Dalton, stylist extraordinaire. No one compares.” He smiles.
I offer a watery grin.
As if by tacit agreement, we continue the trek to his Rover in comfortable silence. I never thought of silence as being comfortable before. With Coop, it is.
After we return to his mansion, I say, “I’m still pretty full from dim sum, but I could have another slice of the bread I made yesterday.” I try to bump his shoulder but realize I’m too short, so I end up punching his tummy instead. “Join me?”
He rubs his stomach. “While it sounds enticing, I better not if I want to fit into any of my new clothes.” He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but shuts it without expanding.
“I’ll leave you plenty if you change your mind.”
He takes a couple of steps down the hall. “I’m going to meditate now. Enjoy the bread.”
“I will!” I go in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen where I cut a new slice, slather it in butter with a dash of cinnamon, and place it at the banquette. Perhaps I encouraged him to meditate, given my full-blown confession about the cult? Although he didn’t seem too put off by it.
Still, it’s crazy he pulled this information out of me when neither Jenna nor Hayden did. I guess they were too busy handling their men during the tour. They certainly had their hands full.
I take a bite and all my thoughts sail far away from my days in the cult where I had to cook the same bland meals daily. This bread is fantastic. My new cookbook is probably filled with more delicious bites.
After his kitchen is clean, I return to my room and flip through the recipes, dogearing some promising options. Coop’s driving me everywhere, spending his money on clothes I know he doesn’t want, and listening to my sorry tales. The least I can do is make him a meal.
Time passes and I finish flipping through my book as well as scrolling the internet for additional stylish outfits for Coop to consider. Bored, I wander into his Zen Garden and rake some sand. Not because it’s out of place, but for something to do. Plus, the noise it makes is soothing.
Tired, I lean the rake against the fence and sit on a bench, trying to clear my mind like Coop says he does in meditation. I attempt to focus for a few minutes, but give up. This meditation stuff isn’t for me! Back on my feet, I wander through his house until I end up at his pool.
It’s a lap pool, complete with a diving board at the deep end. Kelvin preached that swimming pools encourage bad behavior because everyone is wearing next to nothing. Considering I’m the only person here, how much bad behavior can I get into alone?
Taking off my sandals to expose my painted toenails, I stick my big toe into the water, which is the perfect temperature. Lowering myself, I roll up my pants to just over my knees and sit at the pool’s edge. Resting my head between my shoulder blades, I let the sun kiss my body.
Refocusing on the pool, I wipe the sweat off my face. I want to dive in, fully clothed, to cool down, but this shirt is delicate. I scan the area, confirming I’m all alone. In any event, it’s Coop’s pool—not open to the public.
Getting to my wet feet, I strip out of my clothes and place them on a nearby lounger. For a second, I allow the sun to caress every inch of my naked body, then dive into the pristine water.
Freedom feels fabulous.