19 EVIE
E VIE
I absolutely loved that beach house the moment I saw it.
We both did. Carter always said it was a little bit magical.
Maybe it was. I had been so reluctant to go at first, not because I didn’t want to, but I suppose I was just trying to be responsible.
But Carter was right, of course. We were an inevitability.
Eventually, we’d put all my concerns to bed, so to speak, simply by deciding on secrecy for a while, and inertia carried us forward after that.
I still remember the song that was playing when we walked in the front door—greeted by the cheery and unexpected sounds of Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition.” The bright foyer spanned the full height of the house and was flanked by a staircase winding upward to the second floor on one side and by a cozy den on the other.
The living room had a view of the bay through floor-to-ceiling windows, with a canvas of stunning water, only made bluer by the slanting angle of the setting sun.
On the far side of the open floor plan, the kitchen was occupied solely by Tommy, with his blond hair pulled into a ponytail, a one-man party amid a buffet of food preparation, dancing unabashedly to the music.
“Dinner ‘somewhere,’ huh?” I said, giving Carter a look.
“Tommy happens to be a great cook, believe it or not.”
I cocked my head and laughed. “Oh, I see. Nicely played. The house it is, I guess.”
“Miss Vivien! We meet again!” Tommy stretched his arms out widely in welcome.
Carter gave me a quizzical look, amused. “Vivien? How many names do you have?” he whispered.
“I see our ego-obsessed lead singer took the liberty of once again hogging all the press for himself. Typical,” Tommy joked.
Carter flashed him a wry look. “What can I say, I want all the media to be about me.”
I laughed, enjoying a brotherly kind of affection between the two of them that put me instantly at ease. “Nice to see you again, Tommy. I hear you all are trying to take a mental break from people like me. So I’ll try not to get in the way too much.”
“Nonsense.” He waved me off. “Welcome to the party, Miss Leigh. It’s good to see you ... and maybe this one will finally shut up about you now that you’re here.” He grinned, winking at me. “It’s been nonstop.”
I raised an eyebrow at Carter as I sat at the breakfast bar. “Is that so?”
He shook his head and took a sip from a beer while offering one to me, as well. “Don’t listen to a word he says.”
Tommy was one of the most warmly charismatic people I’d ever met, with this infectious personality that was both lighthearted and sweet while full of depth. I think that’s what made their music work so well—Carter’s and Alex’s darkness balanced out by the others’ light.
He returned to the pile of jumbo shrimp that he was cleaning, tails and shells on every surface of the granite countertop. “I hope you two are hungry. We’ve got enough food to feed an army.” The scent of Old Bay Seasoning filled the room from a steaming pot. “How about some margaritas? Cameron?”
Carter gave me another pointed look, teasing. “Oh, so we’re just supposed to reveal ourselves to you, but you get to keep all your secrets. Is that how this works? Cameron? ”
“What?” Tommy asked, noticing the exchange.
“Fine.” I explained the name thing to Tommy then. “Now do you want my middle name too? Or is that enough?”
Carter smirked. “We’ll get there.”
“You are so annoying.”
“Some might say charming.”
“No one would say that,” Tommy interjected, and tossed a kitchen towel over his shoulder. A minute later, he was singing again, this time the lyrics from “American Pie,” rhyming my name with Chevy and levee and Evvvvie .
I laughed. “Do you always do that? With people’s names? Associations and rhymes.”
“Habit, I guess. Never forget a name, though. It’s like a vault up here.” He tapped his head. “Anyway, Evie, Cameron, whatever your name is, my dear, I present to you the world’s best margarita. My secret recipe.” I took a sip just as someone turned the corner.
“I believe you know Darren, yes?” Carter said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What do you do around here, exactly?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m your nanny,” he joked in reply.
“Nice to see you again, Darren,” I said. The band’s bass player was quiet and seemed perpetually lost in another world, peaceful in the way that a shadow always lingers nearby to a tree, providing shade in contrast to the blazing light. He warmly shook my hand, offering his welcome.
Alex, however, was a different story. His personality so perfectly matched his appearance, tall and thin with chiseled features and eyes that were so dark, they were nearly black, pushing everyone outward.
At one point on that first day, we all sat in the living room, furnished in British Colonial dark wood, indigos and pale blues, centered by a large sectional ivory linen sofa.
French doors were opened out to a wide deck ending in a wooden dock that jutted out onto the dunes.
I took the seat that was the farthest from Alex, who sat sprawled on one side.
In the middle, Carter leaned back with one foot over his knee, absently twirling a finger over the rim of a beer bottle with his head resting on the back of the sofa.
“So how’s this going to work?” Alex finally said, speaking to me for the first time. “Are you just going to what, record us for the next three days? Because that’s not awkward or anything. Are you working right now ?” he asked icily.
“Do I look like I’m working?” I gestured to the salt on my legs and the obvious beach attire.
“Just asking.” Alex could be such a brat.
“It’s just dinner,” I assured him. “And no. Not yet.”
“Just dinner? Is that so?” He looked at Carter. “And here I thought ...”
“For fuck’s sake, Alex. Can we just, I don’t know ... exist? Relax? Have dinner? Stop giving everyone a hard time,” Carter snapped.
“Yes, but the whole point is to see if we can all work together. Live together, even. Is it not?” Alex replied. “So tell us, Evie, is it? What’s it going to be like, on a night like tonight, only ... later. When you are working.”
“My job is to be a fly on the wall. To document it all. To tell your story,” I replied simply. “You’ll barely know I’m there.”
“And you’ll have a camera—what, the whole time?”
“Sometimes I’ll have a camera. Sometimes I’ll have an audio recorder. Sometimes I’ll just be writing.”
“Writing?”
“They want a story to accompany the release of the film, so I’ll be writing at the same time.”
“Great. Starting when?” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Are you writing right now, for instance? Observing?”
“I’m always writing. Occupational hazard. And we’re supposed to be putting some ideas together, after all. To take it to the label and see what they think. But you guys decided to go to the beach instead. So here I am.”
“Okay, well then, let’s just start. Shall we?
Give it a go. Just for fun. Do you have a tape recorder in your bag right now?
” He looked at the canvas bag that sat at my feet.
I always had those things. Just a habit.
Which I suppose he’d guessed. Alex had a talent for reading people quickly. I nodded.
“Perfect. Get it out. Let’s do an interview right now. Just to get a feel for it.”
I reached in and took it out, setting it flat on the table between us, and pressed the red “Record” button as the miniature cassette tape begin to swirl. Carter and Alex looked down at it, and Fred did the same as he joined us on the sofa.
“Okay, so let’s get started, then,” I said. “Something easy? Alex, tell me about the first concert you ever went to.”
He looked at me pointedly for a moment before he sat up, reached a long arm across the table, picked up my beloved tape recorder, and, with a perfectly slow arc, threw it out the open doors, where it crashed onto the deck, scattering pieces in every direction. I swear it was cursed, that thing.
The corners of his mouth turned up as he looked at me, crossing his arms. “Okay, now that that’s settled ... first concert, you asked?”
Carter shook his head and sighed into his hand.
And that was how my first conversation with Alex Winters began. Charming, wasn’t he?
I’m thinking about those first days with Alex now, and all I can do is smile, with my heart filling my entire chest. But back then?
All I could think about was what a complete asshole move that had been.
At that point, I nearly walked out. But I took a deep breath and reminded myself—I hadn’t gotten this far by letting men like Alex Winters bully me into skulking away into a corner. It was a standoff. And I needed to win.
“Great, okay then,” I said with some degree of sarcasm. “Everyone feeling more comfortable?” I met eyes with Alex and didn’t so much as blink.
He smirked. “Much.”
“Are you done now?” Carter asked. “Can we move on? Or are you going to throw another temper tantrum?”
“Hey, look, I just figure, if we’re buddies and all, hanging out at the beach all day together—nice tan by the way,” he said, giving Carter a look and Carter flipped him off, “then why would we need to record anything? Right?” He looked at me. “We’ll just see how it goes.”
I leaned over and extended a hand to Alex. “Sounds like a plan.”
He looked up with dark eyes and reached over, shaking it in return with a strong hand. “In that case, pleasure to meet you, Evie.”
“I really think you should consider a new line of work,” Carter joked to me.
“Oh, is that so? So you want me to leave, then? Okay.” I pretended to stand, and he reached out and tugged me back down by the back pocket of my shorts as both Alex and Fred took notice of the exchange, the inherent intimacy of the gesture.
Fred started chuckling as he took a loud sip from his margarita, which was a drink that was a humorous contrast to the burly man. “I’ve got to give you credit, kid. You don’t flinch much, do you?” He leaned over and clinked my glass, and the tension in the room began to evaporate.
I let out a breath and dug into my bag for effect. “So, Alex, how do you feel about ... pens?”
There was a moment of silence, and then I got a rare gem—something almost resembling a laugh—from Alex. “Good god, do you ever just have a conversation? Somebody get this girl another drink!”
Carter gave me an amused look. “See, it’s not just me.”
“Okay, fine! Fine,” I said, laughing, putting my hands up and tossing the pen. “You all win.” I leaned back into the comfortable sofa and took a long drink. “No talk of work until tomorrow.”
“What on earth made you want to get into this business?” Fred asked. “Dealing with a terrible lot like us all the time.”
I told him I’d been hooked on it from an early age, from the music I’d listened to growing up and the first time I’d been to a concert (a friend’s parents had taken me).
We’d had seats on the side, in a position where I could catch glimpses of the work going on behind the stage, and I’d been fascinated by the process.
I told him about the assignments at local clubs I’d managed to snag while still in high school.
“I bet you got a nasty dose of reality,” Fred said. “Sweet girl like you. Mummy and Daddy were probably worried sick. Giving you money for emergencies and dropping you off at the front door, worried sick.”
I thought of the trailer where I grew up and the way I’d hustled for bus money to get into the city for the first assignment I ever worked, stealing two dollars from my father’s wallet while he slept off a drunken stupor on a broken couch.
Trudging through ice in black boots, the one coat I owned barely keeping me warm on a frigid night.
I’d missed the last bus home and slept on the bench in the train station.
When I finally got in the next morning, my father was on the sofa smoking a cigarette and watching television.
He didn’t even look up. Just asked me to make him breakfast. “Yeah. Exactly. Worried sick.”
A look passed over Carter’s face that told me he’d seen something more behind those words.
“You know, I like this girl,” Fred said.
“She’s got it right. She’s like us. Behind-the-scenes people.
Not your pampered pansy asses.” He pointed the top of his beer bottle toward Carter and Alex.
“We’re where all the brains are,” he said, “not to mention the good looks.” He rubbed his substantial belly for effect.
Carter was about to say something when Alex interjected. “Who was it?” he asked, looking at me.
“Who was what?”
“ Your first concert. The one your friend’s parents took you to that you loved so much.”
“Well, considering I’ve been talking for the last five minutes, and you’re the one who is supposed to be getting interviewed, I’d much prefer it if you would answer that question instead.”
“You first.”
Oh man. I knew it was going to hurt, but I looked at him squarely and exhaled. “Neil Diamond.”
“Nice!” Carter cheered.
Alex gave me a wry look. “You’re kidding me, right? Neil Diamond?” He looked at Carter. “Did you put her up to this?”
Carter shook his head. “Neil Diamond’s the best, and everyone knows it. It’s universal. Get with the program.”
Fred chuckled, nodding in agreement and starting to hum a tune.
“Whatever.” Alex grimaced. “But if I ever catch you even looking at a sequin shirt, I’ll shove you off the stage.”
“Okay, so can we get back to talking about you guys now? Alex ... I’ll ask again, for the third time—what was your first concert?”
“I’m not telling.” He winked and strutted off, leaving me exasperated.
Carter looked up at me and feigned an amused wince. “Sorry. He’ll cooperate ... eventually. Maybe.” Then added, “Probably not.”
He stood then and followed Alex, but on the way, he stopped, leaned down, and whispered into my ear, “It was Queen.”
I looked up at him, our faces inches apart, and he reached down again, his voice warm in my ear. “He was twelve, and his dad took him. Says it changed his life.”
Heat filled me. “Good to know.”
As he walked away, he called backward, “We’ll buy you a new recorder.”
Up until that point in my life, I had used work as a sort of coping mechanism so that I wouldn’t have to experience life.
Whether it was schoolwork when I was young or journalism as an adult, immersing myself in work made me feel safe and secure.
It was a place where I belonged. But that group of men managed to slowly chisel away at those hardened edges, showing me a little more each day, how to find joy in life.
To relax and be at peace. They showed me what fun looked like and how to be in the moment without worry, just a little bit better.