9. Laila
Laila
“Did you drive here?”
“No, I took the train,” I reply.
“Bet, you can ride with me then. My car is parked right down the street.” Bryce says.
We both stand and walk back through the restaurant to the front entrance. He thanks the staff for taking care of us and his words are so sincere. Bryce takes a beanie and sunglasses from the pocket of his coat and puts them on before he holds the door to the restaurant open for me.
He really is trying to fight those asshole allegations, damn.
“Since when did you start being nice?” I ask.
“I’ve been trying to tell you all along that I am nice.”
“The jury is definitely still out on that one.”
The walk to the parking garage where Bryce’s car is parked is short. He hands his ticket to the valet attendant and they leave to get the car for us.
“I’m surprised you drive yourself around,” I say. “Don’t celebrities usually have drivers or something?”
“A lot of people do, but that’s never been my thing. When Xavier and I are together, he drives us a lot but other than that I usually drive myself around.”
A Lamborghini Urus pulls up and stops in front of us.
It’s blacked out with dark tint all around.
The valet attendant steps out and hands the key to Bryce.
Bryce takes the key and comes to the passenger side of the car and opens my door.
I thank him and get into the car and he shuts the door before rounding the car and getting in himself.
Bryce drives out of the parking garage and merges into the flow of traffic.
The sun shines down brightly, a significant contrast to the usual overcast, gloomy weather that is typical for the end of January.
Downtown Rosewood is alive with people shopping, running errands and simply enjoying the sunshine.
“How do you manage going out without running into fans all the time?” I ask curiously.
“It’s not as hard as you think,” Bryce says looking over at me.
“So you just casually walk around Target buying toothpaste and toilet paper? I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, no,” he says with a smile. “I usually get those things delivered, but I could if I wanted to. Especially in Los Angeles, people are used to seeing celebrities all of the time so it isn’t a big deal.
And if you don’t go to known places where paparazzi hang out or call them yourself you can usually fly under the radar.
People and their cell phones are a whole different thing though. ”
“How do you get around that?”
Bryce shrugs. “Sometimes you can’t. If X is around and he sees people trying to take a picture or video he’ll tell them not to. But usually, if I’m going out and I really don’t want to be noticed I wear hats,” he says, pointing to the beanie on his head. “And sunglasses.”
I nod in understanding.
“You sort of get used to it, though. And there’s a ton of people that you don’t see unless they want you to,” Bryce says.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I reply.
“I heard you when you said that you don’t want to be in my ‘orbit’. I’m going to do everything I can to honor that, okay?”
Bryce’s words feel genuine and I feel a squeezing in my chest at the idea that he’s taking my wants so seriously. I decide to focus on other things instead of the warm feelings in my chest that are trying to keep my attention.
“You talked shit about my work being my life, but isn’t that true for you too? Touring and releasing albums and all that doesn’t just happen. That takes a lot of time and hard work.”
“It does, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have hobbies or take time off. Hell, it's been almost four years since I was on tour.”
“What are these hobbies?” I ask skeptically.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Bryce says smiling. “We’re actually going somewhere for one of my hobbies now.”
The drive to this mystery location takes about thirty minutes. Bryce pulls off the main street and goes down a back alley. He parks the car behind what looks like a warehouse with only one other car in the small lot.
“I swear if you’re planning on taking me in there to murder me, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Bryce throws his head back and laughs. He kills the engine and gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger side and opens my door. He holds his hand out to help me out of the car but I don’t take it.
“I am so serious,” I deadpan, a serious look on my face.
“Come on. I promise you won’t be murdered.”
I give him another skeptical glance before I take his hand and slide out of the car. The back door to the warehouse opens and a white woman with long blonde hair and a fitted pantsuit steps out, holding the door open with her back. We get closer and she speaks.
“Mr. Taylor, welcome in.”
“Thank you,” Bryce replies.
We step into the building and follow the woman down a hallway that is not very well lit.
I keep my guard up, really wishing that I had actually kept up with those boxing classes Zara and I took all of two times.
The end of the hallway has another door with ‘showroom’ on it in faded letters that were probably once white.
The woman pulls the door open and we step into a large room full of …
pianos? There are over a dozen pianos spread across the room, the bright overhead lights shining against the shiny wood.
I turn around to look at Bryce, frowning.
Bryce grins. “You should’ve seen the look on your face when we went down that hallway. Your ass was so scared.”
I smack him lightly with the back of my hand.
“You’re the one who brought me to a back entrance and down a dark dingy hallway. I didn’t know what to expect!”
“You never have to be worried about your safety with me, Laila. I won’t ever hurt you and I will never let anyone else hurt you when I’m around either.”
There it is again. Those little flutters in the base of my belly that spark whenever I’m around Bryce.
“Would you like anything to drink? Sparkling water? Champagne.” The woman who escorted us in asks with a tight lipped smile.
Bryce answers for the both of us. “Champagne is fine.”
Champagne and pianos… what in the actual fuck is going on.
“I’ll be just a moment, but feel free to have a look around the showroom.”
She disappears to a back room and then it’s only me and Bryce.
“You brought me to a piano showroom?” I ask, still confused.
Bryce walks further into the room, running the pads of his fingers over the lacquer of the top of a black grand piano.
“Yeah I guess I did. Is that weird?”
“I wouldn’t say weird,” I reply. “But it is a first for me.”
“I made this appointment a few weeks ago, before I knew we would go to brunch. I had to leave my old piano back in LA so I came to pick out a new one for my place here.”
The blonde woman comes back with two flutes of champagne in her hands, the bubbles still floating to the top of the light gold liquid. She hands each of us a flute before she speaks.
“Please take your time looking around, Mr. Taylor. We do have the one that you inquired about in our special collections room off to your right. Please let me know if you need anything or have any questions.”
“Thank you,” Bryce says.
“I didn’t know you played piano.”
Bryce moves on to another piano. To me it looks the same as a handful of other pianos in the room but I’m sure there are specs and details that I, someone who has never even touched a grand piano, has no knowledge of.
“Growing up my parents had one of our neighbors that they were close with, watch me until they got off of work when I was too young to stay home alone. She had this really old upright piano and she taught me how to play and how to read music.”
“Aw that’s sweet. That was really nice of her,” I say.
Bryce shakes his head. “I’m not sure anyone would say Mrs. Roberts was sweet. She was kind of a grumpy old lady. Like the kind who yelled at you for being on her grass.”
I snort, the imagery of a young Bryce being scolded by a little old lady sitting on her porch coming to mind.
“I’m sure there was a couch in her house you weren’t allowed to sit on too.”
“For sure,” he replies. “It was floral and covered in plastic and she didn’t let anyone sit on it.”
We walk through the pianos, sipping our champagne. I stop and run my fingers over the keys of a dark brown piano that’s smaller than the other ones in the room.
“What do you think?” Bryce asks.
I shrug my shoulders. “I mean they’re clearly really nice, but they all just look like pianos to me.”
Bryce nods in understanding. “Some people probably have a really complex way to tell them apart, but for me it’s kind of like anything that you have a preference on.
Sometimes you have a really strong preference for something and sometimes it's just one of many that a bunch of different companies have made.”
“That makes sense, but how do you pick one then?”
“Trial and error. Just sitting and playing with them until there’s one that just feels right.”
“So which one is the one that feels right for you,” I ask.
Bryce gestures towards the room that the woman referred to earlier. “Let me show you.”
The pianos in this room are clearly more custom.
While the pianos in the main room were all black or brown there are pianos in here with more unique coloring, white, red and green and even some with a contrasting color on the inside of the lid.
One piano in particular is separated away from the others on a platform.