Chapter 35
“C
ould you just wait a couple minutes, in case no one’s home?” I ask the cab driver as we pull up outside the big gray security gates at Rachel’s new house.
“Well, I don’t know abou?—”
I hand him another twenty.
“Sure. I can do that, Yeah, sure.”
But I hope to fuck I haven’t come all this way to find an empty house.
The thought of having to go book a hotel and come back later is excruciating. I’m here now, and I want to see Hannah now.
With my duffel bag over my shoulder, I jump out of the car into the warm sunshine. Slightly different from the freezing temperature I left behind.
To the right of the gates is a number pad with a speaker and a big white button. Guess I press the button.
Presumably the buzzer rings in only the main house and Hannah won’t hear it in the guesthouse. So I hope like hell Rachel’s home. But maybe it’s not likely since it’s four o’clock on a Monday afternoon.
Damn.
I press the buzzer again.
It makes no sound on my end, so I just have to trust it’s making a sound inside. Or on Rachel’s phone. How do these things even work?
Or maybe I didn’t press it hard enough.
I give it a few more jabs, but still nothing.
“No one home, huh?” the cabbie helpfully calls through his window.
“Let’s give them a minute. It’s a big house. They could be miles from the intercom. Or not have their phones with them. Or whatever the hell this thing is connected to.”
I press my face to the tiny gap between the gates, searching for any hint of life—two cars are in the drive, but there’s no sign of movement anywhere.
I punch the buzzer a few more times.
Still nothing.
But if anyone had picked up, their voice would be drowned out by the sudden screech of tires on asphalt as a car hurtles around the corner behind me.
LA drivers, honest to God.
I do my best to squint through the narrow space down the side of the gates but am distracted by the slamming of a car door and a man’s voice.
“Sir?”
I turn to see two neighborhood security guards the size of sheds heading toward me, right hands on their hips.
Fucking hell, is Rachel home and she’s called armed security on me?
I look overhead, searching for cameras. None are immediately apparent.
“What are we up to here, sir?” the larger of the two sheds asks.
“Visiting a friend.”
“Not that good of a friend if they won’t let you in,” the slightly less large shed says.
There’s a new screeching of tires as the cab takes off. Guess twenty bucks wasn’t enough for him to risk being the getaway driver for what must look like some sort of stalker.
“Hello? Hello?” A female voice crackles out of the speaker.
I lunge for the intercom button.
“Easy now, sir,” Large Shed says, stepping toward me with such purpose I’m surprised the ground doesn’t shake.
“Rachel? Rachel?” I shout urgently at the box. “Is that you?”
“Yes? Who’s this?” Except her voice cuts in and out, so it sounds more like “Ye—? —oo —iss?”
“It’s Tom. Tom Dashwood. And I think I’m about to be handcuffed.” The sheds might not have the power to arrest me, but they can sure as hell call the cops.
“Oh, —uck. Hold o—. H— on.”
I turn to the sheds. “She said hold on.” I drop my bag to the ground and hold my hands up, just in case. “Could we please hold on a moment?”
“Where are you from, sir?” Less Large Shed asks.
“Boston. Well, actually London. Well…” If he only knew just what an existential question that is. “I live in London. If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Most people don’t find that question so tricky.” Large Shed’s voice is chock-full of suspicion.
“Yes, well?—”
Thank fuck I’m interrupted by the electronic click and whir of the gates sliding open behind me. Rachel emerges between them like my savior, dressed in blue yoga gear, matching headband and all.
At least, I hope she’s my savior.
It’s only right now that it dawns on me that she might be as furious with me as Jude was. Actually more so, because Rachel will undoubtedly have been given the whole story, every gory detail, blow by blow. And I’m guessing I don’t come out of it too well.
She could be about to tell these guys that I’m stalking her houseguest and they should carry me away to meet all the other sheds.
“It’s okay, guys,” Rachel says. “Totally fine.”
Muscles I didn’t even realize were as tight as a drumhead start to relax.
“You can go,” she tells them.
“Are you sure, ma’am?” Less Large Shed asks. “Because we can take care of this, if you need us to.”
That might be the most terrifying sentence I’ve ever heard.
“It’s all good. And I’m sorry you were bothered.” She turns to me. “This thing’s set up with a new system.” She points at the control panel. “If someone buzzes and buzzes and buzzes and we don’t let them in, it alerts the security company.”
“Yes, we were just around the corner,” Large Shed chips in. “Nice and handy.”
Yes. Handy. And nice.
“I was trying to answer,” she continues, “but there’s a bad connection somewhere, and I guess you couldn’t hear me. It’s all so new, and they can’t get an electrician out to look at it until next week.”
“Well, let’s hope you don’t have too many unexpected guests between now and then,” Less Large Shed says.
“Have a nice evening, ma’am,” Large Shed says. “And sir.” He straightens his cap as they head back to their car.
I turn to Rachel and blow out a long breath. “Thanks. Fuck. Thanks.” My hands are trembling with relief. Or still with fear. Or possibly both, given the flashbacks it’s prompted. “I haven’t been in trouble with any form of authority since I was sixteen.”
“And I think I was there for that,” she says. “When Mr. Joshi from the store around the corner from school reported you for taking a Mars bar every day for two weeks. Guess times have changed, huh?” She looks me up and down. “You still need a haircut, though.”
I gesture to her house. “You’re not doing so badly either.”
“Yup. Nice accent, by the way.” She looks up at the house. “We moved in a couple days ago. It’s only just finished. Although, I guess the entry system still isn’t quite there yet.” She plants her hands on her Lycra-clad hips. “Anyway, I’m guessing you weren’t just passing and decided to stop by to catch up with your old pal, Rachel, from Thursday-afternoon American History.”
“Yeah, I er…seem to…er…” …have run out of words, is what I seem to have done.
Next to us, the security car pulls away and is immediately replaced by a beater that stops like its brakes don’t fully function. A guy in his early twenties leaps out, a video camera glued to his eye.
“Tom Dashwood, right?” he asks, his camera roving over me, Rachel, and her house.
“Who the hell are you?” I’ve barely been in LA more than an hour and already I’m sick of its bullshit.
“From Showbiz Nightly,” he says.
“Oh, Jesus,” Rachel says. “First security patrol, now celebrity patrol.”
“You are Tom, right?” Camera Dude asks again. “I hear you just had a brush with the law. Were you trying to break into this house? Do you know the owner? Are you in a relationship with this woman? Why are you in Los Angeles? Are you buying the old Capitol Records building? When do you think Four Thousand Medicines will finally have a new album out? You’re friends with Hugo Powers, right? What do you think about him punching that reporter?”
This guy is the wind tunnel of interviewers.
“Am I buying the old Capitol Records building? What the hell makes you thi?—?”
“For the love of God.” Rachel charges toward him. “Get the fuck away from my house. And get the fuck away from this man. He’s not Tom Whoever-you’re-looking-for.”
Camera Dude lowers his camera and takes a step back.
“Go on.” Her arms flap like she’s trying to take off. “Just generally fuck off.”
Camera Dude looks at her with the shock of someone whose presence has never been challenged before.
He backs up toward his car. “Sorry, ma’am.” He ducks into the driver’s seat. “Mistaken identity, I guess.” He slams the door and zooms off to his next victim.
Rachel and I watch him rattle down the street.
“How did he even know I was here?”
She shrugs. “They appear out of thin air whenever a celebrity is doing anything embarrassing. Guess I hadn’t really processed that’s what you are.”
And there’s another shitty thing about LA I hadn’t even thought of.
“Thank you for the quick thinking and getting rid of him. I should probably have done that myself.”
“Hell, no!” She says it like I’m the most dense person alive. “Then he would have had great footage of you yelling at him and it would have been everywhere. It’s better that you did nothing. And I told him it wasn’t you, so he has nothing.”
“Apart from video of a very angry blue doctor.”
“Yes. Not that marketable, I don’t think. Anyway, as I was saying. You’re here for Hannah, right?”
Words suddenly become troublesome again.
Maybe it’s the shock of almost being detained by two sheds with hands terrifyingly close to whatever those weapons were, then being verbally battered by the rat-a-tat-tat of Camera Dude’s questions, or maybe it’s because I’m now just moments away from seeing Hannah, but I’m suddenly paralyzed with fear she won’t actually want me.
“I’ll take that blank stare as a yes,” Rachel says. “But she’s not here.”
“Oh, shit.” The bad news revives my ability to speak. “Has she moved out?”
“Nope. At work.”
“Oh, wow.” Okay, that’s a good thing. Progress. “She got a job. Amazing. Where is it? I’ll go there.”
Rachel folds her arms and thinks. “I’m not sure she’d want me to tell you that.”
Oh, good. Now we are playing the same game as Jude.
“If you don’t, I’ll just sit on the curb here outside your house, attracting law enforcement and celebrity stalkers from across the city, and your new neighbors will start to think maybe you funded this place by being, well, you know, not actually surgeons.” I make air quotes.
“Still got the wisest ass on the block, huh?” She smiles. “Honestly, she’d kill me if I told you.”
I crouch down by my bag and plant my arse on the edge of the curb.
“You can’t sit there, or I’ll have to run you over to get out for my yoga class.” She looks at her watch. “Which I am now late for.”
“Tell me where Hannah works, and I’ll be gone in a flash.”
“I can’t betray her.”
“Guess I’m looking at getting a cold, hard butt for a couple hours then.”
Rachel steps back and reassesses the space. “Actually, I could probably squeeze by you if I took the little Fiat.”
She starts to head back toward the gates.
“How’s Dylan?” I call after her.
“Dylan?” She stops and looks at me.
“Yeah. How’s he doing? It’s a big move. And that’s a delicate age. It can be tough.”
“He’s doing okay.” Her voice is soft and caring. “Thank you for asking.”
“I know what it’s like to be a kid and have a big upheaval in your life. And not know how to deal with it other than by being an arsehole.”
She smiles and nods. “Yeah, just ask Mr. Joshi.”
“Is he having guitar lessons?”
Rachel looks puzzled. “Dylan?”
“Yeah. I’d started to teach him. He liked it. I thought it would be good for him.”
Rachel’s head drops back, and she looks up at the irritatingly blue sky as she lets out a long groan.
“Get up,” she says, once the groaning’s over. “Hannah’s office is on the way to yoga. I’ll drop you off.”