Benny #2
“How about you count on it being a no, and I’ll call you if I change my mind.
” I end the call to the sound of Justin’s laugher and close the computer all the way.
Leaning back in my seat, I rub my eyes. There has been no favoritism here.
If I’ve written more for Bree, it’s because she always wants my songs, and I like how they sound when she sings them.
She doesn’t know I’m the guy behind the pseudonym, so it means nothing.
My anonymity is airtight. My mom doesn’t even know I do this.
She thinks I buy and sell houses all the time and sit around playing music no one will ever hear.
Little does she know, she hears a few of my songs every day when she goes to the grocery store or the bank or turns on the radio. They’re just being sung by a half-dozen of America’s hottest stars.
There are a slew of awards in my closet to prove it, too, but they will continue gathering dust there forever.
I’m waiting until I have ten so I can bowl with them. I’m almost there.
But none of that solves my immediate dilemma.
It’s been twenty-four hours since I’ve spoken to Bree, and I’m itching to walk next door and check on her.
We haven’t seen each other in ten years, and now I can’t go one day without searching for an excuse to pop in and make sure she has enough to eat?
I feel like Grandma when Colby had his appendix removed.
She was at his house for every meal, making sure he was eating, drinking, and healing properly.
Bree is here because she needs to heal from something, obviously. Big, famous pop stars rarely hide away for no reason. If she needs to heal, she needs food—if Grandma taught me anything, it’s that.
Maybe I’ll text Bree. I have her number. That’s not weird.
I pull out my phone and write a message.
Benny
Have you eaten lunch?
Bree
No. I was thinking of walking down to the fish and chips place
Okay, bad move, Benjamin Rhodes. Now she’ll expect me to join her. I can’t tell her I’ve already eaten when I just asked her if she’s had lunch. I can’t go with her, because…I’m feeling confused. The distance is good. We aren’t friends.
My phone starts ringing. Panic shoots my pulse into overdrive until I see Colby’s name flash across the screen: my cousin, who got work photographing with elitist magazine The Architectural Journal for a book collaboration.
He’s renting out his house while he’s traveling.
I help manage his Airbnb occasionally, since he’s often in remote areas with no reception.
“Your current tenant is a piece of work,” I tell him, going to my kitchen for some water.
“Hello to you too. How’s the weather back home?”
“Colby.”
“Ben.”
I inhale. “Weather’s nice. Mid-seventies and sunny. Your house is fine. The guest tried to break into my house at one in the morning, so that was fun.”
“Sorry, man. Any damages? I’ll cover them.”
Do damages to my mental state count? I’d rather not clue him in on those. He’ll worry about me. I breathe out. “Nah, it was a misunderstanding.”
“Beats my weekend, then. I was the last one in the car park at an abandoned ruin out here and they locked the gates. Completely shut me in, man. I had to sleep in my car. But I did get a killer shot of the sunrise.”
“Are we sure the Journal should trust you with this project? You’re liable to send in images of Paris, Texas when they ask for the Eiffel Tower.”
“Joke’s on you. I’ve shot in France already and they didn’t want anything related to Paris.”
I pull out a cup and fill it with ice water from the fridge. “Where are you now?”
“Italy. Should I call the guests?” Colby asks. “Are they upset?’
The way he’s asking puts to rest the brief thought I had that he might know who his guest actually is. “No, we worked it out. But it’s weird to wake up in the middle of the night to a woman climbing through my window because she thinks she’s locked out of her rental.”
“Sounds more like a fantasy than a nightmare, man.”
Even more than he realizes.
“Have you seen Grandma today?” Colby asks. “She wasn’t answering my calls.”
“I’ll check on her,” I promise. Grandma hates when we coddle her too much, and between Colby and I, there’s a lot of coddling.
We’re kind of all she has left, though. Colby’s mom died years ago, his dad lives near his other grandparents in Fresno, and my parents are still in LA.
My dad got work there when I started my music career, and they loved it so much they stayed.
I was the only one who went back to Montana after I quit, and I haven’t really lived near my family since.
We aren’t estranged, exactly. My dad still comes up to see his mother—and me, I guess—every so often. But to say they were disappointed I left the industry would be an understatement.
All that to say, I moved here when Grandma needed heart surgery a few years ago and never left.
“When are you coming home?” I ask Colby. He’s been gone for so long, I can’t help but feel like we’re close to the end of his trip. But Bree is in his house, so he can’t be planning on returning right away.
“I’m done in about ten days, but my latest guest wanted the house for a whole month, so I’m going to head to Fresno for a while and see my dad.”
A month. Bree is going to live next door to me for a month. Then I realize what he said about seeing his dad. “That’s loaded. You know you can crash here if you need to.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a breath that blows static through the phone. “We’re all adults. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Text me about Grandma, okay?”
“For sure.” I’m about to sign off when a knock at my front door startles me. I glance at the wavy glass and can make out Bree’s hot pink top from here. My heart is racing before I’ve even decided if I’m going to answer the door.
“Is that Grandma?” Colby asks, apparently having heard the knocking.
“Because she’s the only person who would visit me,” I say with sarcasm. Although, to be fair, that’s not far off.
“Her or a solar salesperson. Which is it?”
I don’t tell him it’s a world-famous pop star. “I’ve been thinking of reducing my carbon footprint.”
He laughs. “Talk to you later.”
“Bye.” I hang up, draw in a deep breath, and open my door.
Bree grins up at me with a wide smile of straight, white teeth. She’s wearing a blonde wig with long soft waves and huge dark sunglasses that cover half of her face. If I didn’t know it was her, I totally wouldn’t know it was her.
Until she talks, of course. Her voice is unique, and after all the spotlight she’s had over her lifetime, I’d be hard-pressed to find a person who wouldn’t recognize her voice.
“You coming?” she asks.
I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying yes right away. Apparently it’s an impulse to jump when she says go. “Where?”
“Lunch. You can help me know what to order. It’s a nice day, so I figured we could walk.”
I shouldn’t. It’s not wise to let myself get tangled up with her for so many reasons.
She bites her lip, drawing my eyes down there. “Or do you have to work?”
“I finished already. I’ll come.” Wise Ben isn’t here anymore. He’s still hanging out in my office. I reach for my key and step outside, pulling my door closed behind me. “But we’re taking my bike.”