Chapter 10 Right in This Moment, This Order’s Tall
Right in This Moment, This Order’s Tall
RIFF
Our limo pulls up to the Desert Rose Beach Club in Malibu—an exclusive venue that ironically is not on the beach.
It’s beachy in theme, I guess, with multiple pools that no one is swimming in, lounge chairs, cabanas, and a huge open paved area in the middle for performances.
Today there’s a stage with a DJ set up there, and several freestanding vertical banners celebrating the Glo Radio Spring Session.
Everything is decked out in their neon orange and pink color scheme.
All landscaped areas display some type of palm tree or tropical plants. The music has all the relaxed, sunny vibes you’d expect, resonating even at a distance.
Harmony looks past me through my window (I’m on the side closest to the entrance) and scowls. This event is the next big step in our dating stunt, and neither of us is looking forward to it.
It’s been over a week since we recorded “Lip Sync.” Producers are fast-tracking the release, but it’ll still be a couple more weeks, so in the meantime, the label has us teasing our fans whenever possible.
For example: Our PR teams tipped off paparazzi that we were recording and made sure we got caught leaving the studio building together.
A few days later, they drove us into the city and dropped us off on Fairfax by the Original Farmer’s Market wearing hats and sunglasses, instructing us to do a full promenade past the stalls, carts, and through The Grove before they picked us up again on Third Street (to sell the illusion of trying to be incognito while also being obvious enough to turn some heads and inspire spontaneous photos).
They’ve also had us post cryptic snippets on social media, like “Just finished recording and I can’t get that *harmony* out of my head,” or “Never expected a RIFF-off like this, but I’m not mad about it” along with reaction videos to uploaded clips from our Coastal Hearts performance, except we don’t say anything in them; instead, Harmony (as instructed) smiles like she “has a secret” while I do my signature “Grind My Gears” wink.
We also “leaked” behind-the-scenes footage of our recording session.
The public response has already been outrageous, even though we’re just getting started.
An attendant opens my door and I step out, turn to Harmony, and offer my hand. She takes it and lets me guide her onto the walkway. A perfect little choreography that we practiced in advance, which does the trick because camera shutters click around us right away.
Harmony’s hair is all beach-wavy—something that is supposed to look like it happened naturally but probably took an hour or more to achieve—and she wears a linen sundress in a color Stefanie referred to as “saffron.” I’m not sure what’s on her face, but it shimmers, making her bronze skin tone look even more bronze.
The breeze blows her scent at me and she smells like something floral.
God help me.
My stylist has me in an untucked Ralph Lauren chambray button-down (top two buttons open and sleeves rolled to my elbows so I don’t look stuffy), beige chinos, and leather loafers. And of course I’ve got a black Stetson on my head, “for contrast.”
This is an invite-only industry event, so we don’t have to worry about anyone getting too crazy about our arrival, but the second we walk into the midst of it all, something does shift in the surrounding air.
A few attendees in casual-business attire (sitting in tented lounge areas holding cocktails) glance in our direction and whisper when we pose along the step-and-repeat.
Several brand reps and VIP creators let their conversations wane when we pass.
Plenty of people don’t notice us at all, but the ones that do are smart enough to understand the “be cool” etiquette you’re supposed to have around famous people at these things.
More photographers (hired by Glo Radio to document the event) aim their lenses at us.
For now, we simply walk side by side, no public displays of affection that might cause more of a stir. We’re supposed to save that for later, Braden said. We just want to get people talking, wondering, theorizing.
Heads turn subtly, people smile and nudge their companions.
Here and there, a cellphone peeks out from above a table. Other attendees pretend to text or read notifications, but their phones are angled too high to not be taking photos.
As soon as we stop to get drinks from a cocktail waiter, though, someone approaches us. It’s a woman I know only from movies and she seems to know Harmony personally.
“Isabel!” Harmony chirps as she embraces the starlet. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
Isabel LaRue tosses her red hair (with beachy waves similar to Harmony’s). “Well, I wasn’t sure I could make it with my schedule, but I’m taking a break from filming at the moment and I happened to be at my L.A. residence this weekend, so it worked out.”
“That’s great,” says Harmony.
“It really is! Especially since I was just reading some gossip about you online.” Isabel nods toward me with raised eyebrows. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend? Not that I don’t already know who he is by now …”
I can tell it’s taking all of Harmony’s strength to act like she’s not repulsed by me, but she’s not a half-bad actor herself when she slips her arm into the crook of my elbow and replies, “Of course. Isabel, meet Riff Hurley.”
Isabel shakes my hand. “A pleasure.”
“Same,” I tell her.
“You two came together?”
Because I’m a perpetual teenager at heart, I stifle a laugh. But then it’s not so funny because I picture Harmony’s blissful expression when she straddled me and I’m very close to needing to adjust myself.
“The label thought it would be good,” Harmony says, “for promoting our upcoming single.”
“Oh right!” Isabel flags down a passing waiter and grabs herself a glass of champagne. Somehow I doubt it’s her first one this morning. “I saw the release countdown on Glo the other day. How exciting.”
Harmony asks Isabel when filming will wrap up on her current project, a thriller called The Deep Dark Woods, and shortly afterward someone calls Isabel away to talk to another celebrity.
A rep from Glo greets us next, thanking us for attending, and encourages us to enjoy the brunch buffet.
Silently we walk over and observe the spread. It’s fruit platters and delicate French pastries and smoked salmon. There’s also an entire charcuterie table.
Harmony mutters, “I still don’t really understand charcuterie.”
“You mean … adult Lunchables?” I pick up a plate and layer a few crackers under soppressata salami and slices of gouda.
“I never had Lunchables as a kid.”
“What?!” I clutch my chest like she’s just caused me physical pain. “But you didn’t get famous until college; I thought you had a normal childhood before that.”
“My dad grew up in an immigrant household, remember? He carried that highly practical mentality into parenting me. Why pay five dollars for a few crackers when you can get a box of fifty for two dollars?”
“Except it also comes with meat, cheese, a mini candy bar … maybe a Capri Sun if you’re lucky.”
“I’ll be sure to pass along the message next time I talk to him. Maybe he’ll change his mind now that I’m thirty years old.”
I frown. “Have you at least tried some of this stuff?”
“I’ve considered it, but then I look at all the different possible combinations and I get overwhelmed. What goes best with what? Where do I even start? I usually end up eating slices of cheese by themselves, or putting one of the gourmet jams on a crostini, but that’s about it.”
“It’s like music,” I say, grabbing a water cracker and one of the tiny knives.
“You have your percussion, your bass, your melody. You basically just need one of each category, and most times you can’t go wrong, as long as you’re dealing with good quality products.
” I gesture at the cheese. “Do you prefer a salty-sweet combo? Or salty-saltier? Or tart?”
“I don’t need you to give me a lesson,” she replies flatly. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“I’m going to guess salty-sweet.” Most women are suckers for that combo. I slather the cracker with pear-wine goat cheese, while Harmony ignores me in favor of some chocolate croissants. “Now, do you like spicy? Or not so much? I don’t want to assume …”
“I only like spicy for tacos.”
“Got it.” I grab a bit of prosciutto with a pair of tongs and add it on top, then hand it over.
Harmony wrinkles her nose at my offering.
“Come on,” I say. “Try it.” When she doesn’t answer, I add, “Maybe I could feed it to you—you know, for the cameras?” I’m only half joking. I’d do it for laughs.
She finally snatches it and takes a bite. When she pauses, I know I’ve made her see the light.
“Good, right?” I ask.
“Fine,” Harmony admits, “but I’m still not sold on the Lunchables. The meat looks like it’s made of canned chicken puree.” She finishes it and moves on to some pineapple and strawberries.
Once we’ve got what we want on our plates, we mingle with anyone who dares to come talk to us.
It’s a couple of fashion vloggers (one of whom has apparently made some videos re-creating Harmony’s red-carpet looks) and a guy who is internet famous for daring people to do embarrassing things in public parking lots; then it’s an indie band that only does covers on YouTube, and they’ve recently covered two of our hate songs; late-night talk show host Preston Holt of Catch You Later; Bethany Blaise from Blindfolded Love; and another Glo rep who is interested in having us do some live acoustic performances at the brand’s Summer Session in July.
Most of the high-profile attendees aren’t brazen enough to ask outright if Harmony and I are dating.
To the ones who do ask, we respond with a coy “we don’t know what you’re talking about” to which they grin conspiratorially.
Everyone else just looks at us like they’re in on it and pretends to be more interested in other aspects of our careers, which I appreciate.