10. The Female Perspective
10
THE FEMALE PERSPECTIVE
O’CONNOR
I was left with a partial view of Ian O’Rourke’s living room and the empty chair that had once held Archer Armstrong. Through the speaker I could hear the distant sound of shouts, thumps, and the occasional excited barks.
This went on for an annoyingly long time.
Then there wasn’t even any noise to keep me interested. I thought about disconnecting the call, but then a sheaf of white-blonde hair fell across the camera.
Nicky Swanson edged around the corner of Archer’s computer and blinked at me.
“Hello?” she said. “O’Connor, hi. What’s going on?”
“Hello, Nicky.” She looked pleased that I remembered her name. “The dog apparently stole a boot.”
She grinned and gasped at the same time. “Archer’s boot? Of course it was Archer’s boot. Charlotte lives to chew up his footwear. It drives him up the wall. He’s very attached to his shoes.” She looked around the room. “Hang on. I’ll see if I can get an update for you.” She was back quickly, giggling. “I don’t know how she did it, but Charlotte got into the backyard. She now has the boot by its laces. Every time she throws her head up, she kicks herself in the head, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Want me to bring the camera to the window? It’s quite a sight.”
I made the “unintentional” mistake of not telling her I was recording. We could get to that in a moment. That was why I managed to capture the sight of the world’s fastest-rising rock band chasing their huge dog across a tiny lawn in various states of undress on a gray, rainy afternoon.
Archer had apparently sat for our meeting in a nice white shirt and his boxer briefs, trusting to the tabletop view to keep me from knowing he wasn’t wearing any pants. His legs were long, and his ass was as handsome as one would suspect.
Mal Becker wore a low-slung pair of jeans that showed off some impressive muscle definition. He was the only one of the three wearing shoes.
And Ian was still in his towel, which he had clutched in one hand as he tried to wrangle the dog with the other.
Nicky and I enjoyed the sight for a moment, and then she put me down again. “They’re idiots,” she said fondly. “If they’d stop chasing her, she’d calm down and they could get her to sit. But it’s a million times harder to train pet owners than it is to train a pet.”
“Those are words of wisdom,” I decided. “Who does Charlotte respond to the most?”
Nicky sat in Archer’s seat. “Respond to? Archer. She loves that guy. All women do.”
She and I shared a rueful grin. “What about who can get her to drop the boot?”
She thought about it. “Me, I guess. I don’t even live here. Yet.” She had a Mona Lisa smile I liked the looks of. “But I’m more consistent with her. The guys keep forgetting they’re supposed to be the alpha, and Charlotte is fine with being the one in charge.”
“They forget they’re supposed to be the alpha,” I mused. “That’s sort of surprising. I would have thought that Archer would be a natural alpha.” Nicky opened her mouth to reply, and I realized that her answer might be very valuable. “Wait,” I said. “I’m recording. Do I have your permission?”
“I assumed you were recording. Yeah, that’s fine.”
Yay!
“So, Archer as an alpha,” she said thoughtfully. She wrinkled her nose and scrabbled her fingers along her scalp. “Archer’s a great front man for the band. He’s pure confidence. You can’t push him over. His ego is like a cork.”
“I noticed,” I said archly.
Nicky grinned. “I know it’s annoying. But I guess you can’t consistently stand up in front of hundreds, even thousands of people unless you’ve got a pretty big dose of swagger, you know? Ian doesn’t have it. He’s absolutely content to be in the background.”
“Ian is a brilliant guitarist.”
“And a great songwriter. But he has no interest in upstaging Archer. It’s part of why they’re such an unstoppable band. Mal and Ian honestly believe the day will come when Archer goes solo, and they’ll be his biggest cheerleaders when he does.”
Curious. This was excellent scoop—for my book, if not for my next YouTube video. “Do you think that’s going to happen?”
“That Archer will go solo?” She made a thoughtful face. “I’d actually doubt it. Archer defers to Ian a lot, and to Mal. The three of them really trust each other. I’m not sure Archer would want to go solo. I guess we’ll find out one day.”
“You don’t think Archer would want all the applause for himself? He seems pretty selfish to me.”
“Ah, you see, that’s what has you confused. I’ve discovered that a person can be hopelessly vain without being selfish. It’s weird, huh? Archer thinks he hung the moon all by himself, but he’d give all the moonlight he could gather to help Ian or Mal. Or me, I guess. Archer’s a very vain sweetie. You’ll see.”
That was disappointing. There was no scandal, no urge to turn the next page, in this Hallmark-movie version of Archer Armstrong.
“How’s the boot hunt coming?” I asked.
“They’re back in the house, but I suspect Charlotte is covered in mud because I can hear them all in the bathroom again. It’s been hysterical here lately.”
“You’re a very patient woman. How do they smell, really?”
“Oh, it’s a million times better. That formula you passed on really helped. Ten or fifteen more baths and they’ll be back to normal.”
“How about you? Did you get any skunk on you?”
“Me? Nah. I just smell like a wet dog. Which is bad enough, you know?” We laughed together. “Want me to pry Archer out of there?”
“I think we’re done for now. Tell him I’ll talk to him when he’s in Omaha on Saturday.”
“Omaha. Isn’t that wild? Who would have sent Aftermath to Nebraska?”
“Does it make Archer angry?” A little anti–center-of-the-country sentiment could be whipped up for scandal and anger.
“Nah. All the guys are down for it. Since Archer bought that truck, they can’t wait to drive everywhere. Like Mal says, Nebraska people need to rock for their mental health, just like everyone else.”
“Rock music for mental health. I guess there’s some release there for some people.”
“Some people? Try all people! When you stand in one of those crowds? It’s awesome. Everyone singing and dancing together? It’s the best feeling in the world. No divisions, no arguments, just a unity of music. Shit. I sound like a fool, don’t I?”
“You sound like a preacher in a religion I’d like to join.”
“Aw, that’s so nice! Let me grab Archer for you.”
“I actually have another meeting. Tell him I said—Omaha.”
“Omaha. Got it.”
“Thanks, Nicky.”
I disconnected the call and considered what I’d gotten. Archer in his shorts was pretty good; I’d pull some stills from the video. His confusion about how to make someone comfortable had potential, but mostly the call had just been funny.
And funny didn’t sell books.
I could get my new agent pumped up with seminude Archer photos, but I needed more. More in-depth discussions. More exploration of a life of privilege and arrogance.
I needed more. Just more.