Taft unlocked the front door and ushered Jake inside. “It’s unassuming from the front, right?”
Jake looked at him suspiciously. “Yeah, I know what view this row of houses has – holy crap. You lucky bastard.” Jake stopped dead in the middle of the living room. Taft grinned.
“Packs a punch, doesn’t it?”
“You lucky son of a bitch.”
“I know.” It was luck, Taft knew that. A pure dumb streak of it, from being born to the right family.
Jake walked to the glass window that ran from ceiling to floor. “Dude, I live on a boat, and my view isn’t this good.”
The sun was just dropping into the ocean, the fog still a thin grey strip on the horizon. With no clouds in the sky, the blue was going directly to orange, and soon the light would be gone. To the south was a view of the far end of town and the dunes that led to the water. Directly in front, twenty yards from the edge of the house, the cliff dropped to the water. “There’s a staircase there.” Taft pointed. “Goes right down.”
“I know.” Jake nodded. “Great make-out spot down there. I might have convinced a girl or two that it’s our local nude beach.”
“And it’s not?”
“Well, sometimes it is.”
To the north, ice plant and low scrub covered the sand like a nubby green carpet. The bluffs stretched around the curve of the coast. The water was dark blue and getting darker as the sky moved into a deep orange.
“I promised you beer.” Taft grabbed a couple from the fridge. “Let’s go outside.”
Jake sank into a heavy wooden chair the house had come with, and gave a happy-sounding sigh. He opened the white plastic bag and dug out the plates of tacos from Dario’s. “This is insane. If I were you, I’d never be inside. I’ve always wanted to get in here and see what it looked like on the other side. Man, you bought a hell of a house.”
Taft nodded. He’d bought a house.
A house.
In Darling Bay.
Taft wondered again how long it took to stop being the newcomer here. “Did you know the people who lived here before?”
“The Adelaides. Yeah. The old guy was a music teacher, and his wife was disabled. Had a stroke in her thirties, lost most of her sight and some speech. He took care of her until they both died, in their eighties.”
“Damn.”
“Right? Think about that. Getting married young to someone healthy and strong, then you taking care of them for the rest of your life. The worst.” Jake bit into a taco.
Yeah. The worst.
But what if they’d really loved each other? What if Mr. Adelaide’s whole life was made better by his wife; what if she meant everything to him? Lana’s mop of dark hair flashed into his mind.
Surely that was what true love was. Taking care of the one you loved.
What if that person didn’t want to be helped?
Taft dug out a chicken taco on a soft corn tortilla. Piled with cheese and salsa, it dripped onto his work pants before it made it halfway to his mouth. “What do you think of –” he broke off, embarrassed. “Never mind.”
“What do I think of the state of politics? Religion?”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.”
“Or are you wondering what I think about the way Lana Darling has looked at you every night for the last month when you ask her those two questions?”
The top of Taft’s head went hot. “It’s that obvious?”
“Dude.”
Every night, when the hotel crew knocked off work, they went downstairs for a beer at the bar. Every night, Taft asked Lana to come down with them.
She said no, every time.
Then, without fail, he said, “You want to write a song later? I’d shower first.”
Every night, she said no to that, too.
Each time, he wasn’t surprised. Being in show business his whole life, he knew that no one got anywhere without asking, without pushing, without trying.
But he also knew who he was: a washed-up writer with a pretty good singing career that he hadn’t earned honestly. How was that supposed to impress someone like Lana Darling, who was gifted and gorgeous and amazing and – “I think I’m in falling in love with her.”
“Dude,” Jake said again. He clinked his beer against Taft’s. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s awful.”
“I’ve gotta say, it does look painful.”
Taft kicked his boots onto the deck railing. A seagull swooped by at eye level and flew away screaming with injustice. The air smelled of brine and seaweed and Tapatío hot sauce.
“So I look like as much of a loser as I am.”
Jake nodded. “Yeah. You’re such a fucking loser. International superstar, enough money to buy a house on a whim –”
“A cottage, your brother called it.” A million had been a steal, to be honest. Three hours down the coast, and these kinds of houses started at two.
“– the kind of life where you can pitch in on a construction crew just for fun.”
“Well. It’s not just for fun.”
“We know.”
“You think I have any chance with her?” Taft tried not to sound too pathetic.
Still chewing, Jake scrutinized Taft. “Sure.”
“Is that your honest opinion?”
Jake squinted. “No.”
“Come on, man.”
Jake lowered his bottle. “She’s closed off. If any guy can get her attention, it seems like you’d be the one.”
“But.”
“She’s the lone wolf of the group. She’s always been like that.”
Taft leaned forward eagerly, dropping half a taco on the deck as he did. “You knew her back then?”
“Sure. She always seemed like the one who wasn’t part of anything else. They used to come here every summer, but I only remember Adele and Molly with us for the beach bonfires or drinking behind the library, not Lana. The rest of us all got stoned and stupid every summer, but Lana was always off with her notebook or her guitar. She’d come by sometimes and watch us skate. Then she’d take off again.”
“So she’s naturally solitary.” Taft could barely imagine what that would feel like. He actively liked to collect people. No one stayed a stranger long. He’d gotten that from Palmer.
He thought he had, at least.
Jake went on, “Lone wolf, you know?”
“What if she’s just shy? Or nervous about being in a crowd?”
“Would she be a musician, then?”
Heck, yeah. Taft knew plenty of musicians who preferred their own company to that of a group. It wasn’t that Lana didn’t like people. It was something else.
Jake kicked out his legs. “There goes the sun.”
Taft barely glanced at it. “So you think I’m doomed to fail.”
“Yep. Unless you need me to say you’re on the right track, in which case I will, because I want backstage tickets to your next show in San Francisco.”
“Maybe it’s just me she doesn’t like.”
“Could be. Seems like she gets along okay with everyone else.”
“You are not helping me out.”
“But I’m truthful. I did buy the tacos, so I call that helpful as shit.”
“No ideas?”
Jake shrugged. “Just keep asking. It’s not like she’s mad you’re doing it. She doesn’t snap at you or anything when you ask. I swear, every night she’s thinking about it, but every night she says no. You know the rest of us have a pool on it, right?”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Who has ‘never?’”
“Um.”
“You do!”
“Sorry, pal. I could use the cash.”
Taft watched the last sliver of sun slip behind the back of the world. He liked having Jake on the porch with him. It was good to have friends, and he was lucky that he made them quickly. Jake was a good guy.
Damn, though, he couldn’t help wishing the person next to him was a black-haired country-singing grumpy-pants-wearing country girl named Lana Darling.
He’d just keep asking, then.