Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ashland
So new plan. Same one, really. Just accelerated. The same goal. Fanny. Get her to stay and extend this happy for now status as long as I could. To that end I strategized as I led her around the studio with my hand firm on the curve of her back.
My office had been the first stop. She had taken a seat in my big leather chair, drawn her long shapely legs up, put her buckle adorned purple high-tops on the seat, and given herself a spin while I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched her, completely mesmerized. Uniquely Fanny and so my little gypsy. Nothing in her ensemble matched, but yet it all worked. A knit headband in black with a textured flower that I knew Gonzolo’s daughter Luna handcrafted exclusively for Karen to sell at Offshore. Cuffed jean shorts and a flowy beige top dusted with red roses and a diamond shaped opening between her tits so I could see a hint of what I had missed exploring for myself this morning. I imagined my hands lifting them for my fingers to pluck instead of hers. Catching me staring, she had looked up and said, “Nice office. Very organized. I can totally imagine you sitting here with your feet up on the desk. You like being the boss.”
I certainly did so I had nodded.
Yet I had discovered that being in charge was the most sweet when it was Fanny obeying a direct order of mine. There was something about the way she acquiesced. She didn’t have to of course. She chose to because she wanted to please me. For that and many reasons I was anxious to see what happened between us the next time we were alone. Step by careful step, I planned to make her mine.
After my office, I had taken her to the large conference room with the long glossy table and the best view of the pier. She asked what bands we had signed in that room, and I shared. Her eyes widened recognizing a few of our top clients. Friends, some of them sure, but ones who were tired of being just a number to the larger labels where the fresh college grads who managed them didn’t have a clue what it was like to be a musician or to live that dream out on the road.
I would have introduced her to our staff, but it was their day off. I’d purposefully chosen a day for a tour when everyone including our receptionist had the option of working out of their homes.
“Wanna see the recording studios?”
“Hell, yeah. How many do you have?”
“Six, but we’re constructing six more in the back. They won’t have the ocean views that the originals do, but they’ll be a little larger.” I pushed open the door on my left. “Let me show you the mixing board in this one here.” She followed me into the small control booth. The studio on the other side of the glass was empty but for a stool, a mic beside it and an acoustic guitar propped in a stand and tied with a red bow.
I started to explain the pros and cons of the new mixing board, but Fanny’s eyes and her attention weren’t on me.
“Um, Ash?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“Who’s Martin is that?”
“Ramon’s.”
“Yeah, I thought so. It’s the one I played the other day, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I confirmed.
“Why does it have a red ribbon on it?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you go check it out and see?”
She dipped out of the control booth and into the adjoining recording room as fast as she had once run from me out on the streets. Picking the guitar up, I saw her eyes widen when she noticed the signatures on the back. She went as still as a statue, then lifted her head.
“I can’t accept this.” The tears in her eyes made them sparkle like the dewdrops on the steel rails of the pier early in the morning.
I hit the button in my room to open the connection to hers leaning forward to speak into my mic. “It’s a done deal. It’s inscribed to you. It’s yours now.”
“Ok. Wow.” She sank in the stool. “Thank you.” She ran her fingers lightly over the signatures. Ramon. Linc. Me. And Diesel had arrived just in time to add his. Without another word, she threw the strap over her shoulder, clipped it to the instrument, adjusted the tuning and then she started to play.
I sat back as I had learned to do after all the years spent in recording studios, faded into the background, set the tape to run and let the beauty happen.
I let her happen.
It was magic.
~ ~ ~
Fanny
The DC-15ME produced such a gorgeous tone. My fingers moved reverently over the East Indian rosewood fingerboard. The beauty of the diamond and square inlays on it wasn’t completely lost on me, but I reveled in the rich warm sound it emitted. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift. Having it signed to me by all the Dirt Dogs made it priceless.
Closing my eyes, I bowed my head. I let my imagination run free like I had at Ramon’s house. Stepping inside a dream I became the gypsy, his gypsy rose. The E minor and F chords that I played were my hands clapping above my head and my bare feet tapping the earth beneath me. ‘Come closer,’ I said without words. ‘See me dancing for you’. My bangles tinkling on my wrists were my drums. The scarfs I wore swirled around my body. A snaky bass groove materialized through a magical mist. He drew near, my reluctant lover, his face in shadow. Within his eyes lay a portal to transport us both where we needed to be, but only if we went together. My shadowed paramour circled, but he eluded me each time I reached for him. So I conjured a spell. I chanted it, the wordless chorus, a trancelike counter to the rhythm that I played.
Vaguely realizing that it had been a while since I had picked up the guitar, I brought the stark autumnal song to a conclusion and glanced up. Ash was watching me from the booth, his eyes filled with combustible heat. My lover from the dream for certain. And if the ocean could be set on fire by the sun slipping beneath the horizon, that was the way his eyes blazed right now. He leaned forward. “You got lyrics to go with that, gypsy rose?”
“Not yet.”
“Work on ‘em.”
“Ok.”
“Seriously Fanny. No bullshit. That’s another fucking hit just like ‘Tomorrow Today’. I guarantee it.”
“I said ok, Ash.”
He nodded tightly. Then I noticed the others. Diesel and Ramon. Both of them were looking at Ash and grinning. Ramon was the first to turn away. He gave me a thumbs-up. Ebony gaze mocking, Diesel blew me a kiss. I rolled my eyes at him. Unclipping the strap, I set the Martin in its stand, ran reverential fingers over it one more time and left the room. The guys were already out in the hall.
“Fucking A-Awesome,” Diesel said. “No joke. Just needs my bass.”
“Another guitar to deepen the sound.” Ramon nodded his head thoughtfully.
“Drums to anchor everything together,” Ash concluded. “You like the guitar?”
“I love it.”
“I’m glad, little one.” He brought his hand up to my face and stroked the back of his fingers down my cheek, melting me inside like he always did whenever he touched me like that.
“Then go in the conference room right now, close the door, sit down and write me some lyrics.”