Ritchie strummed the guitar, his fingers barely brushing the strings for fear they’d alert one of Serena’s customers to his presence. He hummed a melody under his breath. For the first time in months, inspiration had come knocking and he had no doubt it was due to the previous night’s talk with Serena. The renewed understanding and the unexpected affection that had come from being more open with each other than they ever had before.
‘Thanks for coming. Enjoy your chocolates.’ The words, said in that same sing-song tone time and time again wafted up through the floorboards.
Serena’s shop was going great guns. He hadn’t seen Serena except for when she came up to show him the finished chocolate milk, freshly arrived from the dairy co-op. Her excitement was palpable as she presented the light cocoa-coloured bottles with gold script featuring ‘The Sweetest Thing’ logo surrounded by cacao nibs in the shape of a heart.
‘It’s going to be a hit, Ritchie. I can feel it. Have some. Go on…’ She’d unscrewed the cap and pressed the bottle into his hands with an encouraging nod. ‘It’s going into shops today to ensure its eligibility for the awards.’
Not wanting to kill her buzz he’d chugged back the milk, seeing his future with Serena disappear with every swallow. She’d created a real future for herself and it suited her. Hell, it more than suited her. It made her as sexy as he had ever seen her. She was no longer a woman happy to go along for the ride, she was a woman in charge of her own ride.
No wonder he wasn’t enough for her anymore.
He noted down a few words as the lyrics began to come to him. Half-formed ideas that began to take shape into full sentences, then a chorus. The verses filling out the shape of the tune.
A ‘never let the arseholes bring you down’ kind of song, that gave you permission to be who you were, to not let anyone stomp all over you. To rock life your own way.
Just like Serena was doing.
Ritchie set the guitar down, pushed himself up off the couch and lifted his arms up in a long stretch, wiggling his cramped fingers. The act of finally making music had the blood in his veins pumping. Normally after a successful session he’d head out to a bar and catch a rock act, or Serena and he would celebrate with champagne in the spa. He paced the length of the room, once, twice, three times, then peeked out the curtain, hoping the local journalist’s piece would have gone unnoticed and that he could walk across the road to the pub to have a beer and a bite to eat.
He cursed under his breath. Sure enough there were distinctly un-Rabbits Leap types huddled in packs. High heels and ankle-grazing woollen coats, suit pants peeking out below beige trench coats – not a woollen jersey or a pair of wellingtons in sight. It was like the town had gone to ground to avoid the circling sharks, refusing to give their side of the story and protecting him from the fallout caused by one of their own. His heart warmed at the thought. This town wasn’t just a town, it was a family. And they stuck together.
Well, apart from that local journalist, Tiffany something.
He snatched his phone off the table and loaded up the internet browser. What were the tabloids saying anyway? He searched his name and hit the ‘news’ tab.
Bloody hell.
Rock Star’s Recovery – Ritchie Dangerfield’s Brave Battle Against Drugs.
Rock Star’s Reunion – Ritchie Runs to Ex Wife After Ultimate Betrayal.
He Quit! Ritchie Swaps Music for Milking.
He startled as the phone buzzed in his hand, the screen flicking up Barry’s number. Double bloody hell. He couldn’t ignore it. Not now that fake stories were being spread left, right and centre. Barry would know what to say, what to do. Barry would save him from watching his career burn down in an inferno of bad headlines.
‘Barry.’
‘Ritchie, for—’
Ritchie pulled the mobile away from his ear as a string of swear words came tumbling out of the speaker. He gave it twenty seconds before pressing the phone to his ear again.
‘Do you know what you’ve put me through? Do you? I can’t believe you, you little—’
Ritchie let another twenty seconds pass with the mobile at arm’s length.
‘Right, now how are we going to fix this. And that’s not a question. I know how we’re going to fix this.’ Barry blustered. Ritchie could just imagine spittle spraying everywhere, as it tended to do when Barry was in a foul mood. ‘You’re going to get that skinny ass of yours back to LA. You’re going to get recording. You’re going to put out an album that would make the great’s weep, and we’re never going to talk about this… this… this incident… ever again. And if you do it again, I quit, because I think you’re one of the best, hell, you have the potential to be the best of all time, but we’re meant to be a team, working together, and you’re not holding up your end of the bargain, buddy boy.’
Ritchie ran through the options.
Go home, give up on any chance he might have, no matter how remote, with Serena, have one song for an album instead of twelve.
Stay in Rabbits Leap, have Serena continue to not want a bit of him, return to a screwed up career.
Or, stay in Rabbits Leap, figure out if he could be the man she needed and how he could integrate his life with hers in order to win her heart back, then write the songs, and hope the ‘it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission’ saying was right and go on to continue his career, but on his terms.
‘Barry, are you in Rabbits Leap?’ Ritchie gripped the phone, hoping his suspicions where correct.
‘Hell no. Why the hell would I go to an end-of-the-world kind of town like that?’
‘Just checking. So, this is how it’s going to work. I’m going to stay here for a few more days. I have a gig I promised to do. A family problem I need to sort out. Then I’ll come home.’
‘Family problem? What kind of family problem? You haven’t discovered you’ve fathered a secret love child have you? God, wait ‘til the tabloids get a hold of that.’ Barry whistled low and slow. ‘At least it’d make you look like a virile stud.’
Ritchie snorted. ‘No love child. God, what kind of bubble do you live in, Barry?’
‘Bubble? No idea what you’re on. Speaking of which, are you on something? I saw one headline saying you were back on the hard stuff.’
‘If love is hard stuff, then yes, I’m back on it. Big time.’ Ritchie took a deep breath and braved up. Barry was a hard arse, but he was part of the reason Ritchie was so big. He deserved the truth. ‘Do you know what Serena’s been doing for the last few months?’
‘No. Figured she’s had some extensive surgery and was in hiding waiting for the bruising to go down.’
‘Six months of hiding, Barry?’ Ritchie shook his head. The man was smart as a whip, but completely oblivious to anything that didn’t make him money. The thing was, Barry had never realised Serena was a big part of the Ritchie Dangerfield money-making machine. The hugest part.
‘Well I don’t know how long surgery takes to recover from. Besides, women out here are always getting shit tweaked. Hell, Serena could’ve decided to transform herself into a buxom, blonde-eyed, wasp-waisted, mermaid-haired supermodel, and I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Well she hasn’t.’ Ritchie sucked in a breath and used the pressure to blow the words out. ‘She left me and I haven’t been able to write a bloody word since, so I’ve tracked her to her hometown and I’m trying to…’ The words faltered. What? What was he trying to do? Force her to love him? Insist she love him?
Damn it. No matter where he turned, what path he took, it all came down to the same thing: Serena Hunter was not going to do anything that Serena Hunter did not want to do.
‘You’re saying there’s no album?’ Barry’s tone was cautious, but icy. No album meant no moolah.
‘Things are looking… better. I wrote the first song today.’
Ten seconds of words that would have made the foulest-mouthed sailor blush followed. ‘You should’ve told me this from the start. I could have done something. Anything. Put her in therapy. Had her brainwashed. Hell, how did I not know that when you called her your muse you were serious? Shit. We need to fix this.’
‘Not we, Barry, I need to fix this. And I’m going to. But I can’t do it when reporters and photographers are hanging outside my wife’s chocolate shop, hassling the local village people and forcing me to sit inside a musty room – a musty room without a view, because Serena’s mother has me under strict instructions not to open the curtains.’
‘I like the sound of Serena’s mother.’ Ritchie could almost see Barry nodding his approval.
‘Yeah, well, she’s a lot like you. Forceful as all hell, a person to be reckoned with, but when push comes to shove she gives a shit and will protect those she cares for.’
‘Or in my case, those who make me money.’
Ritchie grinned into the phone. ‘At least we know where we stand with each other.’
‘Damn right. Okay, so normally I’d say you ought to go out there and face the music, but Serena leaving you is not a good look. Sure, it’d give all those waiting in line their chance at riding Ritchie frickin’ Dangerfield, but part of your mystery, part of what keeps the wider female audience so enthralled is your devotion to her. Screw giving those vultures what they want. Hide out for the next twenty-four hours. Work shit out with her. Fix things. Or at least find a way to make things okay so you can write again. With or without Serena. But either way, you need to get this album written.’
The last sentence wasn’t a veiled threat. It was an out-and-out threat. Barry had no time for musicians who pissed around. Part of the reason they worked so well together was that Ritchie wanted fame and adoration every bit as much as Barry wanted the money that came with it. But a Ritchie without the fame was a Barry without the money, and Barry would walk away. And, unlike Serena, he wouldn’t leave a note.
Ritchie tossed his phone onto the couch when the disconnected tone told him Barry was done with the conversation. He went to settle back onto the couch to see if he could get the inspiration flowing again but stopped when he heard an outraged squawk.
‘Get out of here right now. Out. Out. Out!’
Ritchie strode to the shut door, ready to bound down and sort out whoever was giving Serena grief, then remembered he was meant to be in hiding. He decided to hold off on storming through the door, and instead pressed his ear against it. He wasn’t going to let the cat out of the bag unless he had to, and years of dealing with randy rocker types and people with hidden agendas had honed Serena’s ‘take no crap’ skills. He had no doubt she could take care of whoever or whatever was causing her grief.
‘Get out? Why? Not hiding something, or someone, are you, Serena?’ The returning voice was as light as a feather and sickly sweet, but there was a brittleness that Ritchie suspected would splinter into dangerous territory if pulled too taut.
‘I’m not hiding anything, but I don’t have time for wannabe journos stirring up bollocks news. Especially when it impacts me and my family.’
The icy-sharp laugh floated through the floorboards and up the stairs. ‘The thing is, there’s nothing wannabe about me. I’ve spent years working on my craft. I’m easily as good as those who’re working for regional papers. I mean, how else do I know that the rental car outside of your parents’ place was dropped off by none other than your dad this morning? Which leads me to conclude that Ritchie is still in town.’
‘My God, you’re a stalker.’ Serena’s voice crept up in pitch. Ritchie took hold of the doorknob and prepared to break up a fight.
‘Actually, Serena, it’s called investigative journalism and it’s going to be my ticket out of here.’
Serena snorted. ‘Your ticket out of here? You of all people are going to leave Rabbits Leap? Now? After all these years? Actually, I don’t even care about that. It’s none of my business. What I want to know is why you’re doing this. You know about the cone of silence. You know that once it’s in place we give the person under it complete privacy. And what I really don’t get, Tiffany, is why you’re doing this now.’
‘What do you mean “why am I doing this now?” Why wouldn’t I do it? This is big news. The world’s most popular rock star is hiding out in Rabbits Leap. People are going to want to know about it.’
‘Just like they would have wanted to know about Bo Harper hiding out here when he was caught hooking up with some random soap actress, who happened to be very much engaged at the time. But you didn’t stalk him then, did you? You let him hide out until the story blew over. What’s changed? Why is it okay to screw Ritchie over, but not Bo?’
A long silence followed. Whatever Serena had said must have hit a sore spot.
‘Bo’s different.’ The words were said so low, with an unmistakeable hint of pain, that Ritchie almost missed them.
‘Oh, that’s right. You guys had a thing. So that means he’s off limits, but not Ritchie. And by association, not me. Well thanks for that, Tiffany. Thanks for making my life, our life, more difficult. Good luck with the career.’
A tingle of bells and the squeak of hinges that needed a fresh oiling told him the door was opened.
‘Ritchie’s not here. He called a cab at first light and is probably halfway home by now. And under the cone of silence rules, I invoke the right to never let you darken this doorway again. Goodbye, Tiffany.’
Light footsteps, followed by the slam of a door being firmly shut, told Ritchie Serena had dealt with the problem. He backed away from the door and resumed his position on the couch as footsteps trudged up the small staircase.
‘You alright?’ he asked, when Serena entered. Her eyes were dull, her face pale, and her top knot tilted to the left.
‘God, Tiffany Brown. What a piece of work.’ Serena indicated for him to scoot over and nestled in beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest and giving herself a hug. ‘But to be honest I can’t believe she’s broken the cone of silence. That’s just not done around here. People don’t tolerate blabber mouths.’
‘I heard you ban her from the shop… in a really formal way, I might add.’
Serena rested her chin in the crook between her knees. ‘Those are the official words. Once said the person is banned for life, unless the shop owner chooses otherwise.’
‘And will you? Choose otherwise?’ Ritchie picked up his guitar and began to experiment with a few chords that were dancing in his head.
‘Don’t think I’ll have to. She’s leaving Rabbits Leap. Which is also weird. Tiffany and her father have always been like this.’ She held up two fingers tightly woven around each other. ‘Well at least they have since her mother up and left when she was younger. I wonder what’s changed?’ She shut her eyes tight, gave a slight shake of her head, then opened them. ‘Though after what she’s done, I really don’t care.’
Serena tapped the screen of Ritchie’s phone. ‘Look at the time. I have a Christmas tree to decorate with the fam. I’d better get going.’
Ritchie leant his guitar on the couch’s armrest. ‘I know I’m meant to be hiding out but I’m already going stir crazy. Is there any way I can come?’
A mischievous grin lit up Serena’s face. ‘Tell me, Ritchie. How do you feel about wearing women’s clothing?’