Andrea

I look in the mirror on my desk again, trying to decide if I should wear the non-prescription glasses or not. They've got big black frames, and with them, I certainly appeal to the geekier guys in my line of work. I swear they're the reason that I got the interview with the guys at ComicCon that actually got most of my co-workers to take me seriously and not just see me as the boss's daughter, warming a seat before I get pulled up the corporate ladder. So, in some ways, the glasses are kind of my good luck charm.

But.... Joey Rivera isn't in video games. I don't know, maybe he is into video games, that'll be something I can find out today. I can't freak out about this though. Instead, I pull up the information I've got about Joey on my computer, reviewing as best I can. The problem is, while the Fragments might be one of the hottest rock bands to come out of California, almost everything publicly available about them is about their lead singer, Rocky Blake. A lot of that is that Rocky's got the look of a rock front man. Tall, ripped, with the right blend of brooding good looks and bad boy reputation, he was the publicity focus of the Fragments' old manager up until last year.

That all was before Four Letters, the album that landed them on top of not just the rock charts, but the Billboard Top 100, something that in today's world of formula pop doesn't happen that often. About that time, they changed managers, with Cora Clearwater taking over. She’s Rocky's love interest, who doubles as the band's producer as well as manager now. And, in a move that left even my heart beating a little faster, it was so romantic, Rocky proposed to Cora three months ago at the debut concert for their new album Limitless. Limitless dropped six weeks ago and is on pace to outsell any rock album of the past decade, making Four Letters look like just the starting point for them.

So, with Cora taking over as manager, and Gashouse Records hiring a new publicist for the band, James Vandenburg, they want to open the band more too. They want their fans to know more about them. Which is why I'm getting this sit-down with Joey.

“Hey 'Dre, whatcha working on?” Harry Bethlehem, one of the other reporters for The Los Angeles Pulse newspaper and LA LifeBeat magazine, asks as he comes up, his almost ever-present can of Arizona Iced Tea in his hand. Either that or an energy drink, I'm pretty sure the rail think black man lives off of sugar and caffeine only. He looks at my monitor, chuckling when he sees a photo of Joey in his concert getup from the Fragments' last concert of the first wing of their North American tour in Dallas last Saturday night. They just got back into Los Angeles three nights ago, and this is the first media access any of the band has granted since getting back. “Ah, the Dark Prince of Rock.”

“You know Harry, you keep trying to assign everyone nicknames, this isn't hip-hop,” I reply teasingly. Harry's found himself in the same dead end that a lot of black reporters do starting out, namely being shoehorned into supposedly 'black' areas.

Thankfully, Harry and I get along well, and we've reached that sort of professional respect that allows us to relax and sometimes tease each other without being worried about stepping on feelings.

I think it's because Harry and I can both see that we're sort of trapped, him by his skin tone and me by my parentage, and both of us realize it's unfair, and unchangeable in the short term at least. Harry holds his hands up, winking. “Honey, you should be proud of the fact that I call you 'Dre. Think of all the legends in entertainment that have that name.”

I flash Harry the crossed fingers 'W' for 'Westside' that Dr. Dre and other gangsta rappers made famous, and Harry laughs. “Whatcha think, am I down enough?”

Harry, who is not a Cali native, but comes from the mean streets of St. George, Utah of all places, laughs. “You down, 'Dre, you down. You'd be the baddest girl I know back home. So, Joey huh? What's the angle?”

“The band's on a pause in their North American tour. It'll give Rocky Blake and Cora Clearwater a chance to tie the knot, and figure they'll take that time off, pick up again after the New Year. Instead of concerts, everyone's spending money on gifts, food, Halloween costumes.... speaking of which, what's your thoughts for this year?”

Harry's famous for pulling off some epic costumes. The same time I went to ComicCon for the interviews that got me respect, Harry went on his own, for fun... dressed as Lando Calrissian. “I'm thinking I'll be either Green Lantern, or maybe go the other way and do Sinestro. You know, I'm just not quite buff enough to pull off the John Stewart Green Lantern. Or bald enough.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Either way, I bet the boys out at ILM are just waiting for you to show them how to really pull off something epic.”

Harry nods, then points back at my computer screen. “So, what's your angle?”

“I talked it over with James Vandenburgh, their publicist, he said that Joey's willing to open up about his past, totally in private. So, I'm going for the whole 'get to know Joey Rivera' deal, a human-interest story. I mean, he's got a lot of female fans out there who want to know more about him. Other than his music, and the fact he's Puerto Rican, there isn't a lot about him out there. A lot of fans want to know.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, P-R boys aren't all that normal in rock. You gonna push him hard?”

I shake my head, leaning back in my chair. “No way, Harry. This isn't an exploitation piece, and James was totally clear, I can ask Joey anything I want, but this isn't to dig up dirt, but to give a profile on him.”

“So, a cotton candy piece for the Sunday Supplement,” Harry teases, making me roll my eyes in frustration. “Sorry, I know you don't like that sort of job.”

“No, I know what you're saying, and yeah, it's probably going to run in the weekend editions, maybe in LifeBeat, too if I can find some meat to it. So, while it's not going to be a hit piece, I'll dig for something interesting while keeping it nice, if Joey's a nice guy. I just don't know. I mean, Joey's the mystery man of the group. What the hell do you ask a guy who comes out on stage looking like something between Dracula and The Matrix, shreds guitar so hard that he needs backups on stage for when he pops strings during solos, yet goes on MTV looking like a totally normal guy? Hell, at least there's some public information about Ian.”

“Ask Joey where he gets his guitar strings?” Harry teases with a smile. “But seriously....”

Polly, the office receptionist, interrupts coming up with something behind her back, and a barely controlled smirk on her face. “Oh, Andrea.... got a delivery for you.”

“For me?” I ask, a little worried. Polly's got a gleam in her eye, and I know her sense of humor, I'm a bit worried. “Uh... should I ask?”

“It's from Chad,” Polly says, pulling out a white cardboard box that's a little over a foot high and maybe about eight inches wide. It's definitely a gift box, or maybe one of those that people but small cakes in. “I looked inside, but... well, you open it.”

“Do I really want to?” I grumble, but still, I open the envelope that's attached to the big box, finding a card. “Hey sweet cheeks, let's get together and put these to some use. Is he kidding?”

“Didn't you break up with that guy back in like, June or something?” Harry asks.

I sigh, rubbing at my temples. I don't need this shit, not right before a chance at a big interview. “He just won't get it, it's over between us. I mean, he wasn't a great boyfriend, to begin with, but then when the rape accusations came out... no way, buddy. Harry, would you do me a favor and open it for me?”

Harry shrugs in good humor while Polly tries to control her laughter, and I wonder what I just asked him to do. Harry pokes around and finds the tape point on the side of the box. The box is angled so that I can't see anything, but Harry's turning pinkish red, trying not to laugh. “Well,” I finally ask, “what is it?”

“'Dre, I don't think I could use this even if I hooked up with all of those K-pop girl groups that came through town for the Far East Pop Festival at the same time,” Harry says, turning around the box to show me the gift. A condom tree. Dozens of colorful packages in red, green and gold adorn the tacky wire frame, and at the bottom...

“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, taking a ball pen and fishing out the twisted-up pieces of 'clothing.' “Candy lingerie?”

Polly laughs, picking it up the bra when I toss it on my desk. “Hey, I didn't know you were a C cup.”

“Very funny,” I groan, taking my pen and tossing it in the trash. “There, that'll at least minimize the chance of slime spreading. Polly, if I were you I'd wash your hands. With alcohol spray and maybe some anti-bacterial gel. Keep the creep off you.”

Polly smacks her gum and shakes her head, grinning. “Hell no. I know this ain't your thing, but if you're going to throw this out, Nick and I can put this to good use this weekend. And I know the tag on this thing, these are at least... well, they're safe, if not classy.”

“Take the tree too if you want,” I snap, pushing the box away and huffing. Polly, who's a natural 'dirty flirt' but is pretty decent at heart, sets the candy down on the neighboring desk and gives me a commiserating look. “What, Polly? He's an asshole.”

“No class too,” Harry adds. “There's a time for a condom tree, you know? Bachelor party, Earth Day at the Playboy Mansion, stuff like that. But trying to get back with a girl, with his trouble? You're better off without his dumb ass.”

“He's right,” Polly adds. “Sorry, Andrea, I didn't mean nothing by it.”

I smile, shaking my head. “I know, Polly. Listen, take anything you want, have fun with it. Have Nick eat it off you, you eat it off Nick, whatever. Pitch the rest, if you don't mind.”

“Not a problem,” Polly says.

“Whatever. Listen, I gotta get ready for my interview this afternoon, so while this is a blast, I think I'll actually try to be a reporter for once this week,” I reply, my mood ruined. “Just get that fucking thing out of here.”

Polly picks up the box, closing it first before leaving, understanding what's pissing me off. Harry watches her go, then leans down. “Hey 'Dre, don't you worry about Chad. Just nail your work, and later, if you don't have plans, the two of us can go get a beer and laugh about his dumbass.”

I grin, giving Harry a sideways look. “Your wife won't mind? Taking out the blond co-worker for drinks could get you neutered.”

Harry's wife, Ahn-soo, is a Vietnamese immigrant, and the two of them are the office's lovey dovey couple, so Harry knows I'm joking. He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, Fridays are her painting classes. I'll be honest with you 'Dre. This guy's sense of persistence and his total lack of taste creeps me out a bit too. Seriously, you watch your ass.”

“I watch my ass every day, Harry. But thanks. As for the beer, we'll see. But if there's time... sounds good.”

Harry leaves, and I start gathering up my stuff for the interview. I think I'm ready. Just then, my desk phone rings, and I sit back down, grumbling. “What the hell is it now?”

I pick up the phone, but before I can even greet whoever's on the other end, I'm cut off. “Good afternoon, honey. How's your day going?”

Dad. Not what I needed right now. “Dad, I asked you not to call me at work anymore. If everyone sees me talking to the owner of the whole Coates Media Group, it's hard for me to be taken seriously as a legitimate reporter.”

Dad chuckles that special laugh he has when I know he's just humoring me, the laugh that says he doesn't understand why I insisted on starting at the entertainment desk of his papers and working my way up. Still, it irks me, and his attitude is just one of the reasons I insisted on living in the dorms at college, one of the few concessions he'd given me, but another one of his pieces of freedom that came with plenty of strings. “Come on honey, I'm just on the phone, who's going to know I'm talking to my most special girl?”

“Daaad....” I fume, trying not to whine. I hate some of his nicknames for me, they make me sound more like his girlfriend than his daughter, and that's just... icky. “What are you calling about?”

“I just wanted to see what you were up to this afternoon, that's all. Can you spare me a few minutes of your time to see show me how the prettiest reporter at the paper is doing?”

“Dad, I'd love to, but I've got an interview in like thirty minutes that I still need to get to,” I answer, hurriedly putting my bag together. “And I've got to fight traffic all the way out there still.”

“Who with?” Dad asks, ignoring my protest. After all, he's Darren Coates, people go by his schedule. If he wants to make people wait, he can.

“Joey Rivera, the lead guitarist for the Fragments,” I reply. “He's making a special effort to come in late this afternoon over at the studio and meet with me, I'd like to not keep him waiting.”

“The spic?” Dad asks, setting my teeth on edge. Does he really think that sort of attitude and language works in the twenty-first century anymore? Especially in California? “I figured they'd assign that to one of your... less capable co-workers.”

Less capable. Right up there with 'lazy,' 'urban,' and 'slob,' it's one of Dad's euphemisms he uses when he's not flat out calling someone a racist name. He thinks that anyone that wasn't born to a trust fund and all the advantages that come with it and is somehow just not working hard enough. Why else did I insist on going to UCLA on an academic scholarship instead of having my way paid, even if he does provide a lot of other things that I don't turn down, but at least acknowledge is unfair compared to some of my co-workers?

“Dad... I asked for the interview,” I reply, holding my tongue. “Joey's one of the hottest guitarists on the rock scene, and his band is making waves. Unless you think having George T behind you means you're a scrub.”

“Just means that you're liked by men,” Dad laughs. He and George T have a pretty intense rivalry, and I don't think I've ever heard him say anything nice about the man.

“Yeah well... I've gotta go either way Dad. I'll call you later.” Before Dad can answer, I hang up and grab my bag, half running for the elevator. Pulse and Beat are on the tenth floor of the Coates Building, and I've still got at least twenty minutes of downtown traffic to get through before I can get out to Gashouse Studios.

I feel like a hypocrite getting behind the wheel of my three-year-old Lexus that is pricier than anything anyone not on the editorial desk or higher drives. Here I am, complaining five minutes ago about my father's elitism and his all around prejudice against anything not one percenter WASP, when I'm driving a freakin' Lexus and live in a luxury condo building in Santa Monica, conveniently located near the freeway. The fact is, while I draw a standard reporter's salary, thirty-two thousand dollars a year, I live a six-figure lifestyle. Even the jeans I'm wearing and the shoes I've got on are out of my salary range.

At least I've got the respect of Harry and some of the other reporters in the office. I earned it the hard way too, buckling down and taking the hard jobs and grinding, spending hours at my computer typing until the letters swam before my eyes and my head throbbed from the constant light. I earned it by listening when they dropped knowledge, by learning how to ask the tough questions to the right people and to dig my stories as hard as any other reporter. And yes, I earned it by being able to take all that work and turn out good stories too, stuff that gets readers interested and getting clicks on the Pulse website.

Still, I feel guilty when I'm able to shop every week at Whole Foods while Polly comes in with a Tupperware of beans and tortillas because she can buy a big can for five bucks and be able to make it stretch for most of the week, and Harry drives a tiny Ford that truly does give life to the old taunt 'Fix or Repair Daily.'

I put all my doubts out of my mind as I head to the 101. I get off near the airport, double checking my directions on my in-dash navigation and get onto San Fernando before turning off and making my way to the Gashouse building.

You'd think that with one of the hottest acts on the music scene, Gashouse would be bigger, more luxurious perhaps. A plane from the airport that's less than a mile away rumbles overhead, and the neighborhood is totally blue collar. Stucco dominates the outer construction, and unless you know what Gashouse is, you'd easily confuse it with perhaps a slightly upscale construction company by the cars that I see parked out front. At least my Lexus doesn't look out of place here, but I do notice that the other side of the lot has more normal cars, stuff that you wouldn't look at twice if it passed you on the freeway. I wonder which side of the parking lot Joey's car is parked on?

I get out of my car and go into the studios. The receptionist is dressed in an old t-shirt from a Korn tour and ripped Levi’s. He looks up from his magazine, chewing a wad of gum, things that would have gotten Polly fired. I'm used to it. “Hey, whatcha want?”

“Hi, I'm Andrea Coates, I'm here to interview Joey Rivera?” I reply, showing my ID. “Is he here?”

“Hi,” a quiet, kind of shy voice says behind me, and I turn, struck by the guy in front of me. I'd expected the rocker, the guy that Harry called the Dark Prince... but what's standing in front of me is a normal guy in a t-shirt and some jeans, with dark hair and big, beautiful brown eyes. Normal? I take that back, Joey Rivera's handsome as all get out, and when he smiles, he's got a row of perfectly even, gleaming teeth that fill a friendly smile. “I'm Joey.”

Joey offers his hand, and I have to swallow, my throat is suddenly dry. “Uh... hi. I'm Andrea Coates.”

Joey and I shake hands, and I swear he actually blushes a bit when he grips my hand in a sure, but not crushing grip, what a real handshake should feel like. I'm feeling it too, it's way too hot in the corridor of Gashouse records, and I'm trying not to bite my lip and bat my eyes when our handshake lasts just a little longer than what would normally be done. Joey pulls his hand back slowly, then starts, like he just woke up from a dream. “Uh... would you like to see the studio? It's soundproof, we can talk there.”

“Sure,” I say, clearing my throat after I rasp at first. “Uh, where is it?”

“Just over here, studio three,” Joey says. “Rocky and Ian aren't in today, so James just booked the smallest studio for me. Sorry if it's a little tight. He knows I like to just mess around a little sometimes, and well... I'm babbling, aren't I?”

“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “But that's okay.”

We go into the studio, which is small, barely eight feet wide, a sort of solo booth where Joey's set up his guitar in the corner. Joey sits down on a stool, and even sitting, he looks cute, sort of boy next door type, and then he laughs, that smile still so bright and handsome. “What?”

“Nothing,” I reply, shaking my head and taking out my voice recorder and notes. “Uh... let's begin, shall we?”

Joey

“Oof!” I grunt, lifting the box out of the truck and carrying towards the four-bedroom house in Simi Valley, just on the border of Thousand Oaks. It's up in the hills, and while it's not quite as big a spread as some of the people in music have, it's quiet, and it's a great home. It also, as of one week ago, belongs to my bandmate, blood brother, and all around best friend, Rocky Blake and his soon-to-be wife, Cora Clearwater. “Hey Cora, just because Rock and I lift some doesn't mean you can make the boxes a thousand pounds each!”

Cora, her strawberry blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail, laughs around her own armload of stuff. “That's Bella's clothes, Joey. The heavy stuff is later.”

“Dios mio,” I complain, making Cora laugh. I don't speak Spanish with my friends a lot. Even though Rocky is nearly as fluent as I am, it just doesn't feel normal. Mama loves chatting with Rocky totally in Spanish though, she even jokes that Rocky's got a better accent than I do. I can't really defend myself. I didn't grow up on Puerto Rico like Mama did, I speak with too much of a California Mexican accent for Mama's taste.

“Hey, Cora,” I ask as we put down our boxes inside what is going to be Bella's room, “thanks for agreeing to have Mama and Maria watch Bella when she's not in school. It means a lot to me.”

“Joey, you know that your family is our family,” Cora says. Around back, I can hear Rocky and Ian working hard at putting together the swing set that Ian surprised Bella with, something any soon-to-be first grader would love. “Besides, it's not all purely being nice anyway. Maria's charging less than it would cost to send Bella to the afterschool center. Teresa's agreed to do school pickup too, and I know that my daughter's going to get all sorts of experiences she wouldn't in this neighborhood.”

I chuckle, thinking of the house that I just signed the papers on for Mama and Maria. It’s my house too, the bank insisted that I had to live there to qualify for the loan, but that's okay, it's only about fifteen miles away from here, officially in Thousand Oaks itself. Close enough that Rocky and I can still hang out when we want to, or have our family time if we want to. “You mean your daughter's going to learn how to make the best platanos con leche on the mainland.”

“That too,” Cora laughs. “But really, thank you for asking us. I think watching Bella with Angel is amazing. He's such a great little kid, and it gives Bella lots of practice on dealing with younger siblings. Watching them play in the yard was great.”

I smile, thinking about my little nephew. Four years old and one of the biggest joys in my life, he's finally starting to get a chance to live a little of the lifestyle that I want for him. Our family struggled for years, Mama and I having to stretch our budget. Angel had to wear a lot of Goodwill and church charity clothes until recently, and only now am I feeling like we can really get out of the debt that we were slowly drowning in. “Well, as long as you don't mind Angel coming up here occasionally to play on that swing set, I think we can call it even.”

There's a crash of lumber in the back yard, and suddenly Ian's cursing, yelling in his deep voice. Cora and I exchange a look and I run around the house, Cora walking a little more slowly since she's nearly four months pregnant. I find Rocky and Ian in the backyard, Ian sucking his thumb and Rocky trying not to laugh his ass off at our giant friend. Ian curses around his thumb, tears rolling down his face. “Fuck! Shit! God fucking dammit!”

“You still gotta work in bitch, cunt, ass and cock,” I joke, Ian flipping me the bird as he pulls his thumb out. “What happened?”

“Loverboy here's grip slipped,” Ian complains, showing off his thumb which is starting to turn already purple.

Rocky holds up his hands, still grinning. “Don't blame me, man, I told you to be careful with the hammer. You hit your own damn thumb. Besides, you're the one who insisted on nailing it first to try and set the pieces beforehand.”

I look around at the array of lumber on the grass, as well as the half load still inside the borrowed pickup truck that Ian brought for the move, scratching my head. “You know guys, this doesn't look like any sort of swing set I've ever seen before.”

“That's because it's not,” Ian says with a touch of pride, shaking his hand. He and Rocky have always blamed each other back and forth without really meaning anything, it's probably a side effect of them living together for a few years when the Fragments were just getting going. “My little niece isn't getting some lame-ass kit from the store, man. So, I looked up the plans and had them cut by a carpenter.”

“Well, can I see the plans?” I ask, holding out my hand. “I leave you two back here alone much longer, and I'm going to be doing a one-man show starting in Atlanta once the spring comes.”

Rocky passes over the paper, and I take a look, whistling. I hand it over to Cora, who blinks before passing it back to me. “Glad we've got a big back yard.”

“Yeah, this is going to be a multi-day job,” I comment, passing the plans back to Rocky. “How about we get the lumber and stuff unloaded first, then we can work on it bit by bit?”

Ian gives Rocky a look, and Rocky nods, chuckling. “Okay, man, you're right. Give me a hand while Ian goes and ices that thumb?”

It takes me and Rocky twenty minutes to finish unloading all the lumber from the truck while Ian ices his thumb and starts helping Cora. Pulling the last chain out of the truck, I look at the big pile on the ground. “You know, Rock, Ian's heart's in the right place, but damn if he doesn't make a big mess sometimes.”

“We'll work through this. I'd like if we can get it put together by Thanksgiving if you've got the spare time,” Rocky jokes, setting down the last of the pre-stained four by fours. “Then, I was wondering if you'd like to have a sort of opening weekend for it, have Angel do a sleep-over with Bella. I mean, Maria's working hard, so's Teresa. I bet they'd like a day or so of rest, maybe some pampering?”

“You just want to send my sister to the spa again,” I joke, thinking to the last time Rocky did that, a gift certificate day when Four Letters went platinum. He paid for Mama and Maria to spend a whole day at a Beverly Hills spa, and afterward, Maria had a bit of a crush on Rocky because he was so nice, even though Rocky was already dating Cora at the time. “I'm telling you, you just have to ask Maria, she'll make you a dulce de leche any time you want.”

“Yeah well...” Rocky starts before the bells from the church about a half mile away start to ring, pealing out four times. “Oh shit, four already? Don't you have that interview?”

I check my watch, and Rocky's right, I've gotta go. “Yeah, you're right. Are you and Ian going to be okay?” I ask, checking my pocket to make sure I've got my keys with me. “You know, I can still take a couple more loads.”

Rocky shakes his head, pointing towards the front of the house and my car. “Joey, you don't need to do that. Take a moment and chill, you know? Get out of here, me and mop-top can handle the rest of the unloading. Gimme a call tomorrow or something, maybe we can figure out a time I can get you to whack your thumb with a hammer.”

I laugh, going through the house to say my goodbyes, a fist bump to Ian before Cora gives me a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you again, Joey. For everything.”

I can't help it, even if Cora is Rocky's fiancée, she's a pretty woman and I blush, looking down and making Cora chuckle. “Go on, pretty boy. I talked with James earlier, he said the reporter from LA Pulse is supposed to be cute, too. Relax and have some fun.”

I nod and go out to my car, a ten-year-old Buick that maybe if the rest of the tour goes well, I might look at replacing. The thing is, most people think musicians make money based on album sales, and that's not the case, at least not the money people think we get. Two platinum albums don’t really produce a lot, ironically.

Where we make money is in touring and endorsements. With the cut of tickets and more, it’ll be about five hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars when I get my royalty check in January. While in Montana that might buy me a ten-acre ranch with a huge house, in Southern California it's good enough to get a kid with no college degree a bank loan on a decent sized three-bedroom house in Ventura County with a third of an acre lot and a two-car garage. Maybe that royalty check will let me upgrade my car, maybe not. I'm good though, it'll come in time. And for now, I can take care of my family, which is more important than the size of my bank account.

I get off the freeway and see that I'm cutting it close, but not too badly. I wanted to have a little jam time before the interview, my guitar always helps me relax, but it looks like no dice. Instead, I head straight in, giving Phil the receptionist a wave. Gashouse has had a good year, when we first started recording here they didn't have a full-time receptionist, and Larry, the owner, was often the first guy in. Now Phil at least works nine to five weekdays for the label as he cuts his teeth on the music business, I think he's a night student or something at one of the local colleges. “Hey Phil, number three?”

“You're good to go, Joey,” Phil replies, handing me the keys. “When's the interview? I'm taking off at five forty-five today.”

“About fifteen minutes from now, so I'll lock up, no problem,” I tell him, walking off after giving him a fist bump. Studio three is the smallest at Gashouse, but I wanted it that way. Larry's really cool in that he lets me play by myself when I want to without having to fork over money for studio fees, and I've got some guitar tracks that I want Cora to take a listen to for the next album. I need to practice those.

I plug in the guitar in the studio, a decent Fender Stratocaster that I keep here. It's not my tour piece, but it's good for messing around. I plug it in and quickly give it a strum through, it's not perfect but it'll do to let me relax.

I start playing one of the first guitar solos I learned, Sweet Child o' Mine, while I think about the interview. Opening myself up isn't something I'm used to. People have never really been interested in Joey Rivera, the person, but Joey Rivera, the guitarist. Well, nobody except for Rocky, Ian, and later Cora. And my family. After this, I need to go home and check that Angel's okay before I sit down with Mama and help her with the paperwork for the daycare license. Mama and Maria need to have a license to care for more than two or three kids at a time. Mama's worked so hard, went out and got her childcare courses, her CPR and health certifications while Maria...

There's movement outside, studio three has a small window that looks out onto the parking lot, and I see a nearly brand new Lexus sports coupe pull up. Nice car, does that belong to the reporter? Huh, I thought at most I'd get some new reporter straight out of college. Maybe I rate a bigger fish than I thought. That's kind of a nice idea.

The way the car parks, I can't see much. Just a flash of blond hair before the reporter is on the sidewalk that leads to the front door. I pull my guitar off, going out front. I come around the corner, seeing a trim figured woman with her back to me, asking Phil where I am. “Hi. I'm Joey.”

The woman turns around, and I feel like my eyes just popped out of their sockets. She's stunning, with slightly curly blond hair that hangs down in big swirls and ringlets around her face. Her big beautiful eyes that are an arresting light jade green, and lips that look cherry red. My face feels hot, I know I'm starting to blush, and she suddenly looks kinda flustered too. ““Uh... hi. I'm Andrea Coates.”

Andrea Coates. It's a beautiful name, and I swear it's like I'm sort of floating, half drunk, as I escort her back to the studio, my face hot the whole time. Shaking her hand was like an electic shock I once got plugging my guitar into the wrong jack on an old amp. And... is she looking at me that way too? Whoa.

“Uh... let's begin, shall we?” Andrea asks, hitting the button on her voice recorder. “Okay, I'm here with Joey Rivera, the time is five... thirty-seven on a Friday night, personal interview. Joey, first, just for the legal guys over at the Pulse, you don't mind sitting down and talking tonight?”

I shake my head, taking a deep breath. “No, not at all. I'm a bit nervous though, so I hope you've got plenty of memory on that thing to let me stutter.”

Andrea laughs, and she's got a musical laugh, beautiful. I've never been good with words, that's Rocky's department, Cora helps some there too. I write poetry with my guitar, with notes. Which I can understand because right now, that laugh is worth poetry. “I made sure to put a whole sixteen gig flash card in this thing, we can talk all night and not run out of space. I think my batteries will die first. Don't worry, this is your chance to just tell your story, let people get to know more about you. I promise, no surprise questions, and if I go somewhere you don't wanna go, I'll respect that. So first off, how're you feeling after the first leg of your tour?”

“Tired, but that's not the tour,” I admit. “Ian and I are helping Rocky and Cora move into their new house today. So, if I smell like I've been doing manual labor, well... Cora's a good manager.”

Andrea laughs again at my joke, her green eyes twinkling. I notice she's got the same shade of green eyes as Angel, that's really interesting. Not too many people have that shade of green. I like it. “I'm sure she is. But let's go back, I mean, a lot of people are interested in Joey Rivera the person, not just the kick-ass guitarist. How'd you get started in guitar?”

“Kick-ass, huh?” I ask, and Andrea shrugs, smiling. “You've taken a listen, I guess?”

“I have, I was in the crowd the night Rocky asked Cora to marry him. That rendition of Four Letters was seriously one of those events that got me right in the feels, as some of the people around the office say. And I'll give you guys props, not releasing that and making it special... that's really cool,” Andrea says. “Sorry, I know this is your interview and not a chance for me to just gush, so anyway... yeah, I've listened to your stuff.”

“Thanks. Tell you what, I'll play some for you later, if you want,” I tell her. “But you were asking about how I got started. Well, my first guitar was all the way back when I was just four years old. My Papa played guitar too, he started me on acoustic and then right before... well, before Afghanistan, he got me my first electric, a cheap little second hand Yamaha. I loved that guitar.”

Thinking about Papa makes me clam up some, it's hard to talk about him except with my family, and Andrea sets her notepad aside. “Joey, if you don't want to talk about it...”

“No, actually I think I'd like to, he deserves it. Ian and Rocky keep telling me I need to open up some, and well... Papa was in the Marine Corps, stationed out of San Diego. When I was nine, he got deployment orders. He and his battalion were going to do a rotation overseas in Afghanistan. He got me that Yamaha as an early tenth birthday gift, he actually borrowed fifty bucks from his platoon sergeant to pay for it too.”

I close my eyes, remembering the feel of Papa's Yamaha, the excitement on my face and on his face the first time I played for him. “It was the night before he left on deployment, and he was so proud of me when I strummed out some chords for him. 'My little Joey's going to be a great musician someday,' Papa said. The next day, as he hugged me goodbye, he insisted I stay behind and go to school. He kissed me on the forehead and told me, 'Okay, you gotta be the man of the house while I'm gone.' I hugged him back and promised him I would.”

I can see Andrea's moved, and she swallows. “What happened?”

“Terrorist rocket attack,” I reply softly, my hands hanging between my knees. “Papa saved two men, shoving them out of the way as he saw the rocket coming. They gave him a Silver Star and a posthumous promotion to Gunny.”

It's hard, thinking about it. “I'd talked to him on video chat two weeks before, he was excited. He had only two months left to go, and Papa was glad to be coming home in time for Maria's birthday. That was the last time I saw or talked to him.”

Andrea swallows, not sure what to say for a moment, then whispers quietly. “I'm sorry to hear that. You stepped up?”

I nod, smiling grimly. “Mama needed help around the house. Maria, my sister, was still in kindergarten, and the life insurance and pension weren't a lot. So, I started going to work after school. We moved up to Los Angeles and I started hustling jobs. Newspaper delivery before school, odd jobs after school, other stuff on weekends. I gave it all to Mama, and in my spare time I played my guitar.”

“Wow. What about your mother?” Andrea asks. “You talk about her warmly.”

I nod, swallowing. “I used to walk Maria to and from school, except for a few years when we were at different schools. Mama worked long hours. She married Papa when they were both twenty. So, she didn't exactly have a college degree, you know? She was from the bad side of San Juan, marrying a Marine was getting out for her. She busted her ass even before Papa died. But afterward, Mama had a high school degree from Puerto Rico, no college, and some family in Los Angeles. She worked some of the hardest jobs, taking crap work in Boyle Heights. Then after Maria had Angel, we found a cheap house in Anaheim.”

“Angel?” Andrea asks. “That's a lovely name. Boy or girl?”

“Boy,” I say with a smile. “He's amazing. He's four, and yeah, he's so cute.”

Andrea nods, smiling back. “Four, huh? And he's your sister's?”

I nod. “Yeah. Maria had him when she was just fifteen. It made it hard for us, but Mama and I made it work. Now that the Fragments have started to get traction, I can give Maria and Angel the life that they deserve, you know?”

Andrea does the math, nodding. “You're quite the mature man for twenty-two. Maria is lucky to have a brother like you.”

I shake my head, feeling heat creep up my neck again. “Nah. I'm not a great brother. I've had to go on tour before, leaving Mama and Maria behind. Even when Maria was struggling to work on her GED and get caught up after she had to drop out of school to take care of Angel. Before you nominate me for the sainthood, I count all the nights the past few months where the most I could do was give them a call on my cell phone. Some nights, the most I could do was send them a text message. That isn't cool.”

Andrea scribbles on her pad, then looks up at me, her eyes sending another little quiver through my belly. “I bet Angel thinks differently. Maria probably does too.”

I shake my head, shrugging. “Well, anyway... during high school, I met Ian at a local jam session, he'd come to town to listen to a vocalist in the Anaheim area, and he and I clicked. From there we made a band, but we became the Fragments when Rocky joined us after our original vocalist quit. Five years after that, and here we are. Really, those are the two big strengths in my life. My brothers in the Fragments and my family.”

Andrea gets my point. I'm not comfortable trying to portray myself as some sort of good guy, and moves on. “So, what are some of your favorite memories of getting into the music business?”

I lean back, smiling. “Being given the chance to take photos. It's a hobby I've gotten to pick up since the Fragments started touring. Right before our first overnight tour, down in San Diego, Mama went out and... I still don't know where she got the money, but she gives me this little digital camera with a two-gig memory card. I mean, it wasn't much, but to me, it was great. Mama asked me to take some photos of our trip. I ended up bringing back that memory card half full!”

Andrea laughs, again a little ripple goes through me, and the heat in my face creeps up another degree or two. “Must have taken you a while to sort those.”

“You're telling me,” I laugh, and Andrea blushes this time, God she's pretty. “Anyway, as the Fragments have gotten more financially stable, I've upgraded from that camera twice, once not my choice when Ian accidentally sat on my one on a trip through Colorado. I'm glad the memory card wasn't damaged, or else we'd probably be short a drummer right now. But the photos I've gotten, they probably aren't great art, but they are good for me. New York, Chicago, the one time we went overseas to London and then Manchester. I've gotten to see places that a lot of people haven't. And I've gotten a chance to get photos with a lot of the people we've shared stages with. That's really cool.”

We keep talking, and as the conversation goes on, I just feel like I'm not talking to a reporter, but just a remarkably beautiful woman who is interested in what I have to say. “What are your goals in the music business?”

“I think a lot like Rocky. I want to make good music. When we focused on getting popular, we struggled just to pay for the gas to get from gig to gig. With Rocky though, especially the past two albums, he brought this idea of putting all our focus on making good music, being ourselves, and sales have increased. So, I'm gonna trust my brother, and we're just going to make good music that reflects us. It seems to be working since Four Letters dropped,” I reply with a smile. “Cora's a great addition too, never doubt that. She's only been on stage once, but in my mind, she's the fourth Fragment. I've had some spare time on the road recently to experiment a little too, I'm working on some stuff now. You want to listen?”

“Sure. I'll even turn off the recorder, don't want to ruin your super-secret riffs,” Andrea jokes, but still she turns it off. “Okay, blow me away.”

I stand up and pull on the guitar, checking my tune for a second before starting a little riff that I've been working on. It's a little more soulful than pure hard rock. I don't know if it fits our sound but I like it. Andrea taps along, humming to herself as she listens for a few minutes before I finish up. When I set my guitar aside she claps, grinning. “It's moments like that that make being a reporter fun.”

“You talk like you just grind,” I reply, smiling. “You gotta be getting something out of it besides a one-minute private guitar solo. That's a pretty sweet Lexus out there.”

Andrea shakes her head, leaning back in her chair to look out the window at her car. “No... that's not from reporting. Sadly, I'm a trust fund princess. Actually, I've had to bust my backside for a year and a half to get any respect around the Pulse office.”

“Who'd be stupid enough to disrespect you?” I ask. “You listened well, and you asked good questions.”

“You were someone nice to ask questions to,” Andrea replies, giving me a dazzling smile. “It didn't feel like an interview, more like...”

“Having coffee with me?” I ask, trying not to drop the 'd' word. Andrea nods, and I echo it. “Yeah, here too. Honestly, I had to keep reminding myself that you just wanted to get my story for the paper, and not to ask questions back.”

“Why would you want to ask questions of me?” Andrea asks, biting the corner of her lip. “I mean, I'm not interesting.”

“Not from what I see,” I say, taking off my guitar. “I think you're quite interesting, and I'd like to know more. So maybe, if you're free sometime, we can do coffee for real?”

I'm nervous, which is more than a little strange. Since the Fragments started getting positive press, I think I've been turned down twice asking a woman out, not that I do so very often. I'm usually too busy trying to take care of Mama, Maria, and Angel. Most of my 'dates' are really just after parties or one-night hook ups on the road.

But with Andrea... I'm nervous asking her out. I'm disappointed when she frowns and shakes her head. “I'd like to, but I'm sorry Joey. Working for the paper, I don't know when my schedule is, and for at least this weekend I've got nighttime assignments.”

“Oh, I gotcha,” I reply, disappointed, but then Andrea smiles. “What, got an idea?”

Andrea nods and reaches for her notepad. “You're in town for a few more months, right?”

“Yeah, we kick off again in January, and start concert practice right after Christmas,” I tell her, seeing where she's going. “And you know us rock stars, we've got lots of nights free. So maybe, if you've got a free night...”

“I can give you a call,” Andrea says, scribbling her number down on a scrap of paper before tearing it off and giving it to me. “What about you?”

“Here,” I reply, writing the number on the top of her notes. “You know, so you know who's calling is someone legit and not some crazy stalker ex.”

Andrea's face clouds for a moment, but then she laughs. “No, not a crazy stalker. Not even the Dark Prince of Rock, as our urban beat reporter calls you.”

“Better than what some people have called me,” I laugh, and Andrea's face clouds again. “Sorry. I don't like it, but some people in rock have issues. So, I laugh instead of getting pissed.”

Andrea nods, putting her stuff away. “I understand. So... if you get a call from me, you'll pick up?”

“Do you mind if I walk you out to your car?”

Andrea shakes her head, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “Not at all, Joey Rivera. In fact, I think I'd like that very much.”

Andrea

“Who were your big influences growing up, musically?”

I should be listening, or at least transcribing better. The fact is though, every time Joey's voice comes on my recorder, my pen is faltering, and I've caught myself drifting, lost in his voice.

“Of course, growing up in San Diego, there was a ton of Mexican influences. Mama teases me about it, I don't speak Spanish like a Puerto Rican, but with a Mexican accent. Ha, ha, ha. Anyway, of course playing guitar I was influenced by that culture. Mariachi, flamenco. But being on the base, there was a lot of rap, rock, even some country. A lot of country boys in the Marine Corps. The cool part was it just sort of melded all together. So, I guess if I had to say hard rock, of course, Eddie Van Halen and Slash were big influences. I can't claim to be Latino and not say that Carlos Santana didn't play a huge role in my development. But also, Clapton, and the guest spots he did with Phil Collins were just amazing.”

It's easy to be distracted, I think. He's got a great speaking voice, not too deep, not too high, with a laid back, California vibe to his speech. He's bashful, not cocky. He’s one of the best guitarists in the country, and he doesn't seem to quite get how awesome he is.

“So how were you in school? You know my paper does a lot of stay in school type work.”

“Ha-ha. High school wasn't quite my thing. I wasn't the best student, my mind just works more musically than book-wise. Add that in with me getting super early and staying up until eleven or midnight to practice in or working another odd job, yeah... academics was just not my strong suit. I'm trying to catch up now, though. My sister, she just got her GED, and you know what she scored? Ninety-three average. Ninety-three! That's like, college level smarts. I'm so proud of her.”

He's amazing, and every chance he gets, he praises his sister or his mother. He's seriously the most devoted son and brother I've ever heard of. Considering I haven't even heard from my mother in fifteen years, since the divorce, I guess it's a rarity. Especially for this town.

“You don't strike me as the dumb rocker type though, no offense.”

“I try not to be. Helping Maria study for her GED made me learn again too, and I like to read a lot. Nothing super high level, I mean I'm not going over medical books or anything, but I do like to read.”

“What are you reading right now?”

“Business Management for Dummies, if you can believe it. Mama and Maria are starting their own business, and I'm trying to help them out. And I think it helps me too, you know? I mean, Cora's great, I love her to death, but I don't want to be the guy who can't even read his own recording contract.”

“Hey 'Dre, why are you burning the midnight oil?” Henry asks, stopping by my desk. “It's Monday, I know you worked the weekend, and now you're here at nine o'clock? There's dedication, and then there's being a masochist.”

I blink and turn off the recording. “Huh? Oh, hi Harry.”

“Oh, hi Harry, she says, like I haven't been listening to Joey Rivera for the past two hours. Damn woman, are you having issues today?” Harry asks, his voice concerned. “You usually are a whiz at transcription and fishing quotes out.”

I shake my head and set my recorder aside. “Sorry, I guess I'm just distracted, and yeah, the weekend stuff kinda wore me out.”

Harry hums in sympathy and picks up my recorder. “Well, here's a trick I picked up, let me show you what to do. Did you know all the computers here have voice typing capability? It's a bit old, but it should work for this.”

Harry takes a two-way audio plug from his pocket and plugs one end into the headphone jack of my recorder, and the other into the microphone jack of my desktop and pushes the button. “And here you are. Let it play, and when you're done, you've got a pretty good transcript of the interview. And you can just leave it up all night if you want. I've left it running in the background and when you come in in the morning, you’ve got what you want.”

I watch my screen as words start to almost magically appear, with halfway decent punctuation marks, and even skipping lines in between questions. It's all clear enough that I can make sense of it. I'm impressed. “Thanks, Harry. Why didn't you mention this to me before?”

“Simple, you were too fast for it before,” Harry says with a smirk. “Go on, get out of here. I'll see you in the morning.”

I yawn, stretching overhead. “You're probably right. I still need to get a couple miles on the rower tonight anyway. You know, coffee and donuts do not a sexy backside make.”

Harry laughs while I grab my bag, leaving the office. I am exhausted as I ride the elevator down to the parking garage, but the fact is, that it's not just because of working the weekend. I mean, my craft fair and street carnival stories were written and turned in before I even got to the office today. With nothing else due until Wednesday, I sat down to get going on the Joey interview, and just got distracted. I spent nearly an hour deciding how to describe him. His odd, sexy stage image as a dangerous rock guitarist versus the shy, humble, cute boy next door that I met in the studio. How do you describe his muscular arms or he seems dangerous there’s no hint of danger in person, or the way his dark brown eyes go from mysterious to twinkling instantly without...

“Hey, watch it, lady!” a bicyclist in front of me yells, as I nearly run into the back of his bike.

I shake my head, trying to get focused, and realize... I've got a major case of first meeting crush. Just ninety minutes with Joey Rivera, and three days later, still… I can't run over bicyclists on my way home. I just need to get some perspective about Joey. He's cute, and has a sexy body, but after all the bullshit Chad is putting me through, am I really ready?

When I pull into the parking lot of my building, I see Chad's Mercedes parked in the visitor slot. He hasn't been by in weeks, and I realized that even not calling him after his 'gift', he still didn’t get the point.

Sighing, I shut off my engine and take my keys out, keeping them in my hand. I honestly don't trust Chad anymore, the rape accusations notwithstanding. Frankly, girls who falsely cry rape disgust me almost as much as the guys who actually did assault their dates or rape girls, because it makes every legitimate complaint look tainted by association. But Chad's the type of guy that I can believe did something at that frat house back in college.

Chad's waiting for me in the lobby of my building, a grin on his face.

“Hey, baby,” Chad greets me, opening his arms. “When you didn't call, I thought I might just stop by.”

“Why? It's over, Chad. I told you that weeks and weeks ago. And your gift was fucking disgusting,” I fume. “Sending sex gifts to my work? Really, you fucking jerk?”

Chad's smile disappears,. “I was just having a little fun, Andrea. You used to like it.”

“I never liked it, I laughed once because I was embarrassed, asshole!” I holler back. Chad clenches his fists, and looks up, taking a deep breath as he tries to calm himself. “What?”

“I came to ask for another chance,” Chad grumbles, pouting. “I was trying to say sorry, Andrea.”

“Well, you are sorry. A sorry POS, and no, you don't get another chance,” I fume, sliding my bag off my shoulder but keeping it in my hand for self-defense. I'd rather have a broken smartphone than a broken jaw.

“Why? Why won't you give me another chance?” Chad half yells, slamming a fist against the panel next to the elevator. I back up a step, but I don't run, not yet. I don't think I can make it to my car before Chad chases me down if I take off running.

Besides, I'm pissed off. “Why?” I scream, flabbergasted. “Well, let's see. Should we start with any of the six girls I caught you cheating on me with? You know, the ones you were sexting with and boning on the side? And those were just the ones I caught you with!”

“Those bitches were crazy!” Chad yells, hitting the wall again, louder this time as he loses control of his emotions. “I told you that!”

“Then if that weren't enough,” I continue, not caring about his arguments, “was the fact that every time I told you no.... you tried to get me wasted. You think I didn't notice. 'Oh Andi, I know you just said no to a threesome with my frat brother, but here, have another Jell-O shot...' like that shit was some magic cure-all for a woman saying no.”

“You did plenty with me lots of other times,” Chad accuses me, and he's got me there. A few times, when I did get drunk and fucking him seemed like a good idea, we got up to some pretty freaky shit. So yeah, I've got an inner wild child... but that doesn't mean I always want to do it that way. Just with the right person, when I feel safe about it.

“And?” I shoot back. “Is that what you told the girl at the frat house? You'd done plenty with her other times too? Or maybe she just forgot to say no when you offered her one too many shots.”

Chad raises his hands, and I can tell I've pushed him a step too far. Still, I've got my keys in my hand, and if he comes any closer I can go for his eyes, or his...

“What the hell's going on down here?” asks someone coming out the door to the stairwell. “I'm upstairs trying to watch the goddamn game, and I hear you two yelling and screaming, beating on the fucking walls.”

“Nothing,” I reply, forcing myself to lower my voice. “Chad was just leaving, weren't you Chad?”

“I'm not....” Chad starts before he sees my neighbor pull out their cell phone. “I guess we'll continue this conversation later.”

“There is no later, Chad. I keep telling you that,” I reply, circling around the outside of the lobby to give Chad a path to the door. He shoves at the door and stalks off across the parking lot, narrowly avoiding getting into an accident as he leaves. I watch him go, then let go of the breath I've been holding, my hand aching where my keys have been digging into my palm.

“Hey... you okay?” my neighbor, suddenly a lot less hostile, asks. I turn around and see that he's still got his phone out, but he's quieter, less ready to throw down. “You want me to call the cops or not?”

I shake my head, wiping at my eyes where it seems I'm leaking. Damn dusty lounges, always making me tear up at the worst times. Allergies, it's got to be allergies, right? I mean, I can't be afraid of a guy like Chad, I just can't be. “No... no, I'm all right. He didn't touch me, and besides, his father's a lawyer. Named partner in a downtown firm.”

My neighbor nods, and puts his phone away. “Okay. But if he comes down here causing any more shit, I'm calling the police, I don't care if the complaint sticks or not.”

“Thanks,” I say tiredly, heading for the elevator. I try to think of something else to say, I feel like I should, but nothing comes to mind. “Uh... just thanks.”

“No problem. Have a good night,” my neighbor says, opening the door to the stairwell just as the elevator opens and I go up to my place. The fifteen feet from the elevator to my door feels like a mile, but by the time I get changed into some shorts, my fear and frustration is being replaced by anger.

How dare he? How dare he come to my home, when I've told him at least a dozen times that it was over? How dare he threaten me, and make me feel unsafe in my own home? I'm shaking in anger, my fists clenched, and I realize I should work this off. I look over at to my rowing machine, Dad bought for my birthday when I mentioned I needed to workout more. But the damn thing is noisy, with an air fan providing all the resistance.

“What the hell, why not?” I half laugh, feeling good about the laughter. I open my iTunes list and load a little mix I put together of the Fragments’ latest two albums.

I start the mix, plugging my laptop into my home stereo and letting the Dolby surround sound power me through thirty minutes on the rower, a good workout that leaves me sweat-soaked and the last of my anger gone. When I'm done, I stretch, because I know what my lower back is going to feel like tomorrow if I don't, and as Four Letters comes on, I find myself humming along. It's a great song, and when listening, I don't think that anything could make it any better. I know everyone gives Rocky Blake credit for his singing. I'll admit, he pours his heart out into every word... but Joey's guitar carries just as much weight, giving him the framework to put his words on.

Joey. I might as well. I go over to my desk, where the slip of paper with Joey's phone number is tacked to my corkboard. I pull it off, programming it into my phone then I hit the dial button. I'm still sweating, and I'm twisting a lock of my hair around a finger as I wait, nervous. It's pretty late, after ten o'clock, and he might not answer. When he answers though, I can't help it, I grin. “Hello, Andrea?”

“You programmed my number into your phone,” I half laugh, going over to my couch and hopping over the back, landing in a floomph of cushion and a stuffed animal that I got at a fair a month ago. “I'm touched.”

“When a beautiful woman says she might give me a call, I pay attention,” Joey says, and I feel myself blushing. “What can I do for you tonight? Re-think that idea about coffee?”

“Actually, coffee's still a no-go, but before I tell you my idea, how about you tell me about your Monday? I've had an epically sucky day, and I could use some good news.”

“Well, let's see... you inspired me,” Joey says, and my heart catches in my throat. “After we talked, over the weekend, I spoke with Cora while I was helping Rocky put together that swing set at their house. By the way, Bella Clearwater's going to have the world's most awesome backyard play set after this next weekend, Rocky, Ian and I got almost all the big work done, and we'll be working on it on and off this week to finish it up. This thing rocks!”

“Good for her, every kid should have a big backyard to play in,” I cheer. “Not sure how that inspired you, though.”

Joey laughs, and I swear my heartbeat goes up a few notches. “Oh, sorry, got off on a side road there, didn't I? No, I was talking with the guys about an idea I had. You know, Ian's resting up, Rocky's focusing on getting married and all, but we've still got a lot of extra time on our hands. So, I was telling them about some of the riffs I've been working on, and Cora just pipes up, saying that I should record them. This crazy woman actually offered to go down to the studio later this week and record them with me. Like, she's got a wedding coming up, she's pregnant, and still... anyway, I couldn't say no.”

“Why couldn't you?” I ask, and Joey laughs again.

“Because Ian had the garden hose pointed at me. If I had said no, I'd have been driving back to Thousand Oaks soaked to the bone. So, what made your day so bad?”

I'm tempted to tell Joey about Chad, but that's no way to talk to a guy that I just met. “Tough day at work, really. I kept trying to write up our interview and... I kept getting distracted. Has anyone ever told you you've got a great voice?”

“Nobody who's listened to me sing,” Joey jokes, and I laugh again. “Face it, Rocky's got the pipes.”

“I'm not so sure, I just got done doing a half hour on a rowing machine listening to you guys, and you do pretty good backup vocals.”

Joey hums, and I can hear him lower his voice. “Half hour, huh? You must be tired.”

“Soaked in sweat all the way to the skin,” I tease, shocked at my forwardness. Am I really giving this guy double entendre naughty talk on our first phone call? “Which is why I'm calling.”

“I don't know your address, but I'm pretty sure I can be there with a towel by the time the sweat dries,” Joey jokes, and I laugh again, turned on. He knows how to be playfully flirty without crossing the line, he's good at that.

But I want to move on. If I delay much longer I'm going to lose my nerve for why I called. “Actually, how about we look at this Thursday? I've off from work since I just worked this weekend, Thursday's supposed to be a great fall day, weather-wise. So... how about lunch in the park?”

“The park, huh?” Joey asks, and I suddenly get worried that he's going to think that I'm being too playful, or maybe that I'm trying to friend zone him, or maybe... “You know what? That sounds great. Just one thing.”

“What's that?” I ask, and Joey chuckles.

“I'm going to need your address if I'm going to pick you up. I mean, I doubt you live around here in Thousand Oaks.”

I let out a sigh of relief that turns into a laugh, nodding to myself that I've found a good guy. “Okay. You don't mind coming out to Santa Monica?”

“Not a problem. You're worth a little trip on the 101,” Joey replies. “So, where should I pick you up?”

“How about I text you my address?” I ask, and Joey agrees happily. “Great, I'll send it as soon as we hang up then.”

“Great. How about I pick you up at noon?” Joey asks. “I mean, that's like a normal lunch time, right?”

“Last time I heard. But you're a rock star, and I'm a newspaper reporter, noon might be breakfast for you and who knows what meal for me. But yeah, noon would be great.”

Joey chuckles and I feel a little quiver in my belly. “Okay. So, yeah, I'll see you Thursday then. Thanks for calling, Andrea.”

“Thanks for letting me ask you out, Joey. So... good night.”

“Yeah, good night.”

I hang up first, not wanting to, but after I do, I feel much better. Yeah, I got exactly zero work done today. Yeah, Chad was an asshat who made me feel like shit, and the way he upped his aggressiveness worries me.

But I got a decent workout in, and then I was able to work up the guts to call and get a date Thursday afternoon with Joey Rivera. I think that's a great way to end the day.

Joey

“Okay Joey, let's go ahead and take it from the top,” Cora says over the mic. “Just like you showed me yesterday.”

I start with the first chord of what I've been working on, not quite the same riff that I played for Andrea, but something that I was thinking would make a good backing track for something. It's bluesy, with just a little bit of a naughty hanky-panky.

“Shit!” I yell, letting go of my guitar after screwing up a transition, clapping my hands together in anger and wanting to punch the soundproofing of the recording booth. It's really useful that way, the padding takes a good punch without damaging your knuckles.

“Whoa, slow down, bud,” James, our new publicist says from the booth where he's sitting next to Cora, watching the whole session. “I just stop by to see what you two are up to, and I come in to see you about ready to wreck a perfectly good Stratocaster.”

“Sorry, James. I guess I'm a little...” I start, before stopping. James is all of four feet tall, and I'm still not sure how to approach short comments around him. “Sorry.”

“About what? Being a little... short-tempered?” James wisecracks, making Cora laugh. James really is a good guy, a former producer who cracked up under the pressure of working with too many groups at once. Now in his mid-forties, he knows the business inside and out, even if he does look like a cross between the world's shortest roadie and an accountant who's got a Harley in the garage. When Larry approached him about being the band's publicist, James jumped at the chance, saying he'd love to have just one group to deal with for a while. He's pulled himself together pretty well in my opinion, and he's got a wicked sense of humor. “I told you, Joey, I've got you beat where it counts. Every inch I'm under average height, I gain in size downstairs.”

Cora slaps him on the shoulder, and even I laugh at James' comment. “And I thought the boys were bad!”

James laughs and puts up his hands. “I can't help it. Call it my mid-life crisis. So, Joey, what's up?”

Cora turns her attention back to me, nodding through the glass. “Yeah, what's up Joey? Yesterday you were a guitar god like normal, today you're....”

“A little short?” James asks, and Cora punches him in the shoulder again. “Woman, if you weren't pregnant...”

“You'd be hitting on me,” Cora finishes for him, “despite Rocky. But enough of you. Joey?”

I take off my guitar and sit down, taking a drink from the water bottle on top of my practice amp. “Ah... just I kinda met this girl...”

“Woo-hoo!” Cora immediately cheers, coming out of the producer's booth and entering the recording booth to give me a high five. “Okay, spill it, buddy. I want details and all your innermost thoughts. Or else!”

James is right behind, with a chair for Cora before he hops up on the only remaining stool in the studio. “What she said.”

I feel myself blushing furiously, and Cora giggles. “Okay, okay,” I finally say. “You remember last Friday, I had that interview with the reporter from the Pulse? Turned out it was Andrea Coates.”

“Coates?” James asks, shocked. “We hadn't exchanged last names, just a phone call with first names, and then I talked a little with a receptionist there while she was out. So, Coates as in related to Darren Coates, owner of the Pulse and about a dozen other newspapers and media outlets around the West Coast?”

I blink, shocked. “Uh... I guess. She drove a pretty sweet Lexus and she gave me an address in Santa Monica when she called me Monday night to ask me out on a date.”

“I hope to God you said yes,” James says excitedly. “I mean, I've never seen a picture of her that I know of, I said she was cute on the receptionist's word, but... she must really be into you to call you up to ask you out. No offense, Joey.”

“It's cool,” I reply, smiling a bit in amazement. “Yeah... I guess so. I mean, the whole interview, I just had this vibe, like we were totally digging on each other.”

“So, what's got you nervous? You have a date tomorrow,” Cora says. “Really, it's not that strange, when was the last date you had? Two, three weeks ago?”

I shake my head, laughing a little. “Try two or three years ago. A real date I mean, not a hookup date. I guess, well, I guess I've kinda got cold feet about it right now, that's all.”

Cora smiles, a dazzling smile as she shifts closer and puts an arm around my shoulder. “You know Joey, the past year or so, we've gotten close, right?”

“You know we're close. You're mi hermosa,” I tell her. And it’s true, she’s great for Rocky, and great for all of us.

“Well, what you have to get over, is your overdeveloped sense of humbleness when it comes to the off-stage Joey Rivera,” Cora says, rubbing my hair. “You're a great guy, and you are a total catch, you know that?”

“I'm just a guy from Pasadena,” I reply, and Cora shakes her head, tugging on my hair. “Ow! Producer abuse, producer abuse!”

“Hush, chico. Seriously, why worry about it? I mean, is this girl cute?” Cora asks, smiling but letting go of my hair.

“Cute? She's a full-on hottie, Cora. Honey blond hair, some of the biggest amazing green eyes... but she's smart, too. I just... I got a feeling about this one,” I admit. “And I don't want to blow it.”

James clears his throat and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Let me offer an older, wiser perspective, Joey. You guys know, I'm divorced. Hell, my ex-wife really cut me off at the knees, sorry to get in another short joke. But she really did screw me over, and I won't say it's all her fault. I wasn't the world's best husband when I was going through career burnout. So, you'd think I'd be telling you to take your time, to make sure you don't screw up. But I'm not. You like this girl, go have a fun date. I mean, dude, it's your first date with her. It doesn't work out, big deal, you go have a fun Halloween, and then we'll all go over to Rocky’s place or something while he's on his honeymoon and wreck it after Thanksgiving. If it works out, it works out and you see where it goes. But don't you ever put yourself in the situation where you sit back and wonder what if because you let your feet get too damn cold.”

I nod and bump James' held out fist before I give Cora a gentle hug. “Okay you guys, I'll keep that in mind. In the meantime, maybe I can get through this one song. Cora, you don't mind?”

“Nah, Rocky and Bella are going to be doing their Daddy-Daughter bonding thing for a couple more hours at least,” Cora replies. “It's cute to watch them, but they need some time just the two of them too. The last time, I came home and Rocky had his hair done up with pink ribbons.”

That one made even me laugh.

* * *

“Joey!” Angel yells, running across the living room to jump into my arms. I swing my little nephew up, giving him a squeeze before I tighten my arms and start tickling his ribs, making him squeal in delight. “Stop, stop, I tap out!”

“I see your mama's been letting you watch lucha libre again,” I joke, setting him down. “Who'd you watch today?”

“No lucha. ESPN,” Angel says, grinning up at me and taking my hand. He loves just leading me around the house, showing me what he's been up to that day, and the longer I'm out of the house, the longer he wants to show me. Coming home from the latest leg of our tour, he spent nearly two hours dragging me around the old house, showing me all the stuff he'd done as he packed up everything for the move to the new house in Thousand Oaks. “They had UFC on.”

“Ah, that's much better,” I joke, rubbing his brown hair. Unlike the other members of the Rivera family, Angel's got medium brown hair instead of black, and he's nearly as pale as a white guy, unlike my natural light tan. He's really the embodiment of his name, he's got an angel face and a grin that is going to melt hearts when he hits his teenage years. I'm going to have to watch him to make sure his good looks aren't used to get himself into trouble. “Hey, where's Maria, anyway?”

“Mommy went to the store to get things,” Angel says. “Gramma is on the computer. She's been there for like, hours!”

“Thanks, little man,” I reply, heading towards the back. It's only a three-bedroom place, but I let Mama keep the computer in my room, mainly because I'm out of the house a lot when we tour or are in the studio, so it’s a home office for now.

I find Mama typing away. Her hair is pulled back and has a gray streak that hits me in the stomach like a fist. She didn't have that streak when Papa was alive. It wasn't until after Papa died, and Mama had to work so hard to keep Maria and me fed and clothed, that the gray started to work its way into her hair. She's not that old really, but she looks a lot older until you see her in action. She's still got lots of energy and strength, and she's as much my hero as Papa was.

“Mama, what are you working on?” I ask, leaning down and giving Mama a kiss on the cheek. “Angel says you've been back here a while.”

“Just trying to figure out the fire inspection requirements,” Mama says. “Whoever wrote these was definitely a lawyer.”

“You mean they're complicated,” I tease, reaching forward and hitting the power button on the monitor. “Come on Mama, I told you, I can hire a lawyer now that will help us with all of this.”

“I don't trust lawyers, you know that baby,” Mama says as she gets up. “Not since they screwed us on the taxes.”

“Mama, I know. But if we must work with snakes, it might as well help us to have a snake of our own, and I can pay for it with my next quarterly check,” I reply. “I know, I know, you want to argue me on it. Let's just go play with Angel instead, okay?”

“Si, mi pequeno,” Mama says, giving me a hug. “So, tell me about your studio session today. I've got a babysitting job tonight, and I want to hear all about it.”

“Well..” I start, but before I can go on, the front door opens, and I hear Angel go tearing towards it, hollering for his mother. I give Mama a glance, and we both smile. “After I help Maria unload the groceries.”

It's with pride that I see that Maria followed my advice and went shopping at the good supermarket I found near the house, with real cuts of meat from the butcher's section and fresh produce. Yeah, it means that I must carry four more bags of things, but I'm so happy to do it. These fresh broccoli heads and bell peppers? Yeah, we busted our butts, and my nephew's going to eat them, not crappy canned goods or welfare cheese like Maria and I did. Setting the last bag on the kitchen counter, I take out the gallon of milk, nodding in approval. “Whole milk. Nice.”

“I just know that you like working with good ingredients, Joey. And you did promise to cook dinner tonight,” Maria says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “You're the best, bro.”

Maria leaves the kitchen and goes in to play with Angel. I watch them for a moment before Mama interrupts my thoughts. “They're doing just fine, Joey. I know you've been worried about the move, the new neighborhood, you going back on tour next year, all of that.”

I nod, letting Mama see my tension. “I know Mama. I guess I was just worried that Angel would have a problem, leaving his friends behind. But I guess if he's got Maria, he's good. And she's...”

I go silent, not trusting my voice. Instead, I turn to the kitchen countertop and take out the packet of chicken thighs, taking a look. Okay, I can do something with these. Mama watches me for a minute, then pats me on the shoulder, letting me be. I start seasoning the chicken before putting it in the casserole dish that I'm going to bake it in, adding a nice chunk of butter that will melt slowly while the oven warms up. As I move onto the vegetables, I think about Maria. She was just getting into being fourteen, the one night I messed up as a big brother.

I was in high school, and Mama had to work a long shift that night. We decided to get together at Ian's place in Huntington Beach to practice for a paying gig coming up. We had just rebranded less than a year ago as the Fragments and were jumping at any chance to get paid and make our name. What I hadn't known was that Maria didn't want to hang around the house. She asked to go with me, but I said no. I knew I'd be out late, and I didn't want her to struggle in school the next day. She was the one with the brains after all.

The memories of what happened when I got home still haunt me. Mama was still out and Maria was upset, sniffling and crying. She flinched when I sat next to her on the couch, and she wouldn't look at me. When I asked her what was wrong, she started sobbing, saying she was so sorry. Maria, my lovely little sister, sorry. Sorry for going to the corner store, sorry for not running away when she heard the two men... sorry for getting raped. She never told me who, I don't think she even knows, but when she turned up pregnant from it, it hurt her so badly. Mama though, Mama was our rock, and she just hugged us both and told Maria that it didn't matter, she loved us.

I've been in and out of the church a long time. But Maria is a strong Catholic, and abortion never even entered her mind. So, at three weeks after turning fifteen years old, Maria gave birth to Angel. Maria's been a great mother, and Angel is a true blessing. I’ve even started going to Mass with my family occasionally, and I started going back to confession if only to help get some guidance from Father Riordan, one of the priests at the church Mama likes to go to.

I get the chicken in the oven and start slicing up bell peppers and olives to mix in with the saffron rice that we're going to have on the side while Mama starts the water on the stove. “So, are you going to tell us?”

I shake away the bad memories, trying to focus on the good news that I want to share with my family. “With dinner, Mama. I know Maria's going to want to hear this, and I might be busy after dinner.”

I finish my vegetables, cooking them a little in butter before adding them to the rice. Mama watches, then smiles. “You know, when you were kids, I didn't know if keeping the cable for the apartment was a good idea or not. Considering the number of cooking shows you watched and what you've done with them... I'd say it was worth the money.”

Mama leaves the kitchen while I finish up dinner, sprinkling just a pinch of dried chipotle powder for Mama and me. Maria's got a sensitive stomach, and Angel's too young yet. It's with pride that I bring the dishes out to the dining room table in the first real dining room we've had. “Time to eat, guys!”

Angel takes a big helping, but I'm not worried, Maria's told me that he always eats a little bit extra when I cook dinner. After Mama says the blessing, we dig in, and I get the biggest compliment that really any cook can get, four whole minutes where the only sound in the room is the spoons and forks scraping on plates. Finally, Mama sets her fork down and gives me a look, one that I know means it's time to talk. Maria catches it too and looks over at me. “Joey?”

“Well, you remember last week I had that interview for the newspaper?” I ask, and Maria nods.

“I'm looking forward to it. When's it coming out?” she asks. “I keep checking the website, but nothing yet.”

I shrug and take a drink of milk to encourage Angel before his mouth is too full to fit any more food in it. He's like his mother that way, Maria's horrible at talking with a mouthful of her food and has been since she was a little girl. “I don't know. But... well, the reporter and I kind of hit it off. She asked me out on a date for tomorrow.”

“Is she cute?” Maria asks, giggling when I blush. “Really?”

“She's more than that,” I protest before Maria can ask more. She knows I've always had a thing for blond women, to the point that I can't go long without her asking if she's a guera loca, the slang Mexican Spanish for sexy blond that can also mean crazy or hot tempered. Okay, so I have a type. “Seriously, Maria. Yeah, she's blond, but she's smart, she's funny... and she really listened to me, didn't just ask about the surface rock music stuff.”

“Then what's the problem?” Mama asks. “You look unsure of yourself.”

I laugh and set my fork aside. “You and Cora, Mama. She asked me the same thing, I was playing like... well, I wasn't playing my best in the studio. Cora and James, they just said to relax, have some fun. Cora even said that she thinks I'm a catch.”

“I knew I liked her for a reason,” Maria teases. “Not just because Bella and Angel get along well. She's your type too.”

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. “Nah, Maria. I mean, Cora's great, but I've never thought of her that way. She's just my second sister.”

“Which one of us is cuter?” Maria teases, and I roll my eyes.

“Whichever one of you is holding the knife,” I reply in my typical answer, making Angel snort in laughter. “But seriously, Andrea is just... I got a good feeling about her, and I guess I'm nervous.”

“Well, I think Cora is correct,” Mama says, reaching over and taking my hand. “Joey, you've been the man of this house for almost thirteen years now. Never once have you complained, and you're still taking care of things even as you're making it on your own. So, go relax, have some fun, have a good date. What are you two doing?”

“She wants to have a picnic, actually. I was going to make some things after dinner, maybe in the morning. You know, let her get a taste of real Puerto Rican food.”

After dinner, Mama leaves to go do her babysitting, while Maria gives Angel his bath to start getting him ready for bed. I finish up what I'm putting together around eight o'clock, while Maria comes out with a smile on her face. “He wants you to read with him.”

I nod, wiping my hands on the dish towel next to the sink. “Okay. What did he pick out?”

“Harold,” Maria says, handing over the familiar purple backed book. “What else?”

I smile and take the book, heading back to Maria's bedroom, where Angel's waiting in his little second bed. “Harold, buddy?”

“Uh-huh,” Angel says, yawning and smiling. “Joey, if you start dating... are you going to stop spending time at home?”

I shake my head, sitting down and giving Angel a kiss on the top of his head. “I'm never going to stop spending time with you, Angel. You're one of my favorite people in the world. Think of it this way. Before you were born, it was just me, Maria, and Mama. Did you showing up mean I spent less time with them or thought of them less?”

“No, but I live here.”

Good point. “Well, did Rocky and Cora getting together mean that Rocky spent less time with me and Ian? Or that he doesn't like you any less?”

“No... it means I got to make a new friend in Bella.”

I nod, opening the book. “Exactly, Angel. Meeting Cora means you got to make new friends.”

Angel hums, nodding. “Bella's pretty. I'm going to marry her someday.”

I try not to laugh at the matter of fact way my four-year-old nephew says that about six-year-old Bella, but instead just reach over and give him a hug. “Well, we'll wait a few years to see how that pans out. For now, though, let's see. Harold and the green....”

“Purple, Joey. Purple.”

I chuckle and turn to the first page. “I should make you start reading this to me.”

* * *

I wake up at nine thirty, enjoying the luxury of sleeping in. Mama was right, I've been the man of this house for over half my life, and a lot of those years were spent working my ass off. And while the Fragments have made it possible for me to not have to work quite so much, with touring, traveling, multiple time zones, and media events, it is a luxury to sleep in my own bed and wake up at my own pace. While the room doesn't quite feel right, the bed is the same, comforting in its slightly lumpy usedness. Rolling over, I stretch and sit up, rubbing at my face. I need to shave. And a shower.

The nerves start to creep back as I shave, and I nick my chin, hissing as the water washes away the blood before I look at the damage in the mirror. Okay, not too bad, but it still hurts. I finish shaving and go out to the living room, where Mama is reading a book. “Maria and Angel left to go check out some play equipment that maybe we can put in the back yard.”

“Sounds great. Just don't let Ian hear about it, after what he got Bella.”

Mama smiles, shaking her head. “Your giant friend has a big heart. Like you.”

“I've got better hair,” I joke, rubbing at my eyes. “Okay, well, last minute prep for my date, I guess. What should I wear?”

“Just be yourself, Joey,” Mama advises. “This girl, she obviously saw something in you, and you've said so many times you just want to be yourself with people. So be Joey with her. He's pretty special, you know.”

“Thanks, Mama.” I go into the kitchen, where on the counter are four wrapped jibarito sandwiches. “Mama?”

“You're a good cook Joey, but I make better plantains,” Mama jokes from the living room. “Never doubt a mother's plantains.”

“Words of wisdom, Mama. Okay. Hey, this evening maybe, I was thinking of some ideas to give the business more space. What about converting the garage into a kids' room, or some sort of play room that the daycare can use?”

Mama thinks, then shrugs. “Maybe, honey. Let's talk about it later. By the way, Maria's got babysitting this evening.”

“Okay, Mama. I'll be back in time to help.”

I pack up the small cooler that I'm keeping everything in and put it in the back seat of my Buick, buckling it in just to make sure things don't get scrambled all over the place. Getting changed, I decide to go with Mama's idea; nice, normal clothes, a polo shirt and jeans. Looking at myself in the mirror, I ditch the polo shirt for a vertical striped short sleeve button down over a tank-top undershirt. I take a deep breath and look myself in the mirror. “Okay Jose Rivera, just... go have fun.”

My watch beeps, and I see it's already eleven o'clock. Time to go pick up Andrea. I run out to my Buick and hope she doesn't mind a ten-year-old car with a hundred thousand miles on it for a date.

Next royalty check. After I pay for the renovations to the garage for the playroom. And a thousand other things. It's cool, though, I've got a date.

Andrea

Looking in my mirror, I touch my hair one more time, trying to figure out if I want to pull it back, or just let it bounce around my face today. I can't believe I'm this nervous, it's just a date. But it's the first date I've had since Chad, and with him turning up just a few days ago, I've got butterflies in my stomach.

I've had a history of picking bad guys to date. Chad might be the most extreme example, but some of the guys I've dated before Chad weren't good guys either, all smiles until things turn against them. Then they become bullies who yell, talk over you, or start throwing tantrums. All of them were cute at first, all of them charming... and all of them turned into assholes.

Is Joey the same thing? Am I just running from a bad relationship to another after Chad's pissed me off and Joey has a cute smile? Was that magnetic pull I felt nothing more than just my mind wanting to get back at the world's worst boyfriend?

My phone rings, and I see that it's Dad. I sigh and check the time, I've got a few minutes before Joey's supposed to be here, I might as well answer. “Good morning Dad. Or actually, good afternoon in a few minutes.”

“How's your day off going, baby?” Dad asks, setting my teeth on edge. He says baby the way a guy says it to his girlfriend, not his daughter. Seriously, Dad?

“Uh, not too bad Dad. I was just going to take off for a bit, enjoy a day out to relax and unwind. You know, ten straight days of work tends to wind you up.”

Dad laughs, and I can imagine him now in his office, leaning back in his Corinthian leather executive chair in his five-thousand-dollar suit and thousand dollar shoes, glancing out the window towards the plebeians slaving away hundreds of feet below on the streets of Los Angeles. We live in earthquake country. So why the hell does Dad need a high-rise office anyway?

“You know Andrea, as soon as you get over your phase of trying to fit in with people who will never accept you, you can actually work a regular time schedule,” Dad says. “Get out, have some fun sometimes, have a social life?”

“Dad, my social life is just fine,” I reply, trying to not get upset. I don't want to get into a fight and get my mood broken, not right before a date. “I'm just enjoying a day off.”

“Well, I guess even people like us deserve a little bit of time to go do normal things,” Dad says, making me take another deep breath and count to ten. I am a normal girl, or at least I don't think the word normal is right up there with shit in terms of foulness. “If you're not busy tonight then, stop by the house and have dinner with me?”

“What about Elise?” I ask, referring to Dad's current girlfriend, a twenty-four-year-old model from Lithuania, or Estonia, or one of those Baltic countries. I've lost count, she doesn't speak a lot of English. “Shouldn't you be taking her out for dinner?”

“Elise went to Miami for a shoot,” Dad says easily. “Besides, I can always make time for my favorite girl.”

I shake my head, trying to think an excuse. Finally, I just decide to go with an old standby. “Sorry Dad, I've got a story that I'm working on, something personal. I know you'd like it but with work tomorrow, I really don't have a lot of time to do my own stuff.”

Dad hums, and I can hear him put his feet down on the floor. He's clingy, but he gives me at least a little bit of my own space, and he understands the driving motivation. If he thinks I'm working on something personal, he backs off. “Okay, honey. If you change your mind, I'll be here. Maybe we can go out even, I know some people who'd love to hear your opinion on things. You know, make those connections you keep looking for.”

Right. Connections to turn me into the next Los Angeles celebutante, not a legit journalist. No thanks, Dad. But I can't piss him off too much. He does pay the bills as much as I don't like it. “Dad, maybe another time. I'll text you later.”

I hang up with Dad, my nerves jumping up a little. I hate that Dad calls me daily, I feel like he's keeping tabs on me even though I've insisted on trying to live my own life. Still, my cell phone feels like an electronic smart leash as much as it does a communications tool.

My phone rings again, and I snatch it up, ready to tell Dad I'm really not able to go to lunch with him when I see that it's Joey. It's eleven fifty, he's ten minutes early. “Joey?”

“Hi,” Joey says, again sounding bashful, it's so cute. It's perfect, just what I need right now, and I feel my mood lift immediately. “Uh, I know we said noon, but traffic was light and I got here early. The security guy just rolled by and is giving me the hairy eyeball, so I was thinking...”

“I'll be down in one minute!” I laugh, hanging up on him.

I get down to the parking lot just as the security guys come around again, waving to one of them who I've seen before, they know most of the residents by sight. He and his partner give me a nod and pull out, just as Joey gets out of an older model Buick. I come around and give him a quick hug, and it feels... great. He's strong but gentle, and his hands stay exactly where they're supposed to be, north of my waistline to be respectful, but low enough to tell me that he's not hugging his grandmother. Joey grins as I let go and go around to his passenger side. “That's the best start to a date I've had in a long time.”

“Thanks, you give good hugs too. I was... what's that in the back?” I ask, spying the cooler. “What did you pick up?”

“It's a surprise,” Joey says with a smile. “And I didn't pick it up. So, where are we heading? I checked out the area, but I don't know which are the good parks and which aren't. I can tell you all about little dive bars that play decent music though.”

“Maybe another day we can check out the dive bars. For today though, there's a park about a mile from here. It overlooks the ocean and has good grass and picnic tables too,” I reply, chuckling. Joey might drink, I drink too, but he doesn't look like it. In fact, right now, except for the tattoos on his arm, he looks more like a choir boy than a rock guitarist. “Just turn right out of the parking lot, go down to Ocean and hang a left. The park's not far after that.”

“I can follow those directions,” Joey smirks, backing up and turning around. “So, what's with the security guys?”

“They're suspicious of every visitor. I think they even follow the FedEx guy around when he makes deliveries. How long were you waiting before you called?”

Joey turns out onto the street, his eyes fixed on the road. “Just about ten minutes. I guess a Latino in an old Buick does look out of place there.”

“Yeah... sorry about that,” I reply, and Joey shakes his head. “What?”

“Andrea, let's be straight on this. You're a white girl. I'm a Puerto Rican guy. It doesn't matter to me though. Unless you want to do a remix on West Side Story,” Joey says with an ironic chuckle. “Although we'd have to switch sides then. I’d make a terrible Natalie Wood.”

I laugh, nodding. “Okay. We can acknowledge that, but not get hung up on it. I'm cool with that. Don't worry, I like the car too.”

“Even though you're of the Coates?” Joey asks with a little nervous smile. “Sorry, when I mentioned it to James our publicist, he nearly fell out of his chair. I'm not sure if it was fear or envy. I honestly didn't know, but I'm not into things like that. I let James handle that sort of stuff.”

“Yes, I'm one of those Coates,” I acknowledge. “Ocean's the next block.”

“Gotcha,” Joey says, moving over into the left lane so we can make the turn. “If you're from a family like that, what led you to work at the paper as a reporter? I mean, from what James said, you don't need to do anything but sit back and collect interest on your trust fund accounts if you don't want to.”

I nod, leaning back as Joey takes the turn. “I could, but I choose not to. You told me a lot in your interview, so I know your family struggled, but Joey... let me ask you, just between us, would you keep playing guitar even if you made stupid levels of cash from the next album and tours and could retire rich for life?”

Joey nods. “Of course. I love playing guitar, I'd do it for free at birthday parties if I had to.”

The image of Joey playing guitar and singing 'Happy Birthday' makes me smile, but at the same time, I nod. “So, you get my drift. I've always wanted to write, especially about entertainment. Yeah, I kinda grew up surrounded by all these people who either were in the entertainment world or had family in that world. My high school class looked more like the Disney Channel than the actual shows. But what I saw... well, you know how publicists want to present this image of you?”

“A little,” Joey says with a chuckle. “Like how I'm this mysterious, dangerous rock guitarist instead of just a guy who likes cameras and... well, you'll see in a minute, we're here.”

Joey finds a parking spot and we get out, Joey grabbing the cooler out of the back. As he's bent over a car goes rolling by, and I swear for some reason that the driver's looking at me and that I've seen them before. It's weird, I seem to get that a lot, and maybe it's just that everyone in Los Angeles sorta looks the same, but I don't think so. Joey pulls the cooler out, holding it up like a trophy until he sees my face. “What's wrong?”

“Sorry... just one of those weird things where you think you've seen someone before. Anyway, I was saying, about public image. A lot of those people, you could tell there was a real person underneath there, behind all the front that they put up. Some of them, they wanted to really let people know about that side of them, like this one girl. I'm not going to name names, but she hated the fact that her contract wanted her to act all slutty all the time when in real life she just wanted to be a normal girl. On the other hand, there was the clean-cut image guy who was a total manslut. He would use his public image to pick up girls and then...”

I see Joey trembling in anger, and I nod, changing the subject. Joey must have a history with guys like that, maybe he lost a girl he liked to one of the manslut types. “Yeah. Anyway, I've always wanted to tell those stories, both to help the people who want to get their real image out there, to let people know about the awesome stuff that isn't always backed by the big conglomerates like my Dad's, and maybe cut down a few idols who exploit the people.”

“Hopefully only those that deserve it,” Joey says. We go over to a picnic table and he sets his cooler down, opening it for me to an exquisite bouquet of aromas. Spicy, sweet, grilled vegetables... “What do you think?”

“It smells amazing. Where'd you get this?” I ask as Joey takes out plastic wrapped things that look like sandwiches, some grilled vegetables, and I don't even know what else. “This looks homemade.”

“That's because it is,” Joey admits with a little bit of pride. “Growing up, Mama worked long hours, so I learned how to cook, starting with boxed mac and cheese. But I wanted to do more to take care of Maria, so I started picking up some more skills. As our financial situation's improved, I made sure to give my family the best that we could afford. I can't lay claim to the jibaritos, though.”

It's my turn to blush, embarrassed. “Okay... I'll bite. What's a jibarito?”

Joey picks up what I thought was a sandwich, but looking closer I see that the bread is actually a smashed, fried banana. “Back in the day, wheat to make bread was expensive in Puerto Rico, especially outside San Juan. So, the country farmers, the jibaros, would take two plantains and turn them into a bread substitute. They'd fill the space in between with meat, cheese, mayo, just like a regular sandwich. Mama made these, I'm not good with green plantains yet.”

I unwrap one, inhaling the heavenly scent. It's not sweet like I thought it would be, but more mellow, meaty, cheesy mayo smell and with a good dose of starch from the plantain itself. I've been to the Michelin starred restaurants here in Los Angeles, but right now I can't think of anything that's smelled better than this sandwich. “Wow, I may have a new favorite food.”

The sun's nice as we start eating, and every bite is amazing. “You seriously cooked this all? Except for the sandwiches?”

Joey nods, blushing. “I know, it's not the tough guy image, is it?”

“I... I'm not looking for a tough guy,” I admit, taking another bite of my sandwich. “I've had my fill of blowhard tough guys.”

Joey gives me a relieved smile, setting his bottle of Coke aside. “Phew. I mean, I'm no scrub, you can't be a total scrub and get through the high school I went to, but that's a relief to me.”

“You said you and high school didn't get along. What was it like?”

Joey laughs, looking up for a moment as he chooses his words. “Well, you know how you said your high school looked like a Disney Channel show? Okay, now take that idea and change it. Imagine a show set in a high school, but make it on... oh, let's say HBO. Not quite The Wire, but pretty close. Got it?”

I nod, an image in my mind. “Morgan Freeman anywhere nearby?”

Joey shakes his head, smirking. “No... but he could have been. Now, make everything about ten percent worse than the show. That was my high school. Metal detectors, gangs in the courtyard, all of it. Part of the reason the teachers didn't bug me about my grades and sleeping in class sometimes was that at least I was showing up, wasn't dealing or starting crap. Actually, my worst fight was because of that.”

“What happened?” I ask. “A fight in class?”

Joey nods. “I'd worked twenty straight nights, between night jobs and practice and doing gigs with the band. We weren't the Fragments, I hadn't met Rocky yet. The night before, I'd been up until one thirty working a job at an all-night car wash, lying about my age to be able to do it. The owner knew I was lying, but he just thought I was lying about being a US citizen. Anyway, it was history class when some guy started getting into it with the teacher, going off about... honestly, I don't know what the hell it was about. I was at my breaking point and snapped at the guy, and one thing led to another.”

“How'd it turn out?” I ask, and Joey shakes his head, smiling. “That bad?”

“I was exhausted, and he was on the wrestling team. He probably could have kicked my ass either way, though, dude was in beast mode most of the time. But yeah, that was my high school.”

I reach across the table and take Joey's hand, smiling. “Thanks. You're the first guy I've ever dated who was man enough to admit that he isn't the world's toughest guy. And before you ask, I'm not exactly living the great life either.”

“Tell me about it,” Joey says, reversing our hands so that he can hold my fingers more comfortably. “I get the feeling that you... well, you might have a Lexus and live in one sweet apartment, but you've got problems too.”

I nod, looking into Joey's calm, dark eyes, and open up. “My Dad's clingy. You're right, I have the Lexus. Paid for by him. My apartment? Again, paid for by him. The job I have at the Pulse is because Dad gave all his buddies in his little group of media types a call and made sure I couldn't get hired anywhere with a circulation over a thousand copies, and I had to go to him to get anything decent. Every time I try to gain my own separation, I feel like he's clutching me tighter. Today, I chose the park because I've never been to something as simple as the park before for a picnic. It'd be something totally un-Darren Coates. Then there's Chad.”

“Uh-oh,” Joey says, giving me a reassuring smile. “I know that tone of voice. Chad's not your best friend from college.”

I shake my head, suddenly for some reason blinking back tears. “No. He and I hooked up at UCLA. He was a grad student while I was a junior at the time. His father's a big-name lawyer downtown, he runs in the same country club circles as my Dad. At first, I thought he was charming, kinda cute, strong. Turns out he's a borderline alcoholic man-child who cheated on me and is accused of raping a girl at a frat party. And since I broke it off with him, he's having a problem accepting that it's over.”

Joey doesn't ask if it's really over, or if I was playing Chad, or anything else. Instead, he looks me in the eyes for a moment, then nods. “What do you need? What can I do to help?”

It's the last question I thought anyone would ask me. When I broke up with Chad, everyone wanted to know why or said to give him another chance And no one ever offered sincere support when I've ever complained about my dad. Joey just has though. His expression is calm and accepting, and he’s strong in ways that I've never seen before. He doesn’t puff out his chest or bully people like both Chad and Dad do. Joey's strength is the real strength, and if I ask, he won't let the weight of the world hurt me. If I ask.

“I... right now, what I need is a good picnic in the park with a good man, and maybe a walk on the beach across the street,” I finally say, causing Joey to give me another one of his dazzling smiles. I smile back, giving his hands a squeeze. We finish up, and walk the short distance to the beach. The ocean's way too cold in the fall to even think of swimming or walking in the surf, but it's still beautiful, and the sand's warm as we sit down.

“So, Andrea,” Joey says, taking my hand again as we watch the gulls wheel out over the water. “What are your dreams? I feel like you know mine. Good music, take care of my family, stuff like that. Probably not quite the change the world sort of stuff that you've heard from people throughout your life, but that's me. What about you?”

I lean against him, feeling the strength of his arm, and consider my answer. “Work-wise, I'd like to keep writing, to bring my stories to people. And maybe more than just entertainment, I like hearing human interest stories too. I'd like to be able to stand on my own that way. If I had a money point, I guess you could say the day that I buy a Lexus like the one I've got but totally with my own money. Yeah, I'll have made it then. But I want more than just work.”

“What do you want?” Joey asks, turning to me. “I know what I want right now.”

I smile and lean towards Joey, who kisses me with tender strength. His hand cups my head as we lean closer, and while my body thrums, he's a total gentleman, just kissing me, his lips exploring mine. When we part, he smiles, his skin flushing a deep red. I feel warm myself, and I know I'm blushing. “I think we wanted the same thing.”

Joey nods, chuckling. “Well, that's one of the two things that I wanted. The other, I kind of got distracted before I could say.”

“Now's your chance,” I softly reply. “While you got me here, captivated by those eyes of yours.”

“I wanted to ask you if it'd be okay if I saw you again. Because after the interview and then this date, I want to see you again very much.”

“I'd like nothing more.”

Joey's smile spreads, and he turns to look out at the ocean, the waves crashing on the sand. “And this isn't going to be a problem? I don't mean to you, but.... well, I get the impression from everything you said about your father that Daddy isn't going to like his princess seeing a Rican just out of the 'hood.”

I lean against Joey's shoulder, setting my head on his arm. “I can get around that. Joey, I know it sounds nuts, sounds stupid crazy and right now I'm thinking of your West Side Story joke, but the moment I saw you...”

“I felt something for you,” Joey finishes, both of us turning to look the other in the eyes. “Like there was just this click, and suddenly things sort of fell into place.”

“Yeah... kinda like that,” I agree. We lean closer again when a flash pops up in the corner of my eye, and I turn, surprised. “What?”

Joey turns to look where I glanced, but there are at least a dozen people on the beach, I don't know who did it. “What?”

“I thought I saw a flash, like a camera flash. But it's sunny. Maybe just a sun flash off the waves?”

Joey shrugs, smiling. “Yeah, could have been either. You're in the press, and while you're legit, let's face it, my band's gotten its fair share of tabloid vultures. They were fixed on Rocky for so long, but now that he's a family man, he's gotten boring. Or maybe just a fan who recognized me. That doesn't happen often, the stage getups help there.”

I nod, considering. “I hadn't thought of that. So, can you go to the grocery store without getting mobbed?”

Joey smiles. “Next time I need to go shopping, how about you come with me and find out? I'll even let you put it in your expose on me. Joey Rivera: Rock Gone Organic!”

I laugh, and we get up, walking the beach and just having fun until the sun's an orange ball above the ocean and we head back. “I can't believe I spent nearly five hours on a picnic date.”

Joey laughs, holding my hand. “Yeah well, this is the best first date I've ever had. I'm looking forward to our next one.”

On the drive back to my apartment, I'm tempted to invite Joey upstairs for a nightcap, and maybe more. When we get to my parking lot, I see Chad's car in the visitor spot again. I can't help it, my lip curls, but Joey either doesn't notice or doesn't say anything, coming around to my door to open it for me and walk me to the front door. Just as we get there, we stop, still holding hands. “So... what's your plans for the weekend?”

“I've got a club review I need to do, and the opening of an art house flick Saturday night,” I admit sadly. “Weekends are busy for entertainment reporters. But... well, this Saturday's movie they only gave me one ticket, but I can look at making it two next time?”

Joey nods, smiling. “I'd like that very much. How about you check your schedule and give me a call? Other than my little side project, right now I'm free for most of the next three months, a few promo appearances, and stuff only. I’m going to have to find something to take up a lot of my time, I'm really not the type of guy who can lay around for three months doing nothing.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chad's car door open, and before saying anything else I grab Joey's shirt and pull him to me, kissing him hard. This time there's no gentleness, my tongue touches his first, but soon we're full on making out in front of my building, my anger swallowed up in the heat of our kiss. Joey's hands pull me close, our bodies pressing together, and in the background, I can hear a slammed car door and a car peeling out of the parking lot, but I don't care. When we finally step back, both of us are breathing hard, and I can see a lump in Joey's pants that certainly wasn't there before. I can understand, my body is aching right now too. If he asks...

“I... part of me wants to invite myself in,” Joey rasps, clearing his throat before continuing. “You have no idea. But Andrea... I've had more than my fair share of one night stands. Comes with the rock territory, I guess. This time though I don't want just a one-night thing. I want this to be more than one date. If it's okay with you, I'd like to see where this can go between us.”

I nod, not trusting my voice for a moment but just looking at Joey. “Me too, Joey. I should be honest, I kissed you hard because I saw my creepy ex's car. I wanted him to understand totally... I've found a new man.”

“And I've found quite the woman,” Joey replies, not upset by my revelation at all. “For now, though, buenas noches, Andrea Coates.”

“Buenas noches, Joey Rivera. Call you tomorrow?”

“I'd like that. Okay, I'm going to step back, but wait until you go inside, make sure you're safe. Good night.”

Joey's true to his word, the perfect gentleman as he waits outside his car while I go into my lobby and into the elevator, the door closing just as I see him open his driver's side door and get into his Buick. I'm still amazed at what I've found. He's handsome, kind, and a true gentleman.

I think I need to clear my schedule for tomorrow night. And if I can't clear tomorrow, I've got to clear a night as soon as I can.

Joey

“So, how'd your date go?” Rocky asks when I get to his house with Maria, who's agreed to watch Bella with Angel. Rocky and Cora are going to do some wedding planning stuff, and I can understand, I wouldn't want to put a six-year-old through that. Bella's an energetic, active girl, and the only way they'll get her to stay still through all the wedding planning is with duct tape or an injection of major drugs. Rocky slaps hands with me, still smirking. “Cora says you saw the girl from the newspaper?”

I don't roll my eyes, it's no use. Instead, Rocky and I go out to his garage, which he's already converted into his 'man cave,' complete with his own workout equipment. I wouldn't call a home gym a man cave, I know Cora's going to use it too after giving birth, but it's certainly a place that he and I can get back to having some 'bro time' like we used to do at Equinox.

“Good, man. It was a good date. What's the agenda today?” I ask, peeling off my t-shirt, maybe the coolest advantage of working out at home, no need to wear a shirt like at a public gym. I knew Rocky wanted to get a workout in, so I wore my shorts and workout shoes, checking out the equipment. He went good, not over the top, but good gear. It'll stand up to any punishment we might be able to dish out and still come back asking for more. “Nice rack.”

“Thanks. I'm going to get a landmine press pivot for the corner, but other than that, I think I'm set until something breaks. Let me ask, what's your workouts been? I mean, what's down there in T.O.?”

“So far, nothing,” I admit, stretching. “I've been so busy helping Mama and then doing some practice recording sessions, that the date was really my first time doing something just for myself in a while.”

“Let's do total body then today,” Rocky says, grinning in that evil way he's got when he knows that it's going to hurt, that we're both going to be walking piles of ache and sweat by the end... but damn it's going to be fun. Rocky goes over to the whiteboard on the wall and takes out a pen to start writing down the plan. “And you can tell me about your date in between the pain.”

He's true to his word as our very first movement is deadlifts, something neither of us is built for. This is an exercise built for guys who are about as wide as they are tall and with arms like a gorilla. “You just had to get the good crap for here, didn't you? Deadlift pad and bumper plates, just so you can punish us both. All right, homie, all right.”

“Where'd you guys go?” Rocky asks, ignoring my little gripe and loading the bar for warmups. “Don't worry, we won't go too heavy.”

“A park near her place. She lives in Santa Monica, nice place too.”

“And she's really Darren Coates' daughter?” Rocky asks, setting up for his first set and getting his groove in. We both learned the hard way a few years ago when I was messing around and strained a hip muscle. I spent two weeks playing gigs sitting on a stool, looking like an idiot. Never again.

“One hundred percent. We talked about it, and the fact that I'm Rican, and she's whiter than you are. She didn't have a problem with it at all.”

Rocky sets down the bar, giving me a look. “Oh, really?”

I laugh, rolling my eyes as I get ready. I talk in between reps, at the top when everything is tight and stable. “You won't get more details than that, man. I just gotta figure out when to ask her out again.”

“What's your schedule looking like? And hers?” Rocky asks as I keep repping out.

“We're entertainment people, Saturday night dates don't happen for us. You know that.”

Rocky shrugs, smirking. “You sure about that? I'm just asking because you know the problems we all had when Cora and I tried to keep things secret between us. I'm not trying to be in your personal biz too much, Joey but at the same time...”

“I know. Rocky, you, Cora, Ian, Bella... you guys are my family too. I told Cora that just the other day. Don't sweat it, you won't get the Penthouse Letters details, but I'll keep you guys up to date if I think it would affect you at all. Or just to entertain your wife.”

“Not quite yet, but I like the sound of that,” Rocky says as we load more plates on the bar. “Let's get to work.”

It takes us nearly ninety minutes to work our way through everything, but in the end, not only am I exhausted, but I have that endorphin rush that I love. After the last rep, I notice light applause behind me, and I turn to see Cora leaning against the door frame, smiling. “I knew I made the right call in letting Rocky turn this thing into a home gym. You guys keep this up, I'm going to order a detached garage for the home studio and you guys can keep putting on shows for me like this.”

I blush, grabbing my towel from the squat rack while Rocky gives Cora a kiss. “I figured you'd like that. It's why I went an extra twenty-five reps.”

“Is that what you did?” I gasp, turning around to see Rocky grinning, his arms around Cora's waist and obvious passion in his eyes. “Hey, little kids are in the house.”

“Yeah, well, we won't hold that against you,” Cora jokes, stroking Rocky's face and not even looking at me. I'm jealous, watching my best friend and the woman he loves. I’d love to have something like they have.

But the jealousy fades in an instant, it just doesn't hold up against the purity of what they've got. Instead, when they kiss, I smile, and when they step back from each other, I just pull my shirt on, thinking of what I know I want to do. “Rocky... thanks. I think I've got something I need to take care of.”

“What's that?” Rocky asks, letting go of Cora long enough to go over to the wall where he's hung his own t-shirt up. “About Andrea, I guess?”

I nod, tucking my shirt in. “I was thinking maybe she'd like to have drinks tomorrow. She said she's got some art house movie to review, but maybe she'd like to get together afterward. And while she said she's got only one ticket, maybe they've got another ticket available for a supposed rock star.”

Cora laughs quietly. “Good on you, Joey. There's a time to use the fame that your talent's gotten for you. Give her a call.”

* * *

“So... the movie's about what?”

Andrea chuckles, shaking her head. “According to the press release that we got, a transgender Nazi concentration camp worker finds herself caught up in a love affair with both her camp commandant and a shopkeeper in town that she knows is hiding Jews from the camps.”

“Sounds um… interesting?” I ask, not too sure how to handle this conversation. I'm from a Roman Catholic Puerto Rican family, transgender Nazis are not in my wheelhouse.

Andrea laughs. She's driving tonight, picking me up in front of my house while Maria and Angel waved from the kitchen window. I know that they're curious, I've never had two dates in three days with the same girl before, but I don't want to freak Andrea out quite yet. My family is intense, and I know that Angel can be a handful at first. Besides, I'm still living with my mother, that can take some getting used to. “We'll probably find out when we get there. Oh, and the movie's in German with English subtitles.”

“Great,” I reply sarcastically. “I love reading movies. I take that back, I've done subtitled Japanese anime that was kinda fun. But then again, when you've got giant robots or super warriors or whatever the hell else is going on slashing and shooting at each other, you don't really need subtitles that much.”

Andrea laughs, and I am taken again at how pretty she is tonight. For our picnic, she was totally casual, with shorts that showed a nice stretch of her legs along with a t-shirt. Tonight though, she's dressed trendy chic, with black form-fitting slacks, a wide brown leather belt, a black top, a white blouse over top, and even sunglasses perched in her hair. She's gone more made-up too, with more eyeliner and deep red lipstick. It's not more or less beautiful than she was for our picnic, just different. Then again, considering that I'm as much an expert with eyeliner and lipstick as any woman with my stage makeup, I'm hardly the one to talk.

We arrive at the theater, an old place in Noho that looks like it came out of the fifties, probably on purpose. The sign out front is done in lots of old-school neon, making it look very retro. “At least the parking lot's decent sized.”

“I've done reviews here before, it's actually a lot of fun, the seats are some of the most comfortable you'll find in a movie theater. Come on, you get to carry the popcorn,” Andrea teases, taking out her keys. I'm slightly surprised and touched when she takes my arm and we go into the theater, which turns out to only be three-quarters full. Not a great turn out for the world premiere in my opinion, but I'm not a movie expert.

The only way I can describe the movie is confusing as hell, especially as I can't quite figure out who the good guy is, mainly because whoever they hired to do the subtitles from German did a pretty terrible job. Leaving the theater, I give Andrea a look, waiting until she's finished talking into her voice recorder, she needs the notes for her write up.

“How many stars?” I ask as we go back to her car. “I'm going to be honest... I have no idea what went on the whole time.”

Andrea laughs, nodding. “Yeah, me too. I wrote down some notes on my pad here, I've got some stuff on the voice recording, but I'm going to be hard pressed to try and write up something positive for this. Thankfully, I don't have to do the actual film review, I just need to turn some press release stuff the studio sent and these notes into a story on the actual opening. The nice part is it won't run until Monday, so I can type it up tomorrow instead of trying to cram it in tonight. Tonight is all about Joey Rivera and me.”

“I like the sound of that,” I admit, climbing into the passenger seat of her car. “So, where to, or are you letting me pick?”

“How about we stop closer to your house?” Andrea asks. “I'm not drinking tonight, not with the early start to my assignment tomorrow, but I'd love to share some late-night grub and there's nothing wrong with letting you do what you'd like.”

I nod, sitting back. “Okay. But I'm not that heavy a drinker. I've had my fair share sometimes, but I don't knock them back one after another. Hmm. There’s a place over in Westlake that might be good. Supposedly, the chef got a James Beard award, and it's been written up in the Beat. I've heard they've got smart staff.”

Andrea laughs, pulling out onto the road to head towards the 101. “You are a certified foodie, you know that? And a smooth flatterer.”

“I like preparing good food for my family and friends,” I reply, looking over at her. “Careful, you keep dating me, you're going to have to start doing daily workouts to keep fitting into your clothes.”

“And if I gain some weight?” Andrea asks, smiling. “I don't take you as that shallow.”

“I'm not. You can get as thick as you want,” I reassure her. “I like you for what's inside your head, not what's on the surface. Even if that's prettier than any woman I've ever known.”

Andrea smiles softly to herself as we drive, chatting and joking about the movie as we do. The restaurant is just as good as advertised, and it's fun to watch Andrea try the funky flavored Japanese gyoza that we share two plates of. I sip at my Lager while Andrea enjoys a green tea smoothie. Andrea takes a sip and smiles, looking around while I use my chopsticks to pick up another gyoza for her to share. “You've got some legit chopstick skills. So, have you guys been to Japan before?”

I shake my head, laughing to myself. “We had a chance, right before we made Four Letters, there was a music festival over there that wanted us to play. But there were a couple of issues. First off, the guys only wanted to talk to Rocky, our manager at the time was totally pushing him over everyone else, and that didn't sit cool with all three of us. No, the chopsticks are from lots of Chinese takeout. I used to do deliveries for a place and they'd let me grab a few cartons that were destined for the trash on the way home. Hey, a question from my sister, she wanted to know when the interview is coming out.”

“My editor loved it so much they're bumping it up to the Pulse's Sunday supplement, and he was asking me to do a longer one for LifeBeat. I was going to mention it to you earlier, but you looked so handsome, I kinda got distracted,” Andrea says, picking up a gyoza herself and wrapping her lips around it. If you've never thought of food as foreplay, watching this woman relish the flavors of the grilled Japanese dumpling has me thinking very naughty thoughts for a good reason. The sensual way her lips caress her chopsticks before the tip of her pink tongue comes out to lick just a bit of sauce off her bottom lip is pure seduction, and I wish there was a greater market for food seduction rock because right now I could write an epic song about sensual gyoza.

“By the way,” Andrea mentions as I settle up the bill, insisting on paying, “thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not drinking too much. Sometime I'd like to share drinks with you, but I've had a bad history with people drinking too much around me. You show restraint, you know that? Like, there's a powerful side to you, Joey, but you restrain it, and keep it all within that gentlemanly, boy next door sort of exterior.”

“You're a lady, you deserve to be treated with respect,” I reply, taking Andrea in my arms. We kiss once before we get in the car and she pulls out. “On another note, you mentioned your editor expanding the idea. What about... well, I was considering it earlier too, but what about coming over to my house, meeting my family? We can have a barbecue, you can meet my mama and Maria, all that sort of stuff. And I'll let them know it's for a story, but also, well... I'd like for you to meet my family as a date, too.”

Andrea smiles, nodding. “I think I might even be able to talk my editor into letting me put some sides on the expense account. So, does that mean I'm on track to becoming your girlfriend?”

I smile, looking over at her and nodding. “I'd like that a lot. I'm warning you though, my family can be unique. Keep an open mind and relax. I like you a lot. I think they will too.”

We get to my place, and Andrea gives me another kiss in the car, this time taking my hand and resting it on her breast, moaning when I lift the soft weight and run my thumb over the nipple inside her bra. “Mmmmm, Joey....”

“I know,” I whisper back, gasping when her hand comes to rest between my legs on top of my cock. “Andrea... I almost asked to go up to your place last time.”

“I almost asked you up last time,” Andrea replies, giving my cock a gentle squeeze before pulling back and taking a deep, shaky breath. “But I want to go slow, still. Not because I don't want you, but because you are worth waiting for.”

I nod and give her hand a kiss on the knuckles. “So are you. Buenas noches, Andrea.”

“Good night, Joey,” Andrea says. I watch her reverse and back out of our driveway, giving me a little wave as she heads off. I wave and go inside, sighing happily, surprised when I see Mama waiting up for me even though it's nearly one in the morning.

“Mama? What's wrong?” I ask, shrugging off my jacket. Yeah, I dressed up for this one, wearing one of my trendier outfits I got for award shows and stuff like that. I'm glad I did, jeans and a t-shirt would have looked stupid next to Andrea's chic outfit tonight.

“Nothing,” Mama says, seeing my face. “You've got a little lipstick on your cheek still.”

I rub at my right cheek furiously, and Mama chuckles. “Sorry, Mama.”

“Don't be, Joey. You're a grown man now, and I trust you to be a good man at that. So how was your date?”

I hang up my jacket and smile, trying not to laugh since I can hear Maria and Angel snoring down the hall in their bedroom. “That had to be the strangest movie I've ever seen. Even weirder than that time the Tijuana station showed El Santo taking on vampires.”

Mama laughs softly, getting up. “I see. So, you had a good time?”

“I did. Mama. Andrea was asked by her editor to expand the story, to do something for LifeBeat magazine. I would like it if she could meet you guys too, it'd be a good chance to invite her here. I thought maybe next weekend, we can do a family barbecue, have her come over? I'd really like it if she got to meet all of you.”

Mama's smile spreads and she comes over, kissing my cheek. “Of course, Joey. I can tell you like this girl very, very much, and I would be proud to meet her. Maria and Angel too. For now, though, I have Mass in the morning, I'm going to get some sleep. Will you be coming to Mass?”

I consider it, I haven't been to Mass since getting back, and considering how things are going with Andrea, maybe I can use a little divine luck or at least reassurance. “I think so, Mama. Good night.”

Mama goes back to her room while I go to my bedroom, taking off my clothes and lying down on my bed. As I do, I listen and realize I've got a problem on my hands. Lying in bed in my boxers, I can hear Maria snoring lightly, and the toilet flushing as Mama finishes brushing her teeth and washing her face before bed. My house, my home is filled with people, and one of them is four years old.

This is no place to bring a woman to do things with. I want to go a lot farther with Andrea than what we did in the car. Even making out with her in the driveway honestly felt a little bit weird. What if Mama had seen me touch Andrea's breast? What if she'd seen the expression on my face when Andrea had cupped my cock?

But my God, it felt so right and good to touch Andrea that way. It felt different than any other woman I've ever been with. Before Andrea, it wasn't a problem. Whether it was backstage in dressing rooms or hotel rooms that I had on the road, there was a way to find a space to have sex. A lot of those road girls, they kind of expected it, the fumbling with the room key, the unfamiliar squeak of the springs as we banged, with a bathroom just a few feet away to do the post-sex wash up and scrub down.

I don't want that with Andrea. I want to do more. I want to... I want to wake up and make her pancakes or help her wash her hair. All that glorious golden hair that hangs in such cute wavy curls down to her shoulder blades. I want to make love with her.

Wait, did I just think that? Did I really just think that I didn't want to bang, or fuck, or have sex with Andrea, but actually make love? Jesus Christo, I am really starting to fall for this girl and quickly. Especially since just thinking those words has me grinning foolishly.

I wonder what the band would say? Cora would probably giggle and give me a high-five and a hug. Rocky'd be cool, he's always had my back. Ian, too, although I think Ian would most likely have something wiseass to say about it. I haven't told Ian yet, I probably should do that this week. I don't want him to be the last guy to know about this, he gets grumpy when he finds out last. At least I know part of why he's so grumpy, he's got sleep apnea that's pretty bad. I should check in with him to see if he's getting treatment for it, I don't want to get the crap scared out of me again like I did in Tallahassee when I walked into the dressing room and he wasn't breathing for like ten seconds.

Hmm, sleepy.... I guess it has been a long nigh.....

Andrea

Nervous much?

Of course, I'm nervous, I'm waiting outside my building ten minutes early in order to meet Joey, and he's taking me to meet his family. He's been the man of the house since he was ten. And he’s warned me his family can be a little intense. Which means I need to be ready for a ton of questions from them, or maybe them being a little protective of him.

And let's face it, he's Puerto Rican, and from what I can tell, Roman Catholic. While me being white has never been a problem with him, I've heard too many bad stories about when people cross racial lines, especially from protective mothers. And I'm not Catholic, I'm a lapsed whatever. I know if Joey was asking to come to dinner at Dad's house, I'd be just as nervous. Actually, I'd be more nervous, mainly because I don't think Joey would get a warm reception at the Coates estate.

I see Joey out on the street, waving to me even as he makes the turn into the parking lot. I hop into the passenger seat and lean over, giving him a quick kiss that just as rapidly deepens. “Mmm... I've missed that all week.”

“You have no idea,” Joey replies happily, pulling out of the parking lot and driving back towards the freeway. “It's been a good week, though. Not only did we wrap up the personal stuff I wanted to work on, but Cora thinks some of it is so good, she asked Ian to come in next week to do some back drums for it, maybe to be on the next album. Oh, just to let you know... everyone thinks it's great that we're seeing each other.”

“Really?” I ask, somewhat surprised. “I did a little digging myself. After the rumored problems Rocky had with Martha Mellors and what she was feeding the tabloids, I thought they'd be more worried.”

Joey shakes his head, signaling to get over onto the I-5. “No way. Rocky and Cora already asked me when I'm bringing you by their place, and Ian... well, Ian's his own type of guy, but he's cool with it. I'll tell you about it on the way.”

We make the drive to Thousand Oaks, and I think about how strange and wonderful this feels. I've never dated someone with such a large gap in our living distances, it takes almost an hour with street traffic each way, but the time gives us just a chance to relax, to catch up on the two days since the last time we talked on the phone. It's been a refreshing time too because while I've wanted to talk with Joey every day, it's allowed me to gain some perspective on just what is going on in my life.

“I saw the Sunday paper,” Joey says about halfway there. “Maria went out and bought two copies to trim them and have them laminated for the kitchen. She just might ask you for an autograph.”

We’re just getting off the freeway when suddenly, I smack my forehead. “Oh, shit!”

“What?” Joey asks, concerned. “What is it?”

“I uh... I forgot to bring my gift,” I reply lamely. “After everything you guys made, I thought I'd return the favor, so I tried my best to make some potato salad, and then I got a call from my Dad, and I just forgot it. It's still sitting on my counter. I know it wasn't much, but if you guys are going to the trouble of having a barbecue, I thought I could do something.”

Joey nods, then turns right at the next intersection, grinning. “There's a supermarket up ahead, a Trader Joe's. Let's go in, get some stuff from the deli and a six pack of organic root beer. That's Angel's favorite, and blame the traffic on the freeway.”

I laugh, both at Joey's intense consideration and his inventiveness. We end up getting exactly what I'd originally planned, potato salad along with a six pack of root beer to share with Joey's family. When we pull up, Joey gives me a wink and a kiss on the cheek. “Just be yourself, Andrea. That's pretty damn impressive, in my opinion.”

Joey leads me towards the front door of the wide, L-wing ranch style home, but before we can even get from the driveway to the door, the screen slams open and a little boy comes running out, a huge grin on his face until he sees me, stopping in shock. Joey steps forward and sweeps him up into his arms, giving him a hug. “Hey buddy, I wasn't gone that long!”

“Mommy got the charcoal going, and Gramma had me help with the chicken! Is this your girlfriend?” the little boy jabbers quickly, glancing over Joey's shoulder at me. “She's pretty!”

As he looks at me, I'm shocked, seeing his eyes. They're the exact same shade of green as what runs in my family, Dad and I have the same color. It's pretty rare, most green eyes are either brownish green or a dark emerald, not the sort of pale jade that we have. But this little boy does, and as he blinks at me, I feel a disconcerting sense of familiarity with him, even though I've never seen him before in my life. Finally, I clear my throat. “Thank you. Are you Angel?”

He nods, giving me a goofy grin that charms my heart immediately. “Are you Andrea?”

“Yes buddy, this is my girlfriend Andrea,” Joey says, my heart fluttering a little at Joey calling me his girlfriend. “Now, you run inside and tell Maria that we're here, okay?”

Angel runs off, and Joey turns to me, grinning. “That's Angel being Angel. He has a habit of every time I come home, he gives me pretty much a full report on everything he's done since I last saw him. After the tour... that took a while.”

“I bet. Is everyone in your family so nice?”

“Let's find out, why don't we?” Joey jokes, leading me to the front door and opening it. My first impression that I get of the Rivera house is that it's fresh, but then I remember that Joey's family just moved in here about a month ago. The decorations are simple and seem small like the family is still figuring out just how much size they have, but that they are slowly starting to relax into the new space.

“Joey, can you help me out?” a voice calls from the kitchen, and Joey leads me over, where I see a small, compact woman with long black hair that has a few streaks of gray standing out in them. She's dressed almost all in black and around her neck is a simple gold crucifix, her only adornment. Still, when she turns to look at us, she's got the same dark, soulful eyes as Joey, and the smile in the middle of her round face is kind, welcoming. “Hello. I'm Teresa Rivera. Welcome to our home.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rivera. You have... I haven't seen the rest of the house yet, but you have an amazing son. You must be proud of him.”

Teresa's eyes twinkle as she looks at Joey, who's starting to blush. “And my son has good taste in girlfriends. Come, help me with some of the last prep here, and we can let Joey go play caveman over the fire for a while. My husband loved barbecues, and men tend to be happier when they get to smell the smoke and play with the fire and the toys.”

“I'd love that,” I reply, giving Joey a look. “You don't mind, Joey?”

“Do I mind if my new girlfriend hangs out with Mama?” Joey asks himself, scrunching up his mouth to the side before grinning. “No way, have fun. I'll send Maria in, you can make your hellos then too. Mama, is there anything you want me to put on?”

Teresa points to a big tray of chicken pieces, most of them sitting in a marinade. “Start with those, I'll have Maria come out with the vegetables when they're ready. Would you like to eat inside or outside?”

Joey glances at me, and I think. “If the weather stays nice, how about outside? It's only the middle of October. And I'd like to see the rest of your house if there's a chance.”

“Outside it is then,” Joey says, giving me a heartwarming smile before disappearing. I watch him go, then turn to Teresa, who's giving me a measured, but still warm smile.

“It's nice that you don't mind Joey still lives with his mother and sister,” Teresa says as she turns back to her counter. “Would you pass me the mayo?”

“Okay,” I answer, finding it in the refrigerator. “Actually, it impresses me because of why he's doing it. For such a young man, he's more mature than a lot of my co-workers who are ten or twenty years older.”

Teresa smiles, nodding. “He gets that from his father, he was strong too. There aren't a lot of men like Tomás Rivera in the world any longer, but Joey, he's one of them. You know, when we got word that Tomás was killed overseas, Joey didn't cry once in public? He cried, of course, but never in front of his sister, or in front of me. I'd hear him crying in his room on base, the Corps let us stay in base housing for a few weeks after the funeral while I tried to make arrangements. But Joey never, ever cried in public.”

“Why?” I ask, curious. “This doesn't have to go in my story if you prefer it doesn’t.”

Teresa shakes her head, smiling softly. “No, I'd like the whole world to know about Joey, about how strong and amazing my son is. He never cried in public because he knew that Maria and I needed a strong presence in our lives. So, outside of his room, he would be kind and patient with Maria, more than a brother should ever be with a little sister. And when I needed help either with Maria or with anything, he'd just give me that little smile of his and help out, never complaining. There was never, ever a moment he wasn't giving himself to his family. I never asked him to take his paper route, or the after school and weekend jobs. And I never let him see me cry when I'd find him sleeping on the old couch we had, a half-finished piece of homework in front of him because he didn't get started until eleven thirty. I took pride in every C he got on his report card because I knew he was working harder than any of those kids getting A's and B's.”

“And the music?” I ask, taking out some plates when Teresa points for me. “You didn't have a problem with that? A lot of parents do.”

Teresa shakes her head, smiling again. “Watching the joy on his face, and seeing him have a chance to become rewarded for all that hard work, there's no way I could be upset with it. Besides, Tomás started him on the guitar. Sometimes, it feels like I am watching my son and my husband talking together when he plays. Yes, the stage makeup, that's a little strange to me. Sometimes I wonder if that's my Joey up on stage. But then he comes home, and he gives us his smile, plays with Angel, and I know that there's nothing bad in the rock world that could change who Joey is at the heart. Of course, he's lucky to have the other band members, and that other girl, Cora. Have you met her?”

“Not yet, although I've heard a lot about her,” I admit with a little chuckle. “I think Joey's seeing if I pass the family test first.”

“You're doing fine so far,” Teresa says with a reassuring nod. The door to the kitchen open, and a girl with long, nearly mid back length dramatically intense black hair comes in, and I can see immediately that she's Joey's sister. “Andrea, this is my daughter, Maria.”

“It's a pleasure. Joey speaks very highly of you.”

Maria blushes just like her brother, and in the way she moves, I can see the similarities between them. “Only believe half of what you hear. Joey makes me seem like some sort of superwoman.”

“He's a brother. I don't have one, but I can imagine he just loves you very much. I know he loves Angel.”

Maria smiles, waving me forward with her hand while shushing me with her other. “You want to see them? Come with me quietly, you can see from the back door.”

Maria leads me out of the kitchen and into the living room, where through the sliding glass door I can see Angel and Joey, Joey helping Angel as they lay chicken on the grill. “Someday,” Maria says softly, “he's going to make a great father. He already is, really. When I got pregnant, he never blamed me, he never said one hard word. He's loved Angel better than a lot of fathers, honestly.”

“He loves you both very much,” I reply. “Our first interview he talked a lot about you getting your GED, and the hard work you're doing for getting your business started. He's very proud of you.”

“Thank you. You handled that section of the story so well. I read it over and over. Thank you for your kind description of me. Joey's always unsure how to handle my being a mother with other people. He... I'll tell you what he won't. Getting pregnant, it wasn't my choice. It was an assault.”

I stop, taking a deep breath before nodding, not know what to say. Maria studies me for a moment, then takes my hand. “I told you that to let you know what sort of man Joey is. You know a lot of men, a lot of people really, would say they don't blame you, but then act differently. They'd say things like I somehow deserved it, that I brought it on myself for going out late as a fourteen-year-old. But Joey never did any of that. Do you want to know what a real man is? Take a look outside, there's the finest man you'll ever find. In some ways, I'm a little jealous of you.”

“How?” I ask, and Maria chuckles.

“Because someday, a woman, maybe you, will capture Joey's heart. And she's going to maybe take him away from me, but for sure I'll have to share him with her. Meanwhile, I don't think there's a man on this planet that is as good as Joey. And I'm greedy in that regard, I want the best.”

Joey looks up from the grill to see Maria and me, and he waves. We wave back, and Maria lets go of my hand. “Come on, let's help Mama. And enjoy the barbecue.”

The food itself is delicious, sitting around the back yard in chairs and eating on plastic plates is messy and sometimes hilarious, but as the afternoon goes on, the best part for me is the acceptance by Teresa and Maria. Angel takes a little longer, but after we eat he skips his normal afternoon nap to play soccer with me. Joey joins in. He's a good natural athlete even as he holds back enough to let Angel run and have some fun. “This yard is one of the reasons I chose this place. It's big enough that we can let Angel play and there's plenty of space for the kids once we get the daycare started. We'll be able to stay here for a long time afterward too.”

“Do you want to grow bigger than that?” I ask, and Joey stops, thinking.

“Maybe. I'm going to leave that to Mama and Maria, though. I know that I can't help them out enough to push that. But if they want to grow to that size, to have their own business-only place, I'll be there to help them.”

After we play, I try to help Teresa wash up before she and Maria chase me out of the kitchen. “You and Joey go have a good evening together,” Teresa says with a soft smile. She kisses me on the cheek before patting it. “You are a wonderful girl, and you have my one hundred percent seal of approval.”

“Thank you, Teresa,” I reply, touched. Joey and I leave after exchanging hugs all around, getting in his car and pulling out. “So where to?”

“I really enjoyed the beach, and I was thinking that it'd be a great way to end the afternoon, watching the sun set on the ocean again,” Joey says. “What did you think of Mama and Maria?”

I smile, thinking for a moment before answering. “Joey, your life, your family, it's like a hundred and eighty degrees different from mine. About the only similarity we have is that we both have only one parent in our life, although for different reasons.”

“Have things with your Dad always been this... I don't know, strained?” Joey asks curiously. “I mean, today was good, but I've had tough times with Mama too. Maria filled me in, she overheard a bit of what you and Mama talked about, and she's stretching the truth a bit on her always approving of my music. She never said anything, but you know how you can tell when a parent isn't happy.”

I nod, chuckling. “No, things weren't always like this between Dad and me. Right after the divorce, he was a good father, or at least it felt that way. He'd drop me off at school, and while he had his assistants pick me up, I got to hang out with him in his office while I did my homework, and he'd do his best to go home with me, to be a real father. Weekends were great, I've been to Disneyland and Magic Mountain so many times I can't even begin to count them.”

“What happened?” Joey asks as we get on the freeway heading back to Santa Monica. “Did he kick you out?”

I shake my head, leaning back as my belly gurgles happily from the wonderful barbecue. “No. It was my choice. I'd say things started going bad when I was in junior high school. His secretary took me to get my first training bra if you can believe it. It was like, Dad didn't know how to deal with me going from a skinny little girl into a woman. So, while he stopped being so close, at the same time he tried to make up for it with spending money on me. He never quite understood that I didn't want the clothes, or the Benz for my sixteenth birthday, or stuff like that. I wanted to spend time with my Dad, to eat churros and ride Splash Mountain. But then that stopped too, and while I tolerated his money, I wanted my space more than anything.”

Joey gives me a raised eyebrow, but he doesn't push. If anyone knows about discretion and not saying anything, it's Joey, but I trust him. “A couple of times, especially back with I was between thirteen and fifteen, he would say things that just sort of... creeped me out. Dad's always loved his vodka, and one time, he got a little drunk. Not falling down mind you, but even to thirteen-year-old me, I knew he was toasted. He'd broken up with a girlfriend, and he'd stayed in that night. It was July, and I was wearing just some of those cheerleader shorts that were so popular a few years back. I go walking by Dad's chair, and he reaches out, pinching my ass. 'You know baby, you're becoming one sexy woman,' he says, his voice pretty slurred. After that, I just started wanting my space. Supposedly Dad doesn't remember it, but... I started noticing that Dad's girlfriends started getting younger and younger. His current girlfriend is twenty-four, but looks about eighteen in a lot of her modeling shots.”

Joey hums, staying silent for a moment before replying. “I don't think I'll enjoy meeting your father. If that time comes.”

“I honestly don't know if it ever will,” I reply. “I don't care if I have his approval of you or not, Joey. Since that time, I've tried to gain my independence, to stand on my own. College was my first chance, to see how so many things my Dad does, I just don't approve of. His feelings towards a lot of different subjects are different from mine. So, I started pushing out on my own. Dad's tried to hamstring me though. First, he made sure I could only get hired by him, and then he's tried to push me towards just being a nepotistic type. Did you know that twice he's already tried to get me to give up the entertainment beat to go up to something 'more important,' his words?”

“Well, I'm happy that you turned him down,” Joey says, smiling. “I don't meet too many political or editorial staff members.”

“I just want to be free of him and his influence, that's all.”

The conversation drifts until we get to Santa Monica, getting off the freeway and Joey pulls up in front of my place. “I figured we'd start from here. It's not a long walk to the beach, you know?”

We park in a visitors’ spot, and Joey gets out, opening my door again like a total gentleman. When he closes my door, he takes my hand and pulls me in close, looking me in the eyes. “I know you worry about your father. I'll be honest, with what you told me, I'd worry about him too. But, you aren't your father. You're a beautiful, intelligent woman. Someday very soon, you'll be able to stand on your own two feet, and the world will see you as Andrea Coates, not Darren Coates' daughter. I already do.”

I wrap my arms around Joey's neck and kiss him gently, enjoying the feeling. It feels right, and I smile, laying my head on his chest. “I'll admit I'm a little afraid, though. I've never been tough like you are, Joey. I've always been a trust fund baby, more or less. Listening to your story, I know that what you went through would have broken me.”

“First off, you don't know for sure,” Joey replies, holding me tighter. “You have your own strength, just standing up on your own as you have. Before you protest about taking his Lexus or this apartment, I don't blame you at all. But secondly, everyone needs support. I wouldn't be able to do what I'm doing without Rocky and Ian, or Maria and Mama. So, you need support... I'll be your support, Andrea. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'll be there. I care about you very much already.”

I hug Joey tighter and go with the feelings inside me. “You know Joey, my apartment is high enough up that you can see the ocean from my balcony. Would you like to watch the sunset with me up there instead of going out?”

Joey nods as he reads the meaning in my words, and I take his hand, leading him inside the lobby of my building and to the elevator. His eyes are smoldering as the doors close, but he minds his manners, there's no need to rush. A feeling of inevitability falls over me as the doors to the elevator open and we walk to my front door and I fish my keys out, letting go of his hand only long enough to twist the key in the lock and get the door knob.

“Welcome to my apartment,” I reply, closing the door behind us. “What do you think?”

Joey turns to me, swallowing deeply. “I think you're beautiful.”

Taking my hand, Joey pulls me close and we kiss, the kiss deepening more and more. His hand comes down, resting at my waist for a little bit before sliding lower, over my hips to cup my ass and making me moan. The single sound seems to trigger a release within both of us, and we are suddenly starving, pulling at each other's clothes as we stagger across the room to my sofa, the bedroom's too far away. By the time we fall into the cushions, we're both totally topless, and my jeans are unbuttoned while Joey's shorts are halfway down his hips.

“Joey...” I gasp in between kisses, my skin on fire from the feel of his hands on me. “Joey. Do you have protection?”

“In my wallet,” Joey replies, stopping and getting off the couch. He pulls out his wallet and takes out a condom, handing it to me. “Andrea, are you sure?”

I nod, putting my hand on his stomach when he goes to get back on the sofa, shaking my head. “Let me.”

I pull his shorts and underpants the rest of the way down, his hard cock looking delicious in its bed of short dark hair, just like Joey's head. I lick my lips and then kiss the pink tip, Joey groaning deeply as I lick around his cock, kissing it all the way to the tip before I suck him into my mouth. It's been a long time since I did this, at the end I never wanted to do this for Chad since he would start to try and gag me. But Joey he looks at me with warm tender strength when he rests his hand on my head, brushing the hair out of the way so he can watch me as I slide his thick cock in and out of my mouth, my pussy heating up with every lick of my tongue. He starts to ooze precum, the sweet tang making my body even hotter, and I pull off, smiling. I wrap my hand around his shaft and pump him slowly while I use my free hand and teeth to open the condom and slide it down his shaft. When it's done, I sit back and push my pants off, spreading my legs. “Joey, just please go slow at first? I haven't in a while.”

He smiles and lays down on the sofa, pulling me into his arms and kissing me. I'm surprised when he rolls, pulling me on top as he kisses my neck, his right hand kneading my ass and making me groan in anticipation. I can feel his cock pressing against my left leg and I slide over, the two of us twisting until he's sitting up and I'm straddling his waist, his cock poised at the entrance to my pussy. As I start to sink down we both freeze, our eyes locked on each other as I lower myself.

Joey never rushes me, letting me take my time as his cock spreads me open, both of us relishing the intense sensation until I'm all the way settled on him, my pussy filled perfectly. I smile, stroking Joey's hair and leaning down, kissing him as I lift up and start to ride him, his cock stroking in and out of me in just the way that I want.

Joey helps me lean back, his hands powerful and strong as I let my body be controlled by him. He kisses down my throat to my chest, his tongue tracing around my breasts and nipples until I'm seeing stars. My pussy squeezes around his cock when Joey bites lightly on my right nipple, his teeth tugging just enough to leave me crying out in pleasure, my arms barely holding onto the back of the couch as I roll my hips slowly, unable to go faster right now from our position.

When Joey growls lightly I look down, smiling into his dark eyes. “Joey?”

“You're amazing... but it's hard not to want to go faster.”

I smile and shift, pulling him to the side and letting him climb on top of me. I wrap my legs around his hips and kiss him hotly, our tongues dueling as Joey's hips drive his cock into me faster and harder, powerful thrusts that send jolts of electricity through my body and curl my toes they feel so good. Our breath comes in faster and faster small puffs and gasps as our bodies move in a natural, perfect harmony that I've never felt before.

Never in my life have I been as intensely lit up as I am while Joey's cock moves inside me, his hips grinding against my clit and the hard ridges of his muscles rubbing against my nipples. His lips meet mine, heat, and power in every movement, my body pinned underneath his as we rise higher and higher towards an orgasm that I can already feel building. My fingers dig deeply into Joey's back muscles as he thrusts harder and faster, urging him to give me everything, to show me the power that I can sense buried underneath the kindness. I'm a grown woman, I won't break.

Joey's hips move faster, each of his thrusts slamming into me with titanic force, leaving me gasping with each shattering slap. My eyes roll back in their sockets. I've never felt it like this before, and Joey grabs the arm of the couch for support as he goes faster and faster, driving himself into me and deeper into my soul with each beat of my heart.

“Joey. Oh, Joey, I'm going to come, just one mo...” I cry out as the pleasure's too much and I tip over the line, my body squeezing down on his hard cock while I'm pounded into submission and explode in the smoothest, sweetest orgasm of my life. My toes curl, my fingers curl, it feels like even my eyelids curl as pure white ecstasy grips my body. In the back of my mind, I hear Joey groan deeply, and suddenly my pussy feels warmer, his cock swelling as he comes into the condom, and he reaches his own peak, both of us frozen in time as we cling to the moment and to each other.

“Andrea... beautiful Andrea,” Joey whispers when we can speak again and my eyes come back into focus. He's looking at me with an emotional intensity that makes my heart flutter again, but not in fear but in happiness. It wasn't just sex to him either, it was more. I don't need any words to tell me that.

“Joey,” I whisper, stroking his face. I realize that the light in my living room is nearly gone, we've missed the sunset. It doesn't matter, I can experience beautiful sunsets about three hundred days a year in California. This with Joey, though, this is special. Still, I wish I had more light, his eyes are so dark that I can't see them right now.

Joey strokes my hair, then shifts around, taking me into his arms. “I didn't expect this, but I'm glad this is what happened.”

“Me too,” I reply, stroking his back muscles. “We missed the sunset though.”

“There will be others,” Joey says, kissing me. We lay together for a while until the room is totally dark, and I feel Joey shift. “I should go.”

“No, stay,” I reply, pulling him tighter. “Stay and watch the sunrise with me?”

I feel Joey pause, and I can sense the questions running through his mind. His family, they know we're together, and if he does this... “A sunrise would be great. In the meantime...”

I laugh softly and pull him down for another kiss, my heart beating again after hearing his words. “In the meantime, while our bodies recover some, I get to show you the rest of my apartment. Especially my bedroom. It's much more comfortable than the couch.”

Joey

Andrea pulls the sheet to her chin as I finish getting dressed, a happy but reluctant smile on her face. “Are you sure you should go?”

I nod, grinning. “You've got work to do, and I'm probably going to have to stop by the church this evening. I've started to get back to Mass and Father Riordan is going to want to assign me a few Our Fathers and Hail Marys.”

Andrea smiles, lowering the sheet a little to show me the tops of her breasts. “And there's nothing I can do to entice you to earn a few more?”

I kneel next to the bed and kiss her tenderly, both of us laughing. “If anything, I need to get home, so you'll actually have a boyfriend come Monday. If not, I'm going to end up dying in your arms in total ecstasy, dehydrated and starved, but not caring.”

“Well then, I guess I should let you go. That and I want to keep the good opinion of Mama Rivera and Maria. Just promise me one thing?”

“What's that?” I ask, getting up off my knees.

“Angel gets to tell you what he's been up to, but don't do it the other way around,” Andrea says, and I laugh hard. It feels wonderful, light and joyful as I leave the building and get in my car. The day just looks brighter, more pleasant as I get on the freeway and head back home. My mood is still bright an hour later when I pull into the driveway at home and get out.

It's hard not to be grinning like a fool as flashbacks to last night and this morning play through my mind. We made love four times last night, a buffet of intimacy that still left me wanting more. The couch, the bed, the shower, then the bed again just as the dawn broke above the horizon, and while I'm exhausted, I'm full of energy as well.

“Well, well, someone must have gotten car trouble in Santa Monica last night,” Mama says when I come in, shocking me. She's still dressed in her pajamas, sipping at a cup of cocoa, one of her only indulgences. I hang my car keys up on the hook next to the door and come in, sitting down. “So how was your evening?”

“Mama, I'm sorry. I should have called but...” I start before stopping. “I just got caught up.”

“I bet,” Mama teases, her face breaking out into a smile. “The only person who's upset with you might be Angel, he wanted to go to church with you this morning. But I told him you'd take him out to the park later, so he was fine.”

“Angel... ah man, you're right, I promised him and...” I start before Mama puts her finger on my lips like she used to when I was a little kid and started motormouthing.

“Honey, I'm not upset. You deserve to have a social life, and while it's been a very long time, I still remember what it was like to be your age. Your father and I missed church a few times when we were dating as well. And I wasn't lying yesterday, I like Andrea very much. She's a good girl for you.”

“Even if she's a rich girl from Santa Monica?” I ask, Mama chuckling.

“Even if she's a rich girl from Santa Monica. Joey, I'm not going to pretend that you're an angel, we've only got one of those around this house. I've pretty much assumed that at least a few times on your tours, going out at night, that you have had times with girls, yes?”

I blush, this isn't the sort of conversation I expected to have early on a Sunday morning with my mother, but I can't lie to her, I never have and never will. “Yes, Mama.”

“Again, don't be ashamed. I trust you, Joey. You have never come home with any diseases, and I know that you're smart enough to not get a girl pregnant. Even if you did, you're a man, a real man, and you'd take care of the baby and the mother. I told Andrea yesterday, you're sort of a dying breed, a real man who doesn't need to put off a silly machismo aura to be truly macho.”

Her words touch me, and I fold my hands on the table, trying to contain my feelings. “Thank you, Mama. I promise I'm being safe. I know the Padre might not like to hear it, but I can confess to you.”

Mama sets her cocoa down and pulls me to her, kissing my forehead. “Joey, you are absolved of guilt. As for Father Riordan, he's not as conservative as he lets on I think. He knows you're a good man, Joey. I just want to tell you again, I am glad that you are getting serious with Andrea. I like her very much.”

I smile and get up, going over to the cupboard to take out a box of cereal. I'm hungry, and it's a good start. “Thank you, Mama. What did Maria think?”

“Oh, she's already planning on having una pequeña rubia sobrina,” Mama jokes, making me drop the box of cereal, spilling flakes everywhere. Mama laughs when I look at her in total shock, sipping her cocoa. “What?”

“Mama! Maria's my little sister! She's too young to think about me having kids!”

“Well, she likes Andrea too. So, relax, and after you have some food, get a nap. I can see you're tired, and Angel's going to want to play when he gets home. If you're good, I'll take you with me to evening Mass to give you a break. You must wear a shirt and tie though. I'm not taking any bums to church.”

* * *

The parking lot outside Gashouse Records is nearly empty when I get in, it's only seven in the morning and most music people don't really get started until at least nine. I see James' car though, which is cool. It's a lot better than Martha, who more or less just tried to get Rocky into bed for a few years.

I go around to my trunk and take out my good guitar, my dark cherry red High-Performance Gibson Les Paul Studio that I fretted over for weeks before I finally took the plunge and bought three years ago. At the time fifteen hundred dollars was almost a ridiculous amount of money to me, but finally, Ian told me he'd lend me half of it, and I could pay him back in gig checks over time. Best seven hundred and fifty dollars I ever borrowed, and I forced Ian to take my repayments, even after he insisted that I'd paid him all the way back when I still owed him a hundred and fifty bucks.

I go into the building, calling out as I do. “Yo, James! You here, man? That is your car out front, right?”

James comes out of studio two, the big studio that we use for group work like today, and I can tell right away that he's disturbed. First off, he's got a welt on his forehead that looks like he took a decent sized ass whipping from someone. More worrying to me though is the look in his eyes, which are slightly angry and tense. “Joey. What the hell are you getting into?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, looking at the lump on his forehead. “Damn man, what the hell happened to you?”

“Chad Bronson happened to me,” James says, rubbing at his forehead and wincing. “Fucker came in yesterday, hollering that he wanted to find you and kick your ass. Apparently, he doesn't know your home address.”

“That's because the house isn't in my name, I did all the paperwork in Mama's name to take care of her if something crazy happened to me on the road and she needed to have control of the property,” I reply, shaking my head. Yesterday? He must have really blasted James to have that hurting so much still today. Wait... that name. “Chad? As in....?”

“As in Andrea Coates' former boyfriend Chad, son of one of the named partners in a downtown law firm, Bronson. I was in here yesterday just trying to catch up on some paperwork to get you guys some fresh cheddar for the holidays when the asshole storms in, screaming his fucking head off. 'Where's Joey Rivera? Where's that stealing fuck?' and a bunch of other stuff. I step out of the conference room where I was working. The company had a girl in the booths doing some commercial voiceover work and I didn't want him fucking people up,” James says, crossing his arms. “When I told him you weren't here, he starts yelling that I needed to give him your home address. I promptly told him to fuck off and get out, which is when he hit me. The lump is actually from me hitting my head on the corner of the desk, not the punch. Thankfully a few other folks came out to make sure shit didn't escalate.”

“I hope you called the cops on his ass,” I comment, and James shakes his head. “What? Why?”

“For one, because I know the name. You might not, but I do. That law firm, Joey. They're connected. And his father's golf buddies with both Darren Coates and with a few other movers and shakers around this town. Chad Bronson isn't one of those guys you can just call the cops on, not if you want something to actually stick. So, I did the next best thing.”

“Which is?” I ask as I open the door to the sound booth. This is crazy, and the booth at least lets me start to feel like I'm somewhere I can think straight about all this.

“I promised to swear out a restraining order if he comes anywhere near Gashouse again. Bronson knows that the main thing he wants to avoid is bad publicity. Him beating up a dwarf and getting arrested, coming off as a psycho boy is not what he wants. And remember, I do know publicity. While the Coates empire might not let a word of it slip, I know a bunch of other people. Let's just say a lot of these media conglomerates, they like to war with each other,” James says. When I give him a confused look, he sighs and pulls a chair over, sitting down. “Let me give you a primer on the Art of War, Hollywood public relations style. You know about the Big Six, right?”

“The six media conglomerates that run a lot of business around town,” I reply, opening my guitar case. “I know that much at least. What about them?”

“Well, throw Sony in there, although they're pretty fucking clueless sometimes once they filter shit through the Japanese home office. But still, let's call it seven. Seven major corporate conglomerates that control over ninety percent of the media that gets distributed around this country, and through that a huge percentage of popular culture around the entire planet. Therefore, a little PR in this town doesn’t stay little. Especially if it is salacious. You following me?”

I pull my guitar on, nodding. “Okay, I think so. Go on.”

James nods. “Chad Bronson, he's a small fry, but he’s still worth ink. He's fucking tabloid fodder if you can get anything hard on him. Anything soft his Daddy can squash, but anything hard? Hell, that boy's already got problems, he's facing a rape charge. He's got his Daddy's law firm on it, he'll probably beat it the low life fuck, but he's got to keep his nose clean. He knows a restraining order violation would look bad for him. It worked... for now.”

I plug in my guitar and flip the power switch, trying to think. “Okay. Listen, man, I'm sorry about that shit yesterday, I didn't mean to bring down heat on you. I just gotta think a little, play some chords and try to digest it all. No offense.”

“None taken,” James says. “I know I look pissed, but it ain't at you, Joey. That asshole Chad, he called me some shit that I thought I was okay with, but I guess it still pisses me off. Sucks not being six feet and built like a badass like you are, you know?”

I give a little laugh, “Thanks, James. Seriously. Just let me think a little.”

James leaves the studio and I start playing, just some stuff from memory to warm up my hands and to let me think. Guitar playing has always been my form of meditation, after all. Mama goes to Mass, prays her rosary every night, I strum my way through Black Magic Woman and Unforgiven. It works either way, in my opinion.

But the questions in my mind trouble me. Chad coming here and starting a fight with James? James is a man in his forties with an alimony payment, a midlife crisis that has him dressing like a roadie still, and a sarcastic, pessimistic view on media corporations, but not a violent bone in his four-foot body.

And Chad's connected, too. Andrea said something about that, but I kind of dismissed it. I figured that he had enough trouble on his hands, but to be crazy enough to show up here? This guy's a danger, not just to Andrea, but to the rest of my friends and family. What if he shows up here when it's just Cora? She likes to get here early a lot of the time to make sure the recording equipment is ready to go. I only came in this early today to let me enjoy the peace and quiet of solo playing and think about Andrea. I wanted to tell the guys about her more, to say that maybe... well, maybe I'm falling for her. Ian would most likely laugh, but I know Rocky and Cora wouldn't.

And then there's her father. Just thinking about him perving on his daughter and grabbing her ass as a teenager is disgusting enough. But if he's one of these big players, and it is a battle like James says, is there any way that I can maintain a relationship with Andrea and keep my family and my friends safe? And what about Andrea herself? If I keep seeing her, am I putting her in more danger?

There's a knock on the studio door, and I see Ian with, surprisingly, Rocky and Cora behind him. “Hey dude, you're looking like you're in thought,” Ian says. “Guess who I found in the parking lot?”

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, pleasantly surprised. “I thought this was just a practice session for Ian and me.”

“Bella's spending some time with her grandparents, and I thought that even though I don't have any lyrics... if you want, I can still play backup guitar for you,” Rocky says. I give him a bro-hug in thanks and look at Cora. “And you?”

“James gave me a call last night, told me about what went down. I figured that you could use some female intuition and besides, I love listening when you guys just jam,” Cora says, smiling softly. She admits she's a fan as much as she is our producer, and she's still head over heels for Rocky and likes helping us with music as much as she can. “I might be a few months pregnant, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy my guys doing what they do best.”

“Thanks, I guess. Just after that, and the other day listening to Andrea tell me that her father's clingy, kind of creepy really... I don't know if I can make it work with her. I want to, but...”

“Stop right there,” Ian says, cutting me off. I look over at him, and see a red line that goes around his nose and mouth, pretty faint but clearly there. Ian notices my look and rubs at it for a moment before he shrugs. “Doc's got me trying a CPAP machine. I'm going in to have it operated on right after the lovebirds get hitched, and by the time they get back and we go back on tour, I'll be fine. In the meantime, I get to look like a damn fool. But, that wasn't what I meant. You say you want to make it work with this girl?”

I nod. “Yeah. I mean, I feel bad that I haven't introduced her to you guys, but I thought maybe you guys wanted your personal time. No offense, Ian, but after spending three months on the road, I kinda enjoyed not having to share breakfast with you three.”

Cora chuckles, sitting in Rocky's lap after he finds a chair and humming as she wiggles herself into a comfortable position. “Feeling is mutual, Joey. But you're still family, right? So, spill it.”

I shrug and sit down, thinking how to tell them without spilling any details that maybe Andrea isn't comfortable me sharing with them. “Okay. Saturday, I invited Andrea to my house to meet Mama and Maria and Angel. We had a barbecue, and my family really enjoyed meeting Andrea. The feeling was the same from her, too. Things went great, and when I took her back to her place, well, I didn't leave until Sunday morning. When I got home, I thought Mama was going to be angry, but she wasn't. If anything, she was supportive. But between what Andrea told me about Darren Coates and then what Chad pulled, this could get the band in hot water. I don't want that, and the risk to my family...”

“I don't know about your mother, but I remember a guy who was willing to go to the floor to support me when I was having problems with the tabloids. I remember you stuck by me, and you said that you'd support me no matter what. And I also remember as soon as I pulled my head from my ass and loved the woman I love, you were one hundred percent behind me, even as I suddenly fired our manager,” Rocky says, wrapping his arms around Cora and hugging her. “Don't be stupid like I was Joey and have your head up your ass like I did. If you like this girl, don't let anything get in the way of that.”

“Exactly,” Ian rumbles, sitting down behind the drums. “Besides, your ass isn't big enough to fit your head up it. Trust me, you've pissed me off enough over the years I've thought of trying to see if it'd fit more than once. You don't have the hips for it.”

Ian's wisecrack makes us all laugh, and I feel my tension ease up a bit. “You guys don't mind that I'm falling for a girl whose father is a media mogul, who might be racist, is definitely an asshole, and who has an ex who's on the loco train?”

“Falling for her, huh?” Cora teases. I blush, and Cora smiles. “No way in the world am I letting you give up on her that easy then.”

I nod, taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay, point taken. Well, I guess then I'll just have to keep my eyes open. Still, I worry about the danger that Darren and Chad represent.”

“You know what Darren and Chad are?” Ian asks. I shake my head, and he picks up his drumsticks, twirling his wrists to loosen them up. “They're spoiled rich boy bullies. They've been born with a silver spoon in their mouth, and they think that by throwing around their country club money and the connections that they've got, they can get what they want. You break it off with Andrea, you're just giving those two assholes what they want. Let me ask you, is that the sort of life Andrea wants?”

“No, she hates having to live on her father's money. She's told me so many times, and she admitted to me, she feels like a hypocrite hating it and taking it at the same time. I told her not to worry about it, but still, she hates it.”

“Then don't let her stay in that situation,” Ian says. “Be the Joey Rivera that helped us all put together Bella's swings, the Joey that takes care of your sister and mother and nephew. Right now, though, I'd like the other Joey to get ready to go to work. Think we can get the guitar ass kicker to make an appearance?”

I grin, nodding. “Damn right. Cora, Rocky, you guys staying in here or going to the booth?”

“I think we'll go in the booth. That way Cora can sit down in my lap and keep wiggling and nobody's going to object,” Rocky jokes, but I can see that Cora's doing a pretty good job of getting him worked up early in the morning. I chuckle, she is his perfect partner, and as they go into the booth, I give Ian a shrug. He smirks and shrugs back.

“What are we working on?”

I think, then decide. “Here, I don't have a name for it, but listen and give me what you think will be a good drum beat for it.”

Things go great, after a little while Cora even throws the recording light on, and it feels awesome, there's nothing better than laying down fresh tracks knowing that you're making good music. By the time we're finished in the middle of the afternoon, I feel better, and I send Andrea a text message, just saying that when she gets off work, I'd like to talk. Nothing bad... I just wanted to hear your voice.

“Hey lover boy, if you've got the time... my garage says you're too soft to do a leg workout with me,” Rocky jokes. “They say women weaken the legs, and I know you gotta stop by at least once a week until you find a place for yourself in TO. Have you done that yet?”

I shake my head, grinning. “Nope, not yet. But I will. I can't let you go all soft on me if I go soft too. You're on, I don't need to be home until seven tonight. Hey, Ian, you want in on this action?”

Ian thinks about it, then nods. “Sure, why not? Doc said that some exercise could help too, and it gets damn lonely in that fucking Huntington apartment by myself nowadays. Let's see what Simi Valley has to offer.”

Andrea

I feel refreshed and happy as I get off the I-10 and make my way through the maze of downtown streets towards the Coates Media building. Yesterday I was able to write up not just the assignment I had for Sunday, but also got nearly two thousand words done on the more in-depth story on Joey. I might be able to get it done today, and then vet it past James and Joey before submitting it to my editors. It's not normally something I'd do, even on an expose piece that's meant to give the sunny side and not dig up dirt, but with Joey and me... well, dating, I want to make sure that they get a chance to look it over.

Getting off the elevator, I'm shocked to see Dad standing at my desk, his arms crossed over his chest and a look of death on his face. Even before I can say anything or get my bag off my shoulder, he points. “Conference room. Now.”

“Okay, chill, just let me drop my bag,” I start, but Dad grabs me by the arm, literally dragging me towards the room despite my protests. “Dad! Dad! Let go!”

Shoving me into the conference room, Dad slams the door shut behind him, locking it before he turns to me, his face going even redder. “I was sitting at home yesterday, trying to enjoy some free time and a little bit of time off, when I find out that my daughter, who I've raised to be smarter than this, is out fucking some Puerto Rican rock singer? Who the fuck do you think you are, getting down in the mud with someone like that?”

Chad. That spoiled, psycho fuck. “First, Chad's got no right going to you about who I'm seeing. Second, I will not allow you to use that sort of language about Joey. I'm...”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Dad yells, his voice booming. “You dare tell me how to speak? You’re playing around with a ghetto, low-riding, bean eating...”

“You shut up!” I yell back, slamming my hands on the conference table, my bag luckily falling off my shoulder to plop on one of the conference chairs. “Joey is a good man! His father was a fucking Marine hero, and his son is just as honorable!”

Dad stops, shocked that I'd speak back to him. The last time I did was when I got my own place, threatening to move totally out of his life before he relented. At the time, he'd come back by offering me my current apartment, but I see that maybe I just encouraged him to try harder to keep his strings tied to me. I need to press my advantage. “Joey's worked hard, he's talented, and he's strong, Dad. Stronger than that fucking loser Chad, that's for sure. That creepy fuck's been stalking me for months, practically.”

“He's upset that you abandoned him when he needed help, but that's a conversation for another time,” Dad fumes. “I'll have a talk with his father later. But you, young lady, are my responsibility, and I will not let my daughter drag our family name through the mud!”

He's yelling again, and I am faced with the fact that, for my father, this goes beyond the casual disdain he's held for all people from the lower economic classes my entire life. I always thought that Dad made his jokes based on bank account size, not the color of skin, even though most of his taunts did have an ethnic slant to them. But Joey's climbed out of the bad neighborhoods, he's shown heart, guts, brains, and talent that's going to make him a legit millionaire within six months, a year at the outside. No, it's not Joey's bank account or even his old neighborhood that makes Dad this angry. Dad's laughed and hung out with people with poor backgrounds before. Pro athletes who came from places even poorer than Joey's background. No, I finally call it for what it is. It's racism, pure and simple.

“I have done nothing wrong, Dad. If you can't see it, that's your problem, not mine,” I reply, reaching for my bag. “Now, I have work to do.”

“You go out that door, and you won't have any work at all to do,” Dad hisses. “In case you've forgotten Andrea, I own your job. I own your car, I own your apartment, I practically own your sweet little ass. So sit down if you want any of those things tomorrow.”

I freeze, glaring in amazement as Dad points at the chair. “I said... sit. Down.”

I take a deep breath and pull the chair out, sitting down. It's not the Lexus or the apartment, but my job. I like writing for the Pulse, and I like doing what I do. Of all the things to threaten, he picked the one that works. “What do you want?”

“You're going to break up with the hoodlum, first,” Dad says, planting his hands on the table and giving me the power glare that he's semi-famous for. It's not as strong as it was a decade ago, Dad's booze habit's starting to make his eyes go a bit bloodshot and his comb-over's getting very evident, but it still carries a lot of weight. “You're going to find yourself a good boyfriend, from the right background and right places. You don't want to date Chad, I can understand that he's getting pretty tubby anyway. But you will stop this despicable behavior. Johnny Rivera!”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep calm in the face of this angry madness. “His name's Joey, Dad. Joey Rivera. You know, of the platinum-selling band where he's one of the best guitar players of the past decade?”

Dad shakes his head, his mood not improving. “I don't care if his name is Johnny, Joey, Juan, or Julio. He's not acceptable for me or for my daughter. You will find a boyfriend I approve of, and stop this barrio boffing. And don't tell me you haven't, I can see it on your face. My only daughter, fucking a Puerto Rican? Inconceivable!”

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means,” I taunt him, losing my temper. Darren Coates might be able to throw around his money, and he might be able to use his tongue to cut people to ribbons, but steel sharpens steel, and I've had more than my fair share of chances to use my own words to wound. “And by approve of, I assume you mean the son of one of your lily-white friends from Bel Air or Beverly Hills?”

“A decent fucking start,” Dad says, totally missing my point. “You're going to find an acceptable man from a good family, Andrea. If you don't...”

“What, Dad? Going to disown me?” I ask, angry. “Going to yank me around and order me around? Maybe stop calling me daily like you do now?”

Dad shakes his head. “You don't even have a clue how much I could fuck up your life. It's pretty simple, Andrea. You disobey me, and your job... gone. Your car... gone. That little bachelorette pad that I've paid for... gone. Your inheritance, your safety net, your trust fund that you're in line to get when you turn twenty-seven? All of it, gone. You want to hang out with barrio trash? Fine, you can go live like them. Go suck down burritos and pork rinds or some shit.”

“Fire me? You'll fire me over who I'm dating? You're being despicable!” I yell, standing up. “It's illegal!”

“California is an at-will employment state. And no, firing my daughter for who she dates is not covered under federal or state statutes. Besides, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to fire you and have that in writing? I fire you for any of a dozen different reasons. I've done it before, I'll do it again in the future,” Dad says, grinning triumphantly. “And don't think that you can just get fired from here and go tattle, or go get a job somewhere else. You won't be able to get a job writing up high school football scores in backwoods Kentucky by the time I finish with what I'll put out, Andrea. So, you have a very clear choice. Your boy... or your career?”

I get out of my chair, and Dad thinks he's won as I go around to him. He even holds his arms out like he wants a hug. “Honey, I know it hurts, and I don't like having to spank you to teach you a lesson, but...”

Dad's words are cut off as I slap him, hard, across the cheek. “Listen to me now, and listen to me well, Darren Coates,” I growl, stunning him into silence. Not Dad, not Daddy, but... Darren? I've never called him that before in my entire life. “The last thing I need is someone like you trying to control my life any longer. Listening to Chad? In case you forgot, Chad Bronson's facing rape charges, he's a slimy, lying sack of shit who cheated on me with so many other girls that... it doesn't matter. He's a liar and a scum that's been stalking me for months and would lie if he wanted to, just to make sure that I couldn't date anyone. That you even listened to a word out of his slimy mouth says something about you. It tells me that while we might be related by DNA, you're hardly deserving of being called my father.”

I'm enraged, my nostrils quivering as I keep going. “So, here's the truth. Yes, I'm dating Joey Rivera. In fact, I've slept with him, and I loved it! He's a man, a real fucking man, not some rich bitch trust fund boy who doesn't know what real strength is. He respects me, and he's shown me that I can make it on my own. I don't need you! You want to try and throw a tantrum, cut me off? Go ahead! It just proves my point, you're nothing but a spoiled man-child who wants to control my life like I'm one of your girlfriends. Well, get this through your head, Darren. I'm not your puppet, I'm not one of your Eastern Euro gold-digger models who let you order them around and play sugar daddy for them. So, go ahead, fire me!”

I turn to go, storming to the door, when Dad recovers, scoffing. “You're so much like your mother.”

I stop, turning. “What did you just say?”

He smirks, shaking his head. “I said you're so much like your mother. Fine, I obviously touched a nerve, and you're delusional, immature. Your mother was the same way. I'm going to give you a chance to think about what I've said. I expect your behavior to change, Andrea. If it doesn't, and that includes an apology to me, then I will take action.”

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Darren. This conversation is over,” I growl, grabbing my bag and going to my desk. Nobody even dares to look at me as I sit down, turning to my computer and pointedly ignoring everyone. I see out of the corner of my eye as Dad leaves, the air in the room feeling decidedly colder in his passing before the conversation starts to pick up again.

It's about fifteen minutes before Harry Bethlehem comes over, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Hey, 'Dre? Would you like a coffee?”

“Not right now, Harry. Gimme some time, okay?”

Harry nods, setting the cup down. “When you're ready, 'Dre. I only got a bit of what happened, soundproofing's good but not perfect, but I saw him grabbing you. That isn't cool.”

I nod, still staring at my computer monitor. “Thanks, Harry.”

Harry leaves, nobody else approaches me as I start typing on my longer story about Joey. I don't make a lot of progress, but still, it helps to distract me from the rage inside me as the minutes drag by. It's about eight thirty when Polly comes up, biting her lip. “Andrea?”

“Yeah, Polly?” I ask, calmed down enough that I can at least look at her. “What's wrong?”

Polly holds out a folded sheet of paper, her face turning red. “Sorry. I just got this on my desk, the guys upstairs didn't have the balls to bring this to you themselves.”

I unfold the paper and read it carefully. “Suspended without pay for a week. I see.”

“The company's policy is that you have to leave the building now, and turn over your access card,” Polly says softly, apologetically. “It's not right, Andrea. I heard a little of what people saw.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and stand up after closing my file on Joey, not saving it. It's not worth the effort, I've seen this happen to three other people. Dad covers his ass very carefully, normally suspending an employee before they are fired. It gives the company a chance to do spin things the way they want. After all, if I reach out, if I try to go on the offensive, I violate the confidentiality agreement that every employee signs and the legal team can jump on my ass.

One week. In media terms, it's both a short time and an eternity. My reputation can be ruined for years, maybe for the rest of my life, in such a short amount of time. On the other hand, if an employee wants any chance of having a long career, and at twenty two I've got a very long career in front of me still, they usually choose to resign, to not fight a battle they can't win.

All this flashes through my mind as Polly watches me log off and shut down my computer. “You walking me out, Polly?”

Polly nods. “I have to. Security's supposed to, but they said I could do it if you went quietly. I told them you would.”

I nod, giving her a tight little smile. She's just doing her job, and I can tell that she hates this as much as I do right now. “Thanks. Listen, can you tell the folks who aren't in... well, tell them I said good luck?”

Polly walks me all the way to my car, where I hand her my access card. She looks at it, then sighs. “Andrea, if you need anything....”

I shake my head, getting in my car. “No Polly, I think we both know, there are only two solutions to this. Either I apologize to my father and let him take control, or I lose my job. You don't need to be in this fight. Take care of yourself.”

The drive back to my apartment seems hollow like I'm going to purgatory. I take the stairs this time to go upstairs and sit on the sofa for hours, just staring at the wall across from me. I know what I should do, I should be packing. There's no reason for me to delay, I know what's going to happen.

I didn't tell Polly the full deal. If I apologize, I know that Dad's going to put pressure on me to move back onto the estate. I know my old room is still there, untouched since I left to go to college other than being cleaned once weekly or the few times I stayed over. If I don't apologize... I'm homeless.

On a whim, I take out my phone, that I realize it is not in my name, and pull up my web browser. I really shouldn't, I should be doing this at a Starbucks or someplace else that has free Wi-Fi, but I just don't have the energy to get up and plug in my laptop, my battery's mostly dead right now. I open my online bank account to check my balance. One thousand, one hundred and ninety-seven dollars and thirty-eight cents. And a credit card in my name. Everything else is in his name. I'm not even sure if my clothes aren't owned by him.

I close my browser and take a deep breath, wondering what to do. No time like the present I guess, I get up and go into my bedroom, pulling out my luggage. Dad might own that too, I don't know, but I tell myself that he's not that petty. I have one suitcase packed with about ten percent of my closet (where the hell did I get all this shit?) when my phone rings, and I see that it's Joey. I answer it, hoping to keep my voice even. “Hello, Joey?”

“Hey, beautiful... what's wrong? Your voice sounds strained.”

He's amazing, he heard it in my voice in just two words. “I've had a bad day. My father... I've been suspended from work.”

“Oh, shit,” Joey says softly, his voice changing. “I was calling you to warn you, too. Chad came by the studio yesterday, punched James, our publicist. He made some threats, nothing against you. but... Andrea, I'm worried that this guy might turn on you.”

“Thank you, Joey, but I've handled him before. He knows that I'll call the cops on him in an instant. Is James okay?”

“Yes, just some wounded pride, but what happened at work? You got suspended?”

I sigh, nodding. “Yeah. When I came in, my father was there, and he dragged me, literally dragged me, into a conference room where he threatened me to try to get me to break up with you. He said if I don't, he'll have me fired, blackballed from media work, and then kick me out of my apartment, and take my car. Basically, he threatened everything but taking the clothes off my back.”

Joey growls lightly, and I realize for the first time I've heard him angry. “That son of a... do you need me to come help you?”

Joey. The first question out of his mouth is to ask if I need help. To offer his strength, regardless of the danger to himself. How my heart both swells and aches, thinking of this sweet, wonderful, strong man, and I know what I need to do. “No, Joey. Not right now. My father's trying to put the screws to me right now. I'm technically only suspended from my job. Listen, I don't want you getting in trouble. You've got your family to look after, and I know my father, he'll call the cops on you the second you get within eyesight. Probably claiming that you're some sort of hardened Boyle Heights gangbanger. He can be ruthless, Joey. And until today, I didn't realize just how racist he is. He hates you for no other reason than that. It might be better... well, it'd be better and safer for you if we just lay low for a while.”

“I... I see,” Joey says, hurt but maybe understanding. “Andrea, when is this laying low going to end?”

“I don't know,” I reply honestly, my eyes starting to feel hot and tight like I'm about to cry. “Joey, I don't want to break up with you, I promise that. I care about you, and I want to see you again. But I want your family to be safe, and I know that if my father can just get some time to calm down, it'd be safer for all of us. So, maybe I can call you?”

Joey's voice is thick when he replies, and I can tell he feels the same way I do, but he's not going to let it show. “I... okay. Just Andrea, one thing.”

“What's that, Joey?”

“I do care about you. And it doesn't matter to me, if you need help, give me a call. I promise I'll move heaven and earth itself to help you if I have to. Please be careful.”

A tear trickles down my cheek as I think of how powerful and wonderful Joey is, slipping down to hang on my jawline for a moment before dropping to the luggage below and soak into the nylon shell of the bag. “I will. Joey. You're special to me, I want you to know that. I promise you, you are very, very special to me.”

“You're special to me too.”

“I'll call when I can. Goodbye, Joey,” I whisper before hanging up, unable to do much more. The tears flow more freely now, and I hang my head, sobbing as I think about what I've put at risk. But I'd rather risk my relationship with Joey than risk his safety, or that of Teresa, Maria, and innocent little Angel. I can't risk his future or that of the Fragments.

I can't do any more packing, not right now. Instead, I stumble out to my living room, opening the cabinet that I don't open often. I hate the fact that my father gets drunk a lot, but right now the idea of wine is about all I can think of. Maybe if I get drunk enough, I won't feel the pain in my heart. I won't feel the desperate need to call Joey back, to beg him to come here to Santa Monica and hold me, kiss me, make love with me and help me imagine that it's all okay.

The first glass slips out of my hand and shatters in the sink, so I just grab what's in the dryer, a water glass that I used this morning to pour my morning orange juice into. It looks strange, the purplish-red Malbec splashing into the glass, and the first deep drink is rough, harsher than I thought it would be. This is supposed to be a sipping wine, not a chugging wine, and I'm normally into girly drinks anyway. Gimme a Mai Tai over a whiskey any day.

Still, by the time the bottle's mostly empty, I'm comfortably numb, even if these damn tears won't stop. I finish it off straight from the bottle itself, then try to get up, but I'm too dizzy, I can't really see much. Must be the alcohol.

Half a bottle only.

Fucking lightweight.

Joey

“So if you want to sign up today, we'll give you two months free membership as long as you put your monthly fees on a credit card or on automatic draft from a checking account,” Jordan the sales girl says, still looking starstruck. It took her two checks of my driver's license before she handed it back to me, and while she hasn't asked me flat out yet, I think she knows who I am. “Uh... so what do you say, Mr. Rivera?”

Mr. Rivera. Before Four Letters, I think I could count on my fingers the number of people who called me Mr. Rivera. Actually, most people still don't call me that, but once some people recognize me as that Joey Rivera, I'm getting it more often. Actually, if this keeps up, I'm going to change my ID and stuff over to Jose Rivera, that'll help some. While there are certainly perks to being famous, I don't want to get trapped in being famous either. I've met too many guys in bands we opened for who thought their asses smelled like roses because of fame.

“You got yourself a deal,” I reply, shaking hands with Jordan. “You mind if I get something in today? I've got my gym bag in the car.”

“No problem. Get your stuff, I'll have your swipe card ready by the time you get back, and we can do the money then. Welcome to our place.”

Jordan's true to her word, and fifteen minutes later I'm changed and ready to lift. In the two days since talking with Andrea, I've been exercising a lot, and today, I finally decided to do what I promised Rocky and sign up somewhere. It helps to distract me from the anxiety and worry about Andrea. I understand why she said what she did, but at the same time, I feel like I want to talk with her. The problem is, I want to be able to help her, and right now I'm wondering if she feels that the best way I can help her is to back out of her life.

Yes, her father's a racist asshole with too much money and power as well it seems. Yes, her ex-boyfriend is a creepy bastard who needs to have a restraining order sworn out on him by a lot of people. But all of that seems to have gotten worse since Andrea and I started seeing each other. She's been untouched by the ugliness of his bigoted hatred until now. I know that in the way she's acted around me, and the way she speaks. The concern in her voice, she's genuinely worried for me too. Not just me specifically, but the people around me.

I can't let Mama and Maria down, and I can't let the other people whose lives depend on the band down. So instead I've sucked it up and said nothing. I say nothing as I push the handles on the incline press, my chest starting to flush with blood. I have a cheap electronic timer clipped to my wrist for timing my rest periods, and even as the fatigue sets in, I'm pushing hard.

I'm pushing because I want her. I want her right here, where I can protect and take care of her. I push because I haven't had a chance to introduce Andrea to Cora or Rocky or Ian. I'm pushing because I didn't tell her that I'm falling for her, and now I'm angry with myself for not having that chance.

My whole life, since Papa died, I've done everything for other people, ninety-nine percent of the time. Being greedy for me meant buying better quality guitar strings than I needed, or spending an extra fifteen minutes sleeping. But whenever my family, blood or music, needed it, I've been there for them. And now I want Andrea, not for the band, not for Mama or Maria. I want her for me and her. For the first time in my life, I'm feeling like I want to place someone or something above the rest of my family, and I've only known her less than two weeks.

After I finish the lifting I get on the rowing machine, the idea driving me since I remember that Andrea said she's got one of these things too. My back is crying out, and my lungs burn, but the pain helps distract me from the pain of not being able to talk to Andrea. When the timer goes off, I have to take a whole minute to just gasp before I can even crawl off the machine and start wiping up the pool of sweat under the seat, and I make my way out to the parking lot. Halloween is tomorrow, and I'm already feeling like a zombie.

I get into my car and see that I've got a phone message, a missed call from James. I give him a call, leaning back against the seat to recover some, I'm going to have to start bringing some sort of carb and protein drink if this keeps up. I read somewhere chocolate milk is cheap, and I bet Angel would love sharing some with me occasionally. “Hey, James. Sorry, I was in the gym. What's up?”

“I just got a call from LifeBeat, they said that they're nixing the magazine article,” James says, the disappointment easy to hear despite how tired I am. “When I asked why, they just said that some new features have come up that they want to run with, but that they'll keep it in mind for the future. Sorry man, I know you said your sister was looking forward to reading it. Did your girl tell you about it?”

“Sorry James, Andrea didn't tell me about that, maybe she's surprised about it too. Is everything okay with that?” I answer, not wanting James to know the problems I'm having. Not yet, it's not his business yet.

“Yeah, it was just a publicity piece anyway, I have a few other ideas. I was thinking, what about setting up a website for you guys? Or I guess a better way to put it would be to update what you guys have.”

I must be more tired than I thought, we have a website? “Uh.... huh? Pretend I just got done doing an hour of weightlifting and my brain is only operating at half speed, James. Because it is.”

James laughs, and I can imagine him wherever he is, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “Joey, the label's had a website up for you since back in the Oceanside days. Up until recently though, it's been your pretty basic site. But if we're reaching out to the public to show you guys as real people, maybe we need to pimp that ride.”

“Yo, dawg, I heard you like websites....” I joke, understanding. “Just make sure whatever's done uses my good pictures.”

“I don't know, I liked that Seattle picture. You were an interesting shade of red,” James jokes. “Anyway, that's just an off the top of my head idea, I'm going to spend the rest of the day seeing what else my crazy ass can cook up. Wanna do a Christmas special?”

“Only if we get to do it with the guys from Star Wars.”

“Yeah, like that went over so well last time. When's your next studio session, anyway?”

“Tomorrow, Cora had a prenatal appointment today and Ian just wanted to chill. I'm taking care of some family biz today too, got the hours to burn.”

James hums, understanding. “All right dude. Take care of the family, and I'll see you tomorrow. And don't overdo the weightlifting, all right? You got height and youth on me, I gotta have an edge with the ladies somehow.”

“Thought you had one in your jeans,” I joke back, and James laughs.

“Yeah, but that's not something I can just walk around in public showing off. Even if this is rock, there are just some things a publicist can't get away with. Check ya later.”

* * *

“Hey Joey, got a minute?” Cora asks as we wrap up the recording. Ian left an hour ago, his drums down to the point that I can just listen in over my headphones while Cora gets my guitar track down.

I take off my guitar, putting it away in its case, making sure everything is in good shape. The D string is looking a little worn, I'll change it out when I get home. “Sure, Cora. How was the appointment yesterday, anyhow?”

“I'm not telling you if it’s a boy or a girl yet, Joey,” Cora teases. “But the baby is just fine, and I am too. I wanted to ask you about your playing.”

“Was there a problem with it?” I ask, worried. “I thought it was okay today.”

“No, it was great, sweetie, the thing is.... well, you just played angry today. You did last time too, ever since James told you about that asshole Chad. Is that still bothering you?”

I look down at my guitar, closing the case. I don't like not telling Cora the truth. Since last Monday, I haven't been able to get Andrea off my mind. It's been almost ten days now, and I'm worried that she's never going to call again. I know that when she told me she wanted to go incommunicado for a while and I agreed, thinking it was for the best. I thought I was strong enough to deal with the pain, with the potential loss. But in the days since then, I find myself more and more shaken by the loss. I'm checking my phone almost constantly trying to will it to ring, to see if Andrea's sent me a text message or given me a call. It's gotten worse since her week of 'suspension' from work has passed, and still no word. I'm not sleeping well, my dreams are disturbing me, and trying to wear myself out with workouts isn't helping, I'm just starting to put on muscle.

Even Mama and Maria are noticing that something's not right with me, and that hurts even more. I burned dinner yesterday, perhaps the first time I've done that in at least three years. While I haven't snapped at Angel or Maria when they've asked me for help with things, I'm just not into it the way that I used to be. Now Cora's saying I'm playing angrily, but I don't know what to say. That I'm heartbroken, that I want to break the promise I made to Andrea to respect her space, that I want to go to the Coates Media building and do a little bit of yelling and ass-kicking myself? I can't say that, I'll come off as loco as Chad Bronson.

“It's been a week of frustration, Cora. That's all. I thought the gym could take care of it. I'm sorry if I'm making your job harder.”

Cora rubs my back, her eyes full of concern. “It's nothing like that, Joey. If anything, considering the song we were working on today, a little bit of anger made it harder, gave it a good sound. But you're my brother, my family. I'm worried about you. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here.”

I turn and give Cora a hug, kissing the top of her head. “Rocky is the luckiest man on the planet, you know that? Seriously, I love you, Cora. Thank you.”

Cora hugs me back, then looks me over. “You get some rest, okay? And I'm serious if you need to talk, give me or Rocky a call. I know there are guy things that maybe's easier to talk with him about, I don't fault you guys for that. Okay?”

I nod, bumping fists with her again. “For sure. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Cora's support helps as I get home, and I see that Maria and Angel are gone, while Mama's working in the kitchen. “Hey, Mama, what's going on? Where's Maria and Angel?”

“One of Maria's babysitting clients is a karate teacher, and he offered to teach Angel together with his kids for free. Maria thought it'd be a good way for Angel to get some energy out and make some new friends. He so wants to be like you, but he's too young to get into the gym. As for me... well, you've been distracted, hijo. I thought I'd take care of dinner, let you have some peace and quiet. You seem like you need it.”

“Mama...” I start to protest, but my phone rings, and I pull it out, seeing that it's a number that I don't know. “Hold on Mama. Hello?”

“Joey... it's me. I'm sorry. I tried so hard to be strong, but I need your help.”

I can hear it in Andrea's voice, she's worried, she's scared, and immediately all my fear drops away, or at least changes to fear about what is going on with her. Mama's knife pauses, but she goes back to chopping onions, even though I know she's listening as I turn and lean against the counter to listen to Andrea. “Andrea, whatever you need, I'm here.”

“Joey, I quit my job, and my father kicked me out of my apartment. I've got to get the last of my stuff out by tomorrow, and I don't know what else to do.”

“Okay, that's okay. I'll help however I can. Where are you staying now?”

There's a pause at the other end, and I can hear Andrea's embarrassment when she answers. “I'm in a motel, but I'm not sure how much longer. My credit card is almost maxed out now, and I'm not sure what to do. I've never been in this situation before.”

“What's the hotel?” I ask, and I can see out of the corner of my eye Mama's knife pausing again. “Andrea, where are you going to stay after that?”

“She will stay here,” Mama says quietly, in that sort of way she has that says everything is decided, all discussion is finished. “Your girlfriend needs a home?”

“Hold on, Andrea. Mama wants to hear, and I'm going to put you on speaker.” I set my phone down on the counter and turn on the speaker, hoping Andrea doesn't hang up. “Okay, so Mama asked if you need a home.”

“Mrs. Rivera, I know that you're kind, but...”

“But nothing, Andrea. You need a place to stay, yes?”

“Yes. I was telling Joey, I quit my job and my father has kicked me out of my apartment. I've even lost my car.”

“Then you have a house, and a car, and a place to stay. I will let you work out the details with Joey while I finish cooking dinner. Would you like to join us?”

I can hear Andrea crying and laughing at the same time, and I can understand, Mama's onions must be strong today, I'm tearing up myself. “Mrs. Rivera, thank you. I've already paid for my dinner tonight, but... well, maybe tomorrow?”

“Good. In the meantime, Joey, go have a talk with your girlfriend. You and I can discuss your keeping secrets afterward.”

I pick up my phone and give Mama a kiss on the cheek, going outside into the early evening coolness. “Andrea, tell me what's going on?”

“I just couldn't do it, Joey. He wanted to control me, to make me choose between my life under his control or you and freedom. I chose freedom. So, I resigned from the Pulse and smashed my old phone after I programmed in the important numbers into this one and called him telling him about my decision. I blocked my father and started packing. When he came by, I didn't let him up, but that's only good until tomorrow. He sent registered mail, I'm evicted as of tomorrow at noon.”

“Okay. Then we'll get to work early. How much stuff is it?” I ask, not even worried. I can handle this, and as long as Andrea wants to be with me, I can have the strength. “Ten boxes, fifteen?”

“Just two suitcases and five boxes,” Andrea replies. “I decided... Joey, I want to leave all of it behind right now. The fancy clothes, the trust fund stuff, all of that. But I'm not strong enough, and I don't know what to do. Joey, I'm sorry I waited so long to call, I didn't want to make it seem like I'm asking for a handout, but I just didn't know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing, Andrea. I told you before, whatever you need, I'll move heaven and earth to get for you. You're special, and I'm not going to let you spend another night in a hotel. Now, which hotel?”

“Stay home for tonight, Joey. The hotel's in Santa Monica, within walking distance of the apartment. But... can you meet me there tomorrow morning at eight? I'd like to make sure I have plenty of time, and if my father shows up, I'd like a little bit of support.”

I grin, nodding. “Just remember, I got my ass kicked in the fight I told you about.”

Andrea laughs, her tears disappearing from her voice in the relief of our humor. “Then bring Teresa. I bet she can take on a whole platoon of Marines no problem.”

We both laugh, Andrea's tapering off to an intense silence. “Joey, thank you. I... even more than this, I need you. Not for the hand up, even if I had the apartment and everything else, I still need you. You... well, this isn't something I want to say over the phone, so I'll tell you later, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply, my throat suddenly thick. “I understand, and... I think I feel the same way. I'll see you in the morning.”

Andrea and I hang up, and Mama comes in, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Joey, whatever that was... you are a good man.”

“I learned from the best, Mama. But I need to make a few more phone calls. Bringing Andrea here... the rest of the band needs to know. And I think maybe, I need their help.”

“That is what friends and family are for, hijo. Besides, it will be nice to talk with Rocky, I miss having a proper Spanish speaker to talk things over with,” Mama teases lightly, patting my shoulder. “And Bella would be nice to have over, too.”

“What about James?”

Mama chuckles and turns around to go back to the kitchen. “I'll get my step stool.”