Page 4 of Driving Beats

Or, in Coop’s case, decent.

I consider the guitarist. He’s not as tall as the other guys in UC, but that doesn’t stop him from wailing on his instrument. Off the stage, though, the only distinctive thing about him is his sunglasses and earrings, usually hoops. They’re fine, but not really exciting. Frankly, those sunglasses can be annoying! Still, he appears to be the go-to if the band needs wisdom and guidance. Ho-hum. To each his own.

The next article catches my eye. It’s a restaurant roundup in the most unusual way: a bingo card. Each square has a type of cuisine or specific ambiance about a place, and it challenges its readers to complete a row. I can do this!

I sit up on the bed and rip the Restaurant Bingo card out as well. There’s Chinese, Mexican, Thai, American, French cuisines, plus “places where celebrities are seen,” “romantic,” and “best happy hour nibbles.” How perfect!

Picking up my cell, I scan the QR Code and am brought to the online bingo card, where I fill out the registration and join the chat. Soon I’m interacting with at least ten others and we decide to meet up tonight at an Italian place. Why not? After last night’s awards, I’m more than positive that Hayden is otherwise occupied by the band’s drummer, and Jenna is being personally serenaded by the lead singer. Not like I know anyone else in Los Angeles, except for the rest of UC, most of whom have scattered for the break. Nah! I’ve had enough of those boys and the crew.

Marni, Darren’s little sister, pops into my mind. We only met last night, but maybe she’s looking for something to do out here as well? I pull up her contact and text her about the bingo card. No response.

Unzipping my suitcase, I select a flirty yellow dress I picked up in Milan. Before the whole spectacle in Rome that Río caused. My head shakes. Only he would be tossed in the slammer for starting a riot at the Trevi Fountain that consisted of the words “Gelato” and “Rocks.” Oh well, it’s water under the bridge now.

After a quick shower, I slip on the dress and view it from all sides. I make minor adjustments to the three-quarter length sleeves, then take my time putting on my make-up. When I’m satisfied with my handiwork, I fluff my pixie cut with my comb. The benefits of not having to deal with a curling iron.

My cell pings and I check it. Seems like Marni’s already heading back to her home in New Jersey. Oh well, her loss.

I’m about to head out when a thought occurs to me. While I’m acquainted with Coop’s wardrobe—such as it was—from downtime on the tour, I should ask him to bring pictures of his most important pieces.

Ha! If he has any. The guy was in jeans and plain shirts when not on stage. Can you spell B-O-R-I-N-G? Whatever. I don’t have to duplicate what he had before, only pick out new, trendy clothing that’s appropriate for a man his age. Seven years older than me. Almost ancient—over thirty.

I bring up my text app:

Don’t forget photos of the clothes you loved the most. We can try to replicate your favorite looks.

My fingers snap as I review what I wrote. I delete my text and start again.

Bring—or send me—photos of your favorite clothes that got lost in the Vanishing Luggage Mystery. That’s what I’m calling your lost luggage from now on—I mean, you were on a private jet, so how does luggage go missing? I think it’s pretty catchy, don’t you?

Ireread my text and hit send. There. My job is done, so time to have fun.

The car service takes forever to get to the Italian restaurant. Because I’m antsy and the traffic sucks, I get out a couple of blocks away and walk. A homeless woman lies on the sidewalk on top of a sleeping bag, surrounded by some black garbage bags. I make a detour and give her twenty dollars. Her smile speaks to my soul.

Inside the restaurant, I meet up with the bingo crew at our table. There are roughly equal numbers of men and women, which is a positive sign. Everyone seems to be looking forward to trying the food. One of the guys, Trey I think his name is, announces he’s been to Italy several times, most recently for the Olympics in Milan.

“I was just in Milan myself,” I say.

Trey focusses his khaki eyes on me. “Did you tour the cathedral?”

I recoil. I don’t do religion, even disguised in the form of ornate architecture. “Didn’t have time.”

“That’s a shame,” he continues. “It’s gorgeous, second only to the Vatican, IMHO.”

There’s not much humble about Trey, if you ask me. Especially when he goes on to name-drop actors and actresses he met while on his tour of Italy.

I can’t help myself. “The members of Untamed Coaster loved the pasta in Italy. I even got them some clothes in Milan.” Barcelona, too. I manage to keep this tidbit to myself. Only because we’re talking about Italy.

All eyes turn to me when I mention UC. I don’t usually discuss my job, but Trey’s religious talk and name-dropping brought out the worst in me.

Ma would be so pleased.

My lips purse.

One of the ladies interjects. “Do you know UC? Bennett’s so dreamy!”

This question I can answer. “He is very nice, and committed to his wife, Jenna.”

Her face falls. “I thought I read something about that. It’s hard to imagine the guy wants to settle down.”