Page 7 of Driving Beats

She turns down a street into what appears to be a shopping district. “Can you imagine the experience they’ve gathered? Believe me, whoever ends up with them will be mighty satisfied.”

“Ugh! Talking about UC like this is giving me the heebie-jeebies! They’re like my uncles or something!” I pause. “My much older uncles!”

“Fine. I won’t drool over your uncles. I will say, though, I’m super impressed they mounted a comeback after what happened to their original keyboardist. Most bands would’ve folded up their tents. Not UC. That’s hard to do. It says a lot about them.”

“From what I can tell, each one of them loves music and they love playing together. They’ve basically been friends since elementary school, except for Tris. None of the infighting you hear so much about with bands. This is why they’re special.”

“Noted.” She stops in front of the store. “And here you are. At a men’s clothing store. You aren’t happening to meet up with one of your ‘uncles’, are you?” She winks at me.

For some reason, I don’t want to clue her into the fact I’m meeting Coop. I usually don’t have any problem sharing information with people I just met, but something niggles at me to keep this on the downlow. “Nah, I’m doing shopping for the tour. I have all their sizes, so they don’t need to be with me. Besides, they all hate shopping.” Our recent trip in Barcelona comes to mind.

“Typical men! Well, happy shopping!”

“Thanks. I always have a great time looking for new clothes.” I get out of the SUV, detour to pick up a couple of lattes, and stride into M. Marcel. Racks of exquisite garments greet me. I do a jig.

Despite who I’m doing it for, this is going to be a fabulous day!

3

COOP

In my Reflection Room, I center my morning meditation on welcoming the goodness of being able to replace my lost clothes. I’m blessed to have a job that allows me the ability to go to a store and purchase whatever I want. My build enables me to wear almost anything, so that is another point in the plus column. The best part is I don’t need to make any real decisions, since a professional stylist will be guiding me. These are all good things. Growing out of the very bad thing of losing my luggage. Which contained—no, I choose to focus on the positive.

Relaxed, I return to my bedroom and slip into a UC tour shirt, one I swiped from the merch counter at the Oscars. At least it’s clean and not torn. Another positive.

The shirt smooths over my only pair of jeans, courtesy of Tris. Sitting down, I tie my sneakers, then put in my hoop earrings. Darren gave me these when we were signed. I doubt anyone else knows where I got them, but it doesn’t matter. Every time I wear them, I remember.

At least they weren’t in my lost luggage.

Locking up behind me, I take in the stillness of my Zen Garden. The lines are as I raked them last night, in perfect parallel to each other. One benefit to having this house in LA is it barely ever rains or is windy, so my garden remains in excellent condition year round. I walk by the shrubbery and notice some leaves out of place, so I pluck the offenders and caress the rest of the bush. A gorgeous butterfly flits by me. Everything is perfect.

Outside the garage, I toss the offending greenery onto the grass, then hop into my Range Rover. Before I do anything else, though, I pull out my sunglasses and put them over my eyes like I’ve been doing for years. Ever since Lillian was exposed.

My next order of business is to plug the address of the store Nese texted me into my GPS. Assuming traffic remains as it is, I should arrive there in twenty minutes, which is ten minutes before our eleven o’clock start time. With any luck, we’ll be done by lunchtime as Río and I have been to a fabulous Thai restaurant nearby. With one last deep inhale, I place the SUV in drive.

The phone rings from my Bluetooth, which I accept.

“Hey, Río, surprised to hear from you. I thought you’d be shacked up with Hayden.”

“Yo, douche, she’s taking a shower. Any luck with your luggage?”

I sigh. “No, man. It never arrived. Luke did a search but it’s like the suitcases disappeared into thin air.”

“That sucks. Did you have anything of value in there?” I can hear our drummer banging on what I assume to be a table.

Dare I share? He’s my best friend and would more than understand. I suck in my breath. “Remember the picture you took of Darren and me in elementary school?” I fiddle with my hoop earring. “The one on the playground, right after he had his first lesson on keyboards.”

He whistles. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

I drive in silence for a few bars. Then, in a low tone, he says, “I’m sorry.”

Following Zen practice, I try not to assign value to possessions, but this one cuts. Stitches required.

Focusing on the road and my current task, I change the subject. “I need to buy a whole new off-stage wardrobe.”

“I wouldn’t want to be you. Where are you going?”