Page 10 of Driving Beats
“Sounds like my idea of a root canal.”
Could this guy be any less enthused? “Listen, I’m sorry you lost your luggage and are stuck here with me. But you did and you are. So, let’s make the most of this, okay?”
He finishes his latte, but remains silent.
I take it as assent.
I take his empty cup and toss it with mine into the garbage. Then, we evaluate every item of clothing using the lens of fit and practicality—thankfully, style is well handled by the store’s buyers. Coop vetoes more than he agrees to, and ends up trying on only five shirts. Fortunately, all of them look amazing.
As we’re browsing, a couple of women whisper to each other and steal glances at Coop. He seems oblivious. Shocker!
One of them finally works up the courage to “accidentally” bump into him. He catches her before she stumbles.
“Enjoy your shopping,” he says, with an easy smile before continuing down the aisle.
Could he be any more oblivious?
After a couple of hours, we decide to buy five shirts, and CeeCee rings up his purchases. When he takes out his black credit card to pay, she does a double take. “Let me run this in the back,” she explains. Unlike those two women, she never showed any signs of recognizing him.
I ask, “Is your full name on your credit card?”
“Of course.” He shrugs. “Why?”
“Because I think your anonymity has been compromised. She’ll figure out who you are.”
“And do what? Tell people I went shopping?”
He has a point. Maybe upping his street cred will garner some freebies? Can’t hurt. Besides, if anyone is going to benefit from this shopping spree, CeeCee seems like a gem. “You’re right. I wanted to be sure you were okay with any additional exposure.”
“No one cares about a guitarist, Nese.”
My pierced eyebrow arches—those two ladies beg to differ. I decide not to burst his bubble. “Well, we did a great first round here. Are you happy with what you bought?”
Coop touches his sunglasses attached to the top of his t-shirt. “They’re okay. They’ll do the trick.”
CeeCee comes back with his bag wrapped with tissue paper. “I hope you like these purchases, Mr. O’Shea.”
There it is. She knows who he is. But she’s handling the knowledge professionally, with discretion. I appreciate her even more.
She addresses me. “Please come back whenever you wish.”
“I definitely will the next time I’m in LA. I love your selection.” I lean in so only she can hear. “I also appreciate how you handle your customers.”
She nods. “Feel free to bring any of your friends here anytime.”
“I’ll make sure to bring them only to you.” I wink at her.
As we exit the store, Coop notes, “I’m wiped out.”
I turn my head toward him. “You did great in there. The five pieces you bought are fantastic. However, you still don’t have any jeans or pants, layering pieces, shoes, jackets, or belts. Sorry to tell you, but a wardrobe isn’t made of only a few shirts. Not even Río could dispute me.”
He stops in front of a black Range Rover. “Our drummer doesn’t usually wear shirts.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Well, you got me there. From that standpoint, he would have to agree that you need pants!”
His shoulders lower. “This is going to go into tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Two days to buy an entire wardrobe? More like a month, and even then I’m not sure. However, given your limited, ah, attention span”—I tease—“it might take longer.”
