Page 141 of With a Little Luck

“A world-famous singer with multiple platinum albums? Yeah, Jude. We let him in.”

We make our way to the front, and I open the door. “Uh … hello?”

“Good evening,” he says in that suave British accent. “I’m so sorry to intrude. Strangest thing—my car just got a flat tire. Hit this …thingin the road.” He lifts up a piece of jagged red stone. On one edge I can see a glinting gold twenty.

“But then I saw your store and that there were people inside, and I hope I’m not interrupting. May I come in?”

“Uh … yeah. Sure.” I step back, and he strides into the record store. Behind him, across the street, I see a sleek black sports car, the sort of car that celebrities drive. The sort of car that’s worth more than the mortgage on this building. Now with one flattened tire.

Sadashiv turns in a circle in the center of the store, his gaze sweeping over the walls. “So this is the famed Ventures Vinyl. It looks larger in the photos, but it’s really quite quaint, isn’t it?” He pauses to inhale deeply. “Ah, I do love that smell. Every record store has it.”

Ari and I exchange mystified looks.

He pivots on his heel to face us again, the movement a bit like a dance step. Then he spots a garbage can beside the counter. Without a second’s349hesitation, he tosses the broken bit of dice into it. Like that’s all it is. Garbage. A sharp piece of rock that flattened his tire, and nothing more. He turns back to us, grinning the grin that has broken a million hearts. “I can’t believe you’re here. What are the odds that my car would get a flat right outside this store, and even in the middle of the night—here you are! What terribly good luck.” He holds a hand toward Ari. “Araceli Escalante. It is beyond a pleasure.”

My eyes widen. Ari looks like she’s about to faint. Or swoon. Or both.

She manages to shake his hand. “You know who I am?”

He chuckles. “I’ve been following you on social media. Ever since the music festival and that horrifically botched award ceremony.”

Ari opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, so she shuts it again. She shoots me a bewildered look.

“Youhave been following Ari,” I say incredulously. “And you know about the music festival.”

“I do. My producer was one of the judges. After the awards were announced, he told me that he was quite certain there was some underhandedness in the judging process. It turns out the grand prize winner was related to one of the other judges, which should have been cause for disqualification.”

“Huh,” I say. “So EZ was right.”

“Shady business, that,” says Sadashiv, “and it’s led to quite the controversy. But that is all irrelevant now. What struck me most when I first heard about the competition was the name of the second place winner.Araceli Escalante.Very memorable, isn’t it?” He chuckles, smiling at me. “I remembered the name from when you and I met backstage. It is nice to see you again, though forgive me for not recallingyourname.”

“It’s Jude.”

“Jude! Ah, yes, like the Beatles song.” He slides one hand into his pocket, somehow managing to look both effortless and like he’s posing for a fashion spread. “As it is, I recalled the name of your songwriter friend, and when I heard about the controversy, I searched up her song350and … well, I rather like it.” He beams at Ari, who leans against the nearest shelf. Definitely swooning. “I’ve been following your social media ever since. You’ve accomplished quite a lot in a short period of time.”

“Th-thanks,” says Ari.

“The story gets stranger still,” says Sadashiv. “Do you mind if we sit?” He looks around and spots the stack of chairs against the wall that we used for Ari’s audience earlier. Without waiting for a response, he pulls down three chairs and sets them up in an intimate little circle. “That’s better,” he says, taking the seat closest to the stage and crossing one leg over the other knee. He could be royalty, the way he carries himself.

Ari and I sink into our own seats with significantly less grace.

“What story?” I say, not sure how anything in this night could getstranger.

“The story of how I knew about this store,” says Sadashiv. “And how it is so serendipitous that I happened to end up here tonight. Where to begin.” He leans back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. “I recently purchased a second home off Bayview, about a mile from here. I’d been wanting a second home in Southern California for some time, as I find myself so frequently in the area for recordings and awards shows and the like.”

“As one does,” I mutter.

“Bayview?” interrupts Ari. “Not the Greenborough estate?”

He looks at her, astonished. “Why, yes, I think that might be the name of the previous owner. You’re familiar with it?”

“My mom’s a real estate agent,” Ari says. “She had a client looking at that house. She was pretty upset when some anonymous buyer swooped in and paid over asking price for it.”

“Ah,” says Sadashiv, daring to look chagrined. “Well …”

“It’s okay,” says Ari. “I’m pretty sure her client found another multimillion-dollar house to buy. They’re kind of a dime a dozen around here.”

She’s joking, but I don’t think Sadashiv can tell as he just nods and says, “I’m glad to hear it.”

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