Page 54 of Script
I’d hoped to bring him to Scottsdale in less trying times, but the world had pushed us into taking refuge in my parents’ gated community. Hopefully, the media would be held at bay at the gate. We could relax for a few days more, let things die off, and pray some other star did something worse than be themself.
When I strolled into the living room with our bags, Finn was awake, sitting up, and sipping his tea.
“I think I meditated myself into a nap,” he commented, one eyebrow rising as he gazed at our packed bags.
“You needed the rest. We’re heading to Scottsdale as soon as the distraction down in the canyon begins.”
“Oh. That’s nice. Will your folks be mad at me for dragging you and them into this mess?”
I dropped the bags by the door leading to the garage, walked over, knelt, and took his beloved face between my hands.
“They are not mad. They cannot wait to meet you. Dad is a huge fan. Mom is already making her famous homemade chicken tamales. Kelly will probably jet home to meet you even though she’s off being swept off her feet by some man we have yet to meet, and Lyle will show up with his bride-to-be and offer you tax advice. Which, while boring, is generally really sound advice. No one hates you or the situation. It’s the world that’s made this into a big thing, not you, so no more worrying. They will love you.”
He smiled, a genuine one that warmed his gaze. I kissed him gently. My phone pinged in my back pocket.
“That’s either Rottie or Kelly,” I said, giving the tip of his nose one fast peck before reaching to pull my phone out. It was my sister saying that she was heading home now. “The guy she was with made a crude comment, so she dumped her cocktail over his head, told him to fuck all the way off, and is now at the airport in Kingston working on a flight home.”
“Aww, that’s the pits for her,” Finn said into his mug of tea.
“Yeah, well, he was a dick. Better she finds out now than get involved with the pudding head, then discover he’s a homophobe.”
“True.”
I typed out asorry babeto my sister, then sent her a dozen hug emojis. Lyle joined in, then, asking why so many silly emojis were needed in a family thread. Kelly and I both sent him about forty middle fingers to flood the page. My mother added a bigLOLto the discussion.
“This is what being in the Chavkin family will be like,” I told Finn, showing him my phone so he could read the interactions. He chuckled. “Right, so they’re all going to be there by the sounds.” Another ping pulled me from Kelly and Lyle sniping at each other over emoji use. Milton Puffly—OMG that name—had texted. Two words.
ROCK ON!!
I glanced at Finn. “Guess the diversion is about to take place.” We stood, he tossed his throw to the sofa, and we hightailed it to the garage, Finn bouncing on one big foot, then the other, to cram his massive feet into some old Nike sneakers.
The garage door was barely halfway up when we heard it. Heavy metal music, blaring from down the winding street. It was so loud you could feel it in your fillings.
“What the hell?” Finn asked while buckling himself into my Jeep. “Holy shit,” he gasped as he held up his phone for me to see. I looked up from sliding the key into the ignition to see a post on Rottie’s Instagram page that read—
FREE CONCERT AT MY HOUSE! PLAYING UNRELEASED SONGS FROM UPCOMING ALBUM! COME ONE, COME ALL, COME HARD!
“No shit,” I whispered, trying to comprehend what that would bring to our quiet little canyon. Rock and roll fans, scores of them, metal heads out the ass. “What a genius!”
We crept to the gate. Not one news van or reporter was stationed on the other side. I got out of the Jeep, peeked up and down the street, then rushed to drive through the gates. As the metal barriers to my home swung shut, we witnessed the first wave of metal addicts arriving in cars, vans, trucks, and motorcycles. Some were on bikes, rollerblades, and skateboards. I glanced at Finn. We both yanked on some old caps and dark sunglasses. Then, we pulled into the street, leaving the impromptu rock concert behind. The cops were filing in on the heels of the first wave of fans. Snickering to myself as we slipped out unseen, I had to imagine that Rottie’s agent—whoever that poor bastard was—would be up to his eyebrows in citations after this.
“We owe Rottie for that,” I confessed to Finn when we swung free of the canyon to head in the direction of Arizona.
“Maybe we can name our first dog after him,” Finn suggested, pulling off his hat to let the air blow through his golden hair.
“Only if it’s a poodle,” I replied, and he laughed. It was a joyous sound, free and light, something that I’d not heard since his press release. It filled me with such joy I laughed too.
“Or maybe my next fish?” His fish had moved in with us now, and they couldn’t be moved for a long time, which made me happy because we’d always have a connection even if…
Nope. We were not ending.
Hell, we’d only just begun.
Every mile from LA we drove, catching a night in a no-tell motel halfway there, Finn loosened up more and more. By the time we arrived at that fancy gate with the formidable guard in Scottsdale, Finn was loose as a goose. Given a pass a while back, I drove through and into a neighborhood of palatial homes, towering palms, and glistening ponds on sprawling golf courses. Yes, there were two just in this neighborhood alone. Why? God only knows, and even he was confused.
“This is quite the neighborhood,” Finn said as we cruised at the respectable speed of twenty-five through winding streets with names such as Pink Mesa Lane or Sand Song Avenue.
“Yeah, it’s really something. Hard to imagine that my grandparents on my mother’s side were migrant farm workers, and today, their daughter lives in a home like this. Goes to show that the American dream is alive and well,” I replied as we pulled a left off Gold Valley Way up to my parents’ modern adobe home. Finn whistled at the view of the mesa that lay beyond my family’s fourteen acres of desert, sand, and geckos. Pinks, purples, and a dark blue like the color of Finn’s eyes after making love colored the sky.
