Feuds and Interludes (Rock ‘n’ Romance Legends #1)

Chapter 6

Six

B oone

“I don’t get it. Why him? Why now? If you’re lonely?—”

“Boone, don’t be absurd. I have all I need. I have lived a very full and fulfilling life. Bruce is part of that life, and I’d like to see him.”

I rolled my eyes like a child. “What’s so special about this guy?”

Gran made me sit down on the bench at the end of her bed. She sat at her vanity, looking like the glamorous starlet she still was.

“I was nineteen when I met John and Bruce at a party in Laurel Canyon. They’d just hit it big with California and they were in Los Angeles recording their second album. Photos were taken and my publicist scolded me for being seen with such ruffians. An Oscar-winning actress shouldn’t put herself in such a position, he said. But I loved hanging out with them. They had parties at the home they’d rented most nights, and I loved to go. No one there treated me like I was a snob, I could smoke grass and no one cared.”

“You rebel, you,” I said, loving it when she told stories. I’d heard about her party days before, but they had always led to “and then John asked me to marry him.”

“Did you know they both loved you?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but yes. I was seeing both of them. I liked the attention. They were so different. John and I eventually started meeting during the day, going to museums and galleries. The press loved us, and my publicist thought it might help my career if the news of our romance kept selling papers. But I was also spending time with Bruce. He was such a romantic,” she said with a dreamy smile. “We’d go for long walks in Griffith Park or we’d just find a grassy patch somewhere and stare at the sky. And get high.” She giggled! My gran! “He’d make up poems on the spot. He’d make daisy chains and weave them into my hair. He was a bit of a leftover flower child.

“But then he told me he loved me… I panicked. John hadn’t said it, but he talked about our future more and more. At night, at their house, I never spent time alone with either of them. Bruce started drinking more heavily, John would make snide remarks. I didn’t like the growing animosity between them. I actually stayed away from them for a while. I was filming in France for about six weeks. John called when he could. Bruce sent me letters every day. The man was such a poet.

“But when I got back, I found out the two had come to blows. I felt terrible! I was the cause of their friendship falling apart. It was awful, Boone. After their fight, Bruce left and no one heard from him for days. John came to my apartment, and he asked me to marry him. It felt terribly unfair to say yes when I still had feelings for Bruce, but I knew that if I married Bruce, I’d lose myself, my career. John was the driven one. He was very career oriented, and he supported mine as well. I suppose I felt like choosing John was the responsible thing to do…if you can call marrying a rock star responsible.”

I chuckled. “I think that’s a stretch, Gran. I think even Papa would laugh.”

She reached over and placed her hand on my cheek. “He would. We both loved Bruce and we felt awful, but when he didn’t return for months, I finally agreed to marry John. I tried sending word to Bruce, wrote him letters. He responded with, ‘I wish you both happiness and a long life together.’ It broke my heart, but we went ahead with the wedding.”

Her eyes drifted over to their wedding photos still hanging on the wall. I’d never seen a more beautiful couple.

“So what happened then? That wasn’t when they broke up, was it?”

She shook her head. “California stuck together for a couple of years after that. Bruce was kind to me, stiff with John, but we were all civil with each other. Then John decided to go solo, and then we had Jean…Bruce didn’t even put up a fight when the band called it quits. John attempted to keep up their friendship, but he was always so sad when he came back from seeing him. I think he regretted losing his best friend, and as close as we were, I could never be to him what Bruce was.”

“I’ve always dreamed about finding someone I could connect with on a musical as well as a romantic level. I know it’s cliche, and rock and roll marriages rarely last, but look at Paul and Linda McCartney, or Pat Benatar and Neil Giraldo. And you and Papa. I want a love like that, for the ages.”

She smiled, her eyes teary. “And I wish that for you, dear boy. Don’t settle for less.” She looked at the clock on the mantle behind me. “Oh, my. I’ve got to hurry. I told Bruce I would meet him at eight.”

I slumped on the bench. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

She turned to face me with her mascara wand in hand and immediately donned the Gran posture, the one that let me know I was about to hear it.

“Boone Randolph Collins. It is a perfectly acceptable idea. I am having dinner with an old friend?—”

“Who just told the whole world he’s still in love with you.”

She threw a makeup sponge at me. “He did no such thing. Now, quit your sulking. You need to find something to do with yourself tonight. I don’t want to come back and find you on a bender.” She raised her eyebrows and turned back to the mirror.

I fell back on her bed with a huff. “I already threw out all the ice cream and cookies. Maybe I’ll do some online shopping. All of my pants are falling off.”

“What a terrible problem to have,” she said and winked at me in the mirror. “You’re doing so well, dear boy. I know it’s hard, and I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with this.”

I shrugged. “Guess it’s time for me to develop some responsible habits.”

She burst out laughing and she sounded so like a girl, I sat up. She stood in front of her full-length mirror, smoothing down the flowy dress she wore. It was a navy layered chiffon number with spaghetti straps that gave her an air of whimsy. I could imagine it reminded her of the time when she was in a love triangle with two brilliant musicians and the world held in thrall.

I didn’t want to be the weight tying her to the pain in her past. I wanted her to keep smiling like she was right now.

“I’ll get my keys and drop you off.” Gran never drove at night because she hated wearing her glasses. She’d gotten over a lot of her vanity since stepping back from Hollywood, but every once in a while it showed through.

“My dearest dear boy.”

I didn’t even care that she still called me a boy.

The drive was fraught with traffic hazards, but I kept my cool while listening to her sing along to Dionne Warwick and Carole King. She had such a lovely, soft, breathy voice, but anytime I’d compliment her, she’d laugh it away.

“No, you boys were always my singers.”

I pulled up to the back entrance and put the car in park. I started to climb out and Gran placed her hand over mine.

“Don’t be silly. I’ll call you when I’m finished.”

“I’ll be nearby. Be safe.”

She smiled at me like a teenager headed out on a first date, and then leaned over and kissed my cheek.“Thanks, Boone.”

Oh, now I’m Boone? Not dear boy?

The valet opened the door for her and she smiled regally, giving him a nod and a thank you. Her dress hung low in the back and she walked steadily on three-inch heels.

Man, I hope I’ve got it that good when I’m sixty-six.

I’d told her I’d be going to the twins’ place, which was a few blocks away, but I wanted to be close in case she needed me. I pulled around the lot and backed into a parking spot against the fence. I had a clear view of the door. I turned on some tunes and sighed. Maybe I could read. Maybe I could write. I had my notebook with me and my tablet…

I flicked open YouTube and searched my favorite obsession instead.

Shane Butler interviews.

I’d probably seen them all, but I loved hearing him speak, hearing the cadence of his deep, smooth baritone.

The first one to pop up was from three months ago as a wrap-up to Wicked Soul’s most recent world tour. I’d never seen them perform live. I’d stalked—I mean, watched recorded performances, and then there was that iHeart Radio festival where I’d supposedly refused to go on if we were playing the same day. Whatever. I might be a diva, but I was dead serious when it came to performing, and the only issue I had with iHeart was that they didn’t appear to have a contingency plan in case of bad weather, which had been forecasted, and I wasn’t about to play in an electrical storm. We nearly pulled out until the organizers provided us a plan. The other bands gave me shit for being the squeaky wheel, but I got them all protection, now didn’t I? No thanks necessary.

“All right, Shane, clear up the rumors for us. Is ‘Faker’ about Boone Collins?”

Ugh, I hated this question. For Shane and for myself. I watched his jaw muscle twitch, which I’d learned was a clear indicator that he was fighting his urge to bite the head off the person who was talking to him. He hadn’t held back when it was me though. Hmm.

“That song is not about any one person. It’s about every person, the ones who think they’re better than others, the ones who step on others to get where they want to be in life. People are going to think what they want. It was never meant to be about one person.”

“So you and Boone Collins are cool?”

Shane’s nostrils flared and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Next question.” When the interviewer insisted, Shane shook his head. “Our grandfathers were in a band together. He’s immensely talented. I’ve got nothing against Boone. Next question.”

My face flushed. “Aw. He doesn’t admit to hating me.”

The interviewer asked him about his obsession with Warhammer. Shane spoke about the game and its impact on his songwriting, and though I got lost a bit, my ears perked up at the last question.

“Tomorrow’s Mother’s Day. How will you be celebrating?”

Shane’s face paled noticeably. “I’ll, uh, bring her flowers.”

The interviewer was at least professional enough to know that his question had led to a topic Shane was not at all comfortable discussing. They moved on to songwriting and the host talked over a clip of the one Wicked Soul song that I particularly loved, “Fall Into Pain,” and I found myself wondering, what if? Shane and I were so different, his lyrics went in a direction that I never dared to go. His music was powerful, angry, passionate in a different way than mine. Would we mesh? Could we make something incredible together?

Too bad he hated me.

“All right! You heard it, folks. Catch Wicked Soul tonight at the Palladium.”

“Damn, that would have been a good show,” I muttered to myself, thinking it was about time I went to see them play. Incognito, of course. I wouldn’t want my appearance at one of his shows feeding the rumor mill or causing any problems for him. I didn’t give a fuck what people thought about me, as long as people listened to the music. Shane seemed to care. He wanted to make music that people respected, and though I didn’t agree that his band was the best platform for him, I wanted to see him thrive. Truly.

The next video loaded as my phone started buzzing in my hand. I squealed and tossed the phone in the air, honking the horn in my attempt to catch it. I sighed when I saw Rose’s name on the screen.

“I’m so glad it’s you,” I said after answering. “I nearly concussed myself with my own phone.”

Rose barked out a laugh. “Please don’t do that! I would hate to concuss a person. I’d cuss at them, or dis cuss them, but con cussing seems really harsh. I’m against it.”

We giggled together for several moments before getting to the point of the call.

“I can’t wait to see you next week,” I said.

“I concur, not to be con fused with con cussing. I was calling to con firm your studio time with Morrison.”

“Yes, please! Tell Morrison we are con pletely—wait that doesn’t work. We’re, uh, con fident in his con trol—oh, forget it. We’ll be there.”

“Awesome,” she said. “Can’t wait to see you. Please bring your nail stuff. You give the best manicures ever.”

“And I love to do them. If you have requests for colors, let me know. I can stop by the beauty supply and pick up some fresh bottles.”

Rose squealed with delight and clapped her hands. “We’re going to have such a great week. You guys are going to be there, both More and Lydia are home, and Wicked Soul will be here?—”

“Wait, what ? Really?”

My whole body flushed at that news. I hadn’t heard they were going back in the studio. I wondered if I’d manifested his appearance. I also wondered if Shane knew we were going to be there.

“Yeah. Their manager said the overlap was okay. Morrison wants to see you both, so we’re working on a schedule to get you both time with him and Leland.”

“Right on.” I was certainly willing to be flexible, especially with my current Butler Fascination…I’d bend any which way to get close to him, just for a little while. Was I crazy? Was it possible for him not to hate me? Or was this just another self-destructive habit I’d developed? My ice cream addiction would probably be better for my heart than this.

Rose and I disconnected and I got back to worrying about the task at hand. My gran and her new grandpa boyfriend. Bruce had certainly gotten my hackles up at the induction ceremony, but I knew he wasn’t a bad guy. That didn’t mean I thought he was the right person for her to get back out there with. They may have had a history together, but Bruce’s personal history was rife with tragedy. Alcoholism, loss, financial troubles, divorces…his own daughter, Shane’s mom Christina, didn’t speak to him. I knew that much from gossip.

He had Shane, and Shane was his biggest fan. And he could still play circles around me.

I looked at my watch. An hour had gone by. Should I check in with her? A quick text wouldn’t hurt anything. Right?

I wondered what Shane thought about our grandparents reconnecting. I had the sudden urge to ask him, but I didn’t have his number, nor did I know anyone who?—

I redialed Rose.

“Hey, it’s me again. I don’t suppose you could share Shane’s number with me, could you? I wanted to talk to him about the studio time.” Bullshit, but easier than explaining to her the whole thing. He might not want the world to know.

“Uh, let me see… Nope, I don’t have his number. Let me text Jeff Garza, their manager.”

“Great. You can give him my number if that’s easiest.”

“Got it.”

We hung up and I waited. Fidgeted. A wave of wooziness overcame me, and I looked at my blood sugar app. I wore a monitor on my stomach or the back of my arm, and I got notifications if I was too low or too high. At the moment I was okay, but that could change quickly. I was fine with my new exercise regimen, but cutting out my sweets and drinking? Hated it!

My phone buzzed a moment later.

This is Jeff Garza. How can I help you?

“How can you help me,” I wondered out loud as my thumb hovered over the phone’s keyboard.

It’s Boone Collins. I need to speak with Shane. Can you give me his number?

This was becoming quite an arduous undertaking.

I’m not at liberty to give out Shane’s personal information.

I groaned. Can you please give my number to him and ask him to get in touch?

Now I looked like a whiny bitch. Great . Maybe I should have just let it go.

May I ask what this is in regards to?

“Grrr! Jesus, this guy is nosy. Uhhh, ‘it’s a personal matter.’ There.” I clicked send and waited for a few minutes before I got a response.

I’m sorry, I’ll need more information before I contact Mr. Butler at this hour.

“Fuck!” I didn’t want to spill it all, but I figured this would let me know whether or not his grandfather had told him about the date.

It’s about Bruce Duncan.

Again with the long wait time.

Thank you. I will pass along your inquiry to Mr. Butler, and if he’s able, he will respond within 24-48 hours. Thank you for contacting Slade Artist Management.

“Yeah, thanks for nothing.” I slammed my head back against the headrest of my Mach-E and groaned. Maybe this was a bad idea, reaching out to Shane. What would I even say? I didn’t want to end up being rude or making him angry.

My phone buzzed from an unfamiliar number.

What about my grandfather?

I started to type a response three times, but I worried that context and tone would get lost via text. So I hit the call button.

“Why are you calling me?”

“Hi, Shane. Sorry, I didn’t want to be misunderstood via text.”

He didn’t know me very well, and, well, I didn’t want to accidentally offend him.

“Oh.” He was quiet for several beats. I was trying to think of what to say when he said, “This is weird. I never talk on the phone.”

I laughed. “Me either. I just wanted to know if you knew, you know, about our grandparents.”

Shane sighed heavily into the phone, making that muffled sound as though his breath traveled over the microphone. I got goose bumps just thinking about it.

“Yeah.”

I smiled. I could hear the frustration in his voice too.

“It’s weird, right? I didn’t know, uh, about before. She and Grandpa conveniently left out the part about their little love triangle.”

“Convenient.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

Man, he was always ready with the snide remark. Where was the comeback now?

“Did you know? The whole story?”

I heard rustling on his end. I wondered where he was. He lived in LA, I knew that, but I wondered where.

“I knew. I knew about the song. I knew he still carried a torch for her. Had no clue he was going to tell the world at the ceremony, though. I would have cautioned against it.”

“I had no clue,” I said, my voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, why would you?”

“I don’t know. I thought I knew the whole story. That they were all friends, Gran and Grandpa got married, Bruce left the band?—”

“John decided to go solo. Pops didn’t leave.”

“Ah. Guess we got different versions of the story.”

Shane scoffed. “Yeah, you could say that.”

A siren blared to life and startled me so bad, I dropped the phone again. Why I was so jumpy, I had no clue. I picked it up and…heard the siren on the other end of the call?

“Where are you?” I asked him.

“Why?”

I looked around the parking lot but of course, I had no idea what kind of car he drove. “That siren. Are you here?”

He paused. “I dropped him off. Don’t want him to have to call a Lyft, so I stuck around.”

I laughed. “Guess we’re in the same boat. I’m parked in the lot.”

My heart jumped at the thought of seeing him. Would he be pissed? Could we have an actual conversation away from everyone else and maybe not fight? I could think of nothing I’d rather do than see him in person right that very minute.

I climbed out of my car, feeling brave, and looked around. I found him quickly, in a classic car no less, a restored van from what looked like the ’60s. He had sunglasses on even though the sun was mostly down, but that was his brand. He probably didn’t want a bunch of lookie-loos seeing him.

So I waved like a damn wacky wavy inflatable thing and trotted over to his van.

He may have shaken his head, but I ignored that response.

He had one tanned, muscular arm resting on the window ledge. Though it was chilly out, he wore a short-sleeved black bowling-type shirt with a white tank undershirt beneath. I’d been delighted when he’d shaved his head, thinking the look suited him. Made him look more dangerous, which fit with his music. His dark brows and his thin mustache and beard added to his severe look, and when he performed, his sneers and growls showed off perfect white teeth.

“Hey,” I said on approach.

I got a chin lift. “Nice shirt.”

I looked down to try to remember what shirt I had on. “Oh! Scooby gang. Yeah. I love the show. And you’ve got the perfect van for a stakeout.”

He stared at me for a couple of long moments before he leaned over and unlocked the passenger-side door. Every move he made was hesitant, like he thought at any minute I was going to attack. Or embarrass him.

I walked around to the passenger side and climbed in.

The entire van had been reupholstered and carpeted in dark gray colors, which paired nicely with the metallic teal paint job. In the back was a cabinet with a cooktop, a small fridge and…a bed.

That discovery made my vision go a little spotty.

Wow , did I have a crush.