Page 11 of Driving Beats

“You have got to be shittin’ me. UC’s back out on tour in a month. No one on earth needs so much time to pick up a few clothes.” He pulls a key fob out of his pocket. “I should’ve just ordered stuff online. Everything would've arrived by now and my wardrobe would be replenished.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure. You would have the most generic jeans and shirts known to mankind, without any style or pizazz. Which I suppose is what you want, considering you like life in the background. Luke warned me you’d be obstinate about this. He said the Label is grateful I’m upping your look.”

“He told you what?” Coop pushes his sunglasses onto his head.

“Should I scream so you can hear me, Grandpa?” In a louder, slower voice, I reiterate, “Platinum Records, UC’s record label, wants me to make your non-gig attire match that of the other band members. Luke said they complained to him several times about your appearance in candids.”

He takes a step back. “He never told me anything.”

I shake my head. “Of course not. He didn’t want to upset you because he’s a nice person. But, honestly, don’t you think everyone noticed your utter lack of attention to what you were wearing when you weren’t onstage? When you went out with that navy blue windbreaker over a white T almost every day, I wanted to bash my eyes in with a fork.”

“Hey. My mom gave me that jacket.”

“When? Before or after UC signed with Platinum?” My question shuts him up. “Thought so.”

“So what if I had an older jacket? It wasn’t hurting anyone.”

“You know what else? I think you ‘forgot’ to bring photos of your favorite outfits because you didn’t care enough to look. Either that, or you don’t have a favorite piece of clothing.” I stomp my foot. “Well, all of that stops now. You’re going to love what I get for you. Which is your new favorite shirt?”

He lifts the bag from M. Marcel. “They’re all nice.”

“Oh my God. You paid more than some people make in a week for five shirts, and you don’t even seem to care?”

His sunglasses lower over his eyes. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

“Well, true. However, no one will get to know your insides if they’re repelled by your outsides. Ever consider this?”

“I’m fine the way I am.”

I better try a different tack. “I’m not asking you to change or anything. Simply help you be more presentable to the public when you’re offstage. The clothes you had before were…” I search for the correct word. “Serviceable. Wouldn’t you like to be trendy? Positive? Or at least not easily overlooked?”

My questions stop him cold. “Nese, I’m happy as I am. I prefer to stay in the background and let others, like Bennett and Río, shine. I’m fine with that.”

I snap my fingers. “Listen, you can stay in the background all you want. Nothing has to change. Except, thanks to the Vanishing Luggage Mystery, you literally have no choice but to get new clothes. Since this is truth, why not buy stylish clothing that can make a statement for you.”

He directs his unusual eyes on me. They’re not brown. Or green. They have a dark amber ring around the pupils, which make them appear a darker shade of the combined colors. As he’s wearing a white T-shirt, they’re now almost khaki. I stare. “Hazel? You have hazel eyes.”

Coop shakes his head. “What does this have to do with buying clothes?”

“I guess I never noticed them before, as I categorized them as brown. But they’re actually much more nuanced. Very cool.”

He puts his hand on my forearm. “Focus, Nese. How much longer?”

Putting his eye color into my mental rolodex, I reply, “I’m not sure. I can try to get this done in a week, but only if you cooperate.”

He removes his hand. “I cooperated today. I got to the store on time and bought these.” He holds up the M. Marcel bag again.

“Bravo. Why don’t we call this morning a win? Let’s not dwell on how long this might take. It’ll take as long as it needs to.” I think I read this quote online somewhere. My stomach chooses this moment to growl as if it hadn’t been fed since the Oscars. My hands fly over my tummy.

“It is lunchtime,” he huffs. “I know a place near here. Want to join me?”

His ask would be nice but for the fact it comes through gritted teeth. Considering I don’t really know anyone in LA other than him, and I am hungry, I decide to go with it. I don a bright smile. “Sounds lovely. What kind of food? I joined a magazine’s Restaurant Bingo, and if we eat at a place on the square, I’ll be able to knock it off. The challenge is in the beginning stages, so I can get a jump on the other competitors.” I take a breath. “So, what is it?”

He slow blinks. “I was being polite.”

“Yeah, well, I’m hungry.”

Our stalemate ends when he double-clicks the key fob and the Range Rover beeps. “It’s Thai.”