Shock Waves

That she, a glam goth diva, was actually fretting about looking over-the-top suddenly made her laugh. Back at her apartment, her entire wardrobe was a swirl of purple, black and red satins and laces. This beach babe makeover was frying her brain. Next she’d be buying frosted pink lipstick, eating granola and saying “dude.”

“Hey, how’s my Ellie?” said a familiar, deep voice. Bill.

Her heart thumped a wanton, pagan beat.

My Ellie. She lost the ability to speak for a moment. “Great.” My Bill.

He looked effing incredible. That mocha skin, those brown eyes, that windblown black ’fro—colors so rich and dark, they made her insides quiver.

Maybe it was because of the canvas tent, but the light seemed pale and ephemeral. Summer heat shimmered in the air, hot and intangible. And in the midst of it all stood Bill, like a chocolatey, rough-edged hip-hop prince. Wild on the outside, in control on the inside.

The moment was broken when a girl, who looked to be around nineteen, bounded up and tapped Bill on the arm. She wore short-shorts, a halter top, her shiny blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Daisy Mae’s long-lost twin, no doubt.

The girl looked up at Bill with round liquid-blue eyes and smiled.

“Curtiss is having some problems with the boom mike for tomorrow morning’s shoot,” she said in a baby-doll voice. “He wanted me to tell you he’s picking up a new one today as backup.”

“Thanks.” Bill nodded, turned his attention back to Ellie.

But Daisy Baby-Doll didn’t leave. “I’m the new PA. Name’s Phoebe.”

Bill looked at her. “Hi, Phoebe.”

“Actually, my name’s Diane, but that’s so boring, so a few years ago I started calling myself Phoebe, and now everybody remembers me!”

Ellie had a feeling she knew why.

“Well, Phoebe,” said Bill, “nice meeting you—”

“If you ever need anything…” she said, her voice trailing off.

Like it was so hard to guess what that anything might be. To stop herself from saying something she might regret, Ellie stuffed a grape into her mouth.

Of course, women had always loved Bill, and he’d loved his share back. She had many memories watching him from her living room window while he laughed and flirted with the girls on the block. Even back then, he had that certain something that attracted the opposite sex in droves. Call it confidence, charm or being blessed with more than his share of pheromones, but the guy had it.

Bill glanced at Ellie, back to Phoebe. “Look, I’m taking a meeting here….”

Taking a meeting? This wasn’t a date? Ellie shoved another grape in her mouth.

Phoebe rolled back her shoulders, which made her breasts stick out even more, and plastered on a smile. “Well, Bill, see you around the set.”

She’d barely bounced away before a tall, preppie-looking guy sidled up to Bill. “Man, you should be bottled.”

“Behave.” Bill turned to Ellie. “This is my main man, Jimmie,” he said. “We met on our first day at NYU. I was the tough guy from East L.A. Jimmie was the class act from Connecticut. I decided to like him anyway.”

She smiled while swallowing the grape, which felt like a chunk of lead going down her throat. “Nice to meet you, Jimmie.”

“This is Ellie Belle,” said Bill. He slung his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “He taught me how to order wine, and I taught him how to siphon gas.”

But she was still back at Ellie Belle. Nobody had called her that in years. It had been her dad’s nickname for her, one her mom had occasionally used after her dad left, but nobody had used it since. Not even Matt. Had Bill overheard one of her parents and, all these years later, remembered?

Jimmie extended his hand, which she took. “And after that eloquent introduction, let me say it’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” They shook hands.

“Heard you two were next-door neighbors years ago.”

“That’s right.”

“No offense, but you sure don’t look like someone from the hood.”

“Well, we don’t normally wear bikinis with fishnet cover-ups there.”

Jimmie looked surprised, then laughed. “I, uh, didn’t mean that.”

“Sorry, I knew what you meant.” She’d heard comments like that plenty of times, mostly from people who’d rarely, if ever, been to the hood. She used to take offense, then realized what mattered more than a person’s question was the intention behind it. Jimmie, despite his Brooks Brothers appearance and precise diction, had a sincere streak.

“Actually, when my mom and her mother moved there in the late fifties, there were families in that neighborhood straight out of Father Knows Best. The melting pot started getting stirred more during the seventies.” She’d skip over what everyone knew—that the area grew economically depressed, gangs arrived, street crime mushroomed and that’s when things could get dicey if you didn’t already have your friends and community in place, which the Rockwells did. “The hood’s changing for the better these days, though.”

Bill made a disgruntled noise.

“It’s true. Homes are being renovated, new businesses are moving in—”

“C’mon, Ellie, nobody really cares about our old stomping ground. The powers that be wrote off that part of L.A. a long time ago. I, for one, will never go back.”

“Can’t turn your back on your roots,” Jimmie said to Bill. “Don’t you still have family there?”

“Those who stayed deserved what they got.”

Ellie bit the inside of her lip. She didn’t like hearing his negativity, but she had to remember how Bill, like Matt, had taken on the role of man of the house at an early age. Except Bill had had four younger siblings, which hadn’t been easy.

Jimmie, obviously picking up on the heavy vibes, changed the subject. “Those are some shoes.” He nudged his head toward her feet.

“They’re retro sling back wedgies,” she said, tipping the toe of red-and-white polka-dot sandals this way, then that. “Got them at Sinister Shoes.”

Bill gave her a funny look. “Sinister Shoes?”

“I’ve heard of that place,” said Jimmie. “It’s down on Melrose. All the goths go there to shop.”

“Goths.” Bill shook his head. “Elvira’s cool, but I don’t get that whole vampire thing. They all seem depressed or something.”

Her insides shrank a little. Made her feel like a fake and a liar pretending not to be one of those into that whole vampire thing. It was really about loving the darkness, the mystery in life, but she didn’t want to explain.

All she wanted was this day, this experience with Bill, and for that she was willing to pretend she was somebody she wasn’t.

She angled her leg, showing off. “These shoes are really more of a retro pinup look,” she said a little too gaily. “Similar to what Betty Grable wore in those World War II posters.”

Bill and Jimmie stared at her.

“Betty Grable?” Bill finally said. “She was a movie star way before your time.”

“I’ve always loved the Golden Age of Hollywood, even as a little kid. I sometimes envision the stars like Audrey Hepburn, Veronica Lake, Betty Grable when I design some of my clothes.” When they looked at her black fishnet cover-up over her red bikini, she added drolly, “These aren’t my designs. I bought them at Target.”

A grin sauntered across Bill’s lips. “You did a lot of sewing as a kid, didn’t you? I think my mom said something about it once.”

She nodded, feeling a little giddy that he’d remembered something else about her as a child. Maybe she’d been more memorable than she’d given herself credit for.

“Hollywood’s Golden Era is one of my favorites,” he continued. “It spawned dozens of classic westerns, comedies and thrillers. Plus, it was the birthplace of film noir.”

“Watch out, Bill,” Jimmie teased, “your cine-matic-nerd side’s showing.” He glanced at his flashy gold watch. “Gotta split. Told Bev I’d take her to the festival, play some of those games. She’s hot about trying to win some grand prize cabin.”

“Beach bungalow,” corrected Ellie.

Jimmie nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I guess the winner gets a free rental there for the next two years.”

“Ten,” she corrected again. She hadn’t realized she’d been so into it until this moment. Sure, she’d been willing to be Team Java Mammas with the girls, but she hadn’t been personally driven to win anything other than the audition until this moment. Had to be the thought of hanging out with Bill for the rest of the afternoon, doing fun, wild things in some of those hot games.

And, if all went well, even more wild things afterward.

What Happens in Malibu Stays in Malibu.

“Ten, eh?” Jimmie gave a low whistle. “Now I’m glad I gave in and said yes to Bev.” He snagged a cookie off the food table. “What time does the shoot start tomorrow?” he asked Bill.

“Five a.m. sharp. We need the rising sun in the background for that first shot.”

Jimmie groaned. “Whoever said showbiz is glamorous needs their head checked.” He pointed at his pal. “Watch out for that guy,” he said to Ellie as he headed toward the tent opening.

Wouldn’t Bill be surprised to know she’d been watching out for him for a long, long time.

After Jimmie left, Bill stared at Ellie, trying not to think how drop-dead sexy that fishnet cover-thing was over that red bikini. Very teasing. Very exciting.

Both of which were Ellie right now. All grown-up and hot and retro sexy in that peekaboo red bikini and matching shoes. Enough to make a man howl at the moon.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asked.

With another woman, he might have said. But with Ellie…well, it was different. He wasn’t exactly sure why, just knew he felt more protective. Of her, certainly. But also of their past. As though that bubble of time so long ago was more fragile than he’d realized.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Famished.”

“Me, too.” He guided her toward the tent opening, his arm comfortably around her shoulders, their steps in sync. “Let’s go to the festival and get some chow.”

Ellie felt as though they’d walked this way a hundred times. His arm rested so easily around her, the side of his body seemed to fit perfectly against her. Muscles against curves, hard into soft.

When he leaned his head down, she caught a whiff of his cologne—cinnamon and musk—and nearly swooned at the rich, dark scent. Someone had once told her cinnamon was an aphrodisiac, and if she didn’t believe it before, she sure did now.

“Something about you, Ellie,” he murmured, his breath hot against her cheek.

She waited, but he didn’t finish the thought. Even if he had, she doubted she’d have been able to stay focused and hear the words because she was caught up in sensations. His breath caressing her cheek, his thigh rubbing seductively against hers as they walked, that cinnamon scent shooting straight to the pleasure center of her brain.

They headed out into the blinding sunshine. The sand sank underneath her feet and she stumbled slightly.

“It’s those sinister shoes,” teased Bill, helping her regain her balance.

“I wasn’t sure what to wear at the beach,” she murmured.

“Coulda fooled me.” He gave her an appreciative once-over, which gave her no small thrill.

She plastered on her best beach-babe smile, although she felt like a total fake. Except for the shoes. And the fishnet. And the tattoos, of course.

And how she felt every time she was near him. Those feelings were as deep and real as they’d been when she was a girl.

They faced each other, the heat from the sun pouring down on them. In the distance, waves thundered against the shoreline. A couple of teenagers walked past, carrying umbrellas, towels and a radio that was blasting Sheryl Crow singing how she just wanted to have some fun.

So did Ellie. She’d started out telling herself this week was about chilling, then about winning points and being on her favorite show. But now all that paled to what she really wanted—to be with Bill and have fun. The kind of no-regrets, go-for-it fun she never allowed herself. Now was the perfect time to indulge herself.

And he was the perfect man to indulge herself with.

Everything would be great, too, as long as she kept up the facade, never let on that she lived in that depressing vampire world where he assumed goths resided. From what she’d gleaned, this was his only afternoon off, so she didn’t have to keep that facade up for long anyway. A few hours, hopefully more. Not a daunting task.

Although the thought of saying goodbye again was.

“Something wrong?” he asked, concern filling his eyes.

She glanced at the coffee stain. “It’s probably set by now. Too late to get it out.”

“Now, now, Ellie, so pessimistic,” he kidded, lightly rubbing her back.

She could feel the heat from his hand through the open spaces in the fishnet, warm and liquid against the bareness of her back. His touch was light, confident, exciting.

“We have bigger things to worry about than a coffee stain.” He took her hand and started walking toward the festival. “Like what should we order for lunch?”

It’d been seventeen years since her maddening childhood crush. Seventeen years of remembering and fantasizing about Bill, and now all those memories and dreams and girlish yearnings coalesced into this single afternoon. If she ever had the opportunity to live in the moment, this was it. To revel in each moment, each minute, each hour.

Even if what happened in Malibu stayed in Malibu, she’d have the memories of this afternoon for the rest of her life.

4

GOING TO THE FESTIVAL was one thing.

Getting inside was another.

Ellie stood on the beach, the afternoon sun hot on her skin, her sweaty hand in Bill’s, staring down the imposing-looking man blocking the festival side entrance. His size put him in the sumo wrestler league, and that patch over his eye gave him a Captain Barbossa in Pirates of the Caribbean look. If that combo wasn’t bad enough, the words “You Lookin’ at Me?” emblazoned on his tank top indicated either he had a rampant paranoia streak, or she would any moment.

“Go on in,” murmured Bill, giving her hand a tug.

Digging her wedgies into the sand, she rasped, “Yeah, right, I’ve always wanted to die in Malibu.”

“C’mon, Ellie. Thought you were hungry.”

She averted her gaze in case Captain Sumo thought she was lookin’ at him. “Can’t we go in the main entrance?”

His eyebrows pressed together. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Like you need to ask.”

With a low, throaty chuckle, he leaned his face close to hers. “I refuse to believe,” he murmured, “that anyone who wears a Queen of Evil tattoo is afraid of walking past one itty-bitty security guard.”

“Itty-bitty?” She blinked. “You’ve obviously been out in the sun too long.”

He squeezed her hand. “Trust me on this, Ellie.”

When they reached the guard, Bill paused, nodded a greeting. “How’s it going, Sam?”

“It’s cool, Bill.”

“Mind if we go in?”

“You’re the man.” Sam stepped aside, motioned for them to enter.

They stepped inside a small tented area, the air cooled with the help of several rotating fans. Ellie stopped, brushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead. “So you two know each other.”

“He’s one of the security guys on the Sin on the Beach set.”

“And you couldn’t have shared that while I was freaking out?”

A rakish grin spread across his face. “Maybe I wanted to look big and bad in your eyes.”

“Aren’t you the macho one,” she said with dry sarcasm.

“And you love it.”

God help her, she did, even if she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. She looked around the area, set up with folding chairs, coolers packed with ice and drinks, tables on which sat several monitors projecting black-and-white images of the festival. A buffed guy in shorts and a tank top with the word Security on its back sat viewing one of the monitors. He nodded hello to Bill, went back to his work.

“I feel like I’m with the in crowd,” Ellie said, watching a group of people playing volleyball on one of the monitors. Maybe it was her imagination, but that brunette woman spiking the ball looked a lot like Candy.

“I know these guys from the Sin on the Beach set, where they work our security. I didn’t know that was their special entrance, though.” He looked over at the cooler. “Want a soda?”

“Should we—” But he was already heading over. Just like Bill to do what he wanted, screw the rules.

Watching him walk away made her forget any rules, too, as she admired the view. Broad, muscled back that narrowed to a fit waist. Great buns that shifted and moved under those khaki shorts. He had a bit of a bowlegged walk, like a cowboy, which made her smile. Unlike a cowboy, his legs were bare so she could see how compact and muscled they were.

She imagined gliding her palms down that muscled back, over that hard behind, around to his front where she’d dawdle…tease…explore….

He turned and she jerked her gaze up to his.

A slow, knowing grin danced across his face.

Caught. Well, so what? He’d probably seen plenty of women doing the same thing.

“Here you go,” he said a moment later as he handed her a cold can of pop. “And dig this. Meat loaf sandwiches. I helped us to one.” He handed a half to her. “Have a seat, relax.” He leaned against a table and started munching.

She looked over her shoulder. “Should we—”

He motioned for her to sit, giving her a knowing nod as he ate.

She did, realizing she was doing that good-girl, what-are-the-rules thing again, which would never go over with a guy like Bill, who claimed his territory on the fly. Reminded her of the boys back in the hood and their power plays over turf—be it a porch, a street corner, a park. She wondered if Bill realized how, despite his so-called new life, he was still a boy in the hood.

For the next few minutes, they ate and drank in silence.

“This is delicious,” she said, finishing a bite.

“You make meat loaf?”

She rolled her eyes. “Too busy. The only thing I make is coffee. You?”

“I make the best sandwiches this side of NewYork.”

“Humble, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “I prefer to call it truthful.”

The guy watching the monitors had flipped on a portable radio to an oldies but goodies station. The upbeat, sexy song, “Walk on the Wild Side,” started playing. Same tune she’d downloaded for her ringtone. Perfect background music for sneaking glances at Bill’s mouth as he nibbled and chewed, at his tongue as it flicked against his drink. She had no doubt he could do incredible things with that mouth in bed, too….

He lowered his soda. “Who’s singing this song?”

“Lou Reed.”

“That glam rock, punk guy?”

She heard the disdain in his voice, which put her off a bit. Not that Bill should like the things she liked, it was that he sounded so judgmental.

“That’s old news,” she said, not meaning to say it so sharply, or maybe she did. “These days, he’s respected for his songwriting, electronic music, even his style of rock and roll.”

He tapped his finger against the side of his drink. “I offended you.”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “You sounded critical.”

He stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. After finishing, he said, “You’re honest. I like that. I’m honest, too, sometimes to a fault, but I like to be a man of my word, you know?”

Great. He revered honesty, and before him sat a woman whose very appearance was a lie. She took a sip of her drink, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m also a music dunce,” he continued. “I’ll listen to tunes when I want to quiet my mind or relax, but—” he shook his head “—it irritates me otherwise. Probably because I heard rap day and night back in the hood. It was like crackling static that never went away. Songs about violence and sex and killing cops. I hated it. Ruined my appreciation for other kinds of music, I guess.”

She remembered hearing rap when she was outside, but her world inside her bedroom was a sanctuary of what she liked—be it books or listening to Lou Reed or painting lyrics on her ceiling to her mother’s annoyance. “Shame that happened. Music has often been my greatest solace.”

“Lucky you.”

For a moment they stared at each other, the sounds of the festival receding into the background, leaving the two of them suspended in a time capsule that encompassed the past and the present. She still saw the boy she’d been so crazy about, dark and handsome with a head full of dreams. But she also saw the man he’d become. Tougher, more cynical. A man who’d lost an appreciation of something as sweet and healing as music because he couldn’t get past the grating static of his past.

She’d never imagined being with him again wouldn’t be perfect. Of course, she was pitting her girlhood fantasies—which were always perfect—against the woman’s newfound reality. And what she was learning was that for all the glowing feelings she experienced around Bill, there were also the darker ones.

Were they so dark she didn’t want to stay? Because it’d be easy to make a lame excuse, walk away, dust her hands of the childhood fantasy.

She watched as he picked up their trash and tossed it in a receptacle, called out a thanks to Sam, patted the back of the guy who was still watching the monitors. Funny. For all his toughness, he was a caretaker. Just like her.

“Ready?” he said.

“For what?”

“For whatever’s out there, of course.” He gestured toward the tent opening that led to the festival.

Whoever said life had no guarantees should have added it would always have its fair share of confusion, too. Sometimes all that mattered was making a choice and hoping you made the right one. Okay, so he wasn’t the boy of her childhood dreams; she wasn’t the girl who’d dreamed them, either.

She took his hand, ready for whatever happened next.

A FEW MOMENTS LATER, they were walking down the midway. It was midafternoon, but the sun was still broiling as though it were high noon. Girls in bikinis and guys in shorts roamed the midway. Coconut-scented suntan lotion competed with the tangy salt air. Barkers and carnies pitched rides and games against a background of calliopes.

Bill interlaced his fingers with hers as he steered her through the crowd. Maybe because she typically dated more artistic types, or because she was accustomed to running her own business, she wasn’t used to a guy taking the lead. She had to admit, though, that she liked his take-control attitude as he wove through the crowd, sometimes sheltering her past groups of partiers, other times hugging her close for no apparent reason.

Like she needed one.

“Hey you! Ms. Smoke and Fire! Black fishnet over the red bikini!”

“Is somebody talking to me?” asked Ellie, slowing down.

“That’s right, I’m talking to you and that guy with the gravy stain on his shirt.”

Bill laughed. “Talking to both of us, it appears.”

They looked over at a small stage, on which stood the fellow in lime-green turban and loud Hawaiian shirt she’d seen earlier backstage at the audition.

“Yes, I’m talking to you.” He eagerly waved them over. “Step this way.”

Bill looked at Ellie. “You game?”

She looked at the sign over the stage. Magellan the All-Knowing. Although she’d always wanted to have a real supernatural experience, she’d never envisioned that might happen with a loudmouthed carnie at a beach festival.

“I don’t know,” she murmured.

“Maybe we’ll win something.”

“Don’t be afraid,” the man, who had to be Magellan, called out. “All that stands between fear and outcome is courage, my friends, courage!” He looked at the audience. “Right?”

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