Believe Me, It's You Read online

Page 10


  “I am thoroughly impressed,” she said.

  “Pretty sweet, huh? If you're a good girl, he might take you for a ride,” Teddy said.

  “That's what I'm afraid of,” she said. The light suddenly switched on and Dylan was opening her door.

  “Hey!” he said, hugging her. “You're late.”

  “It's not my fault. Nice place you've got here,” she smiled.

  “Thanks, we call it home,” he said, walking around the car to the trunk. He took her garment bag from her and slung her carry on over his shoulder. Teddy followed with the suitcase. They led her up a few steps and into the foyer, which was gray stone and marble with a set of contemporary lights suspended from the ceiling. The house smelled like a combination of Dylan's cologne and cinnamon.

  “Follow me and I'll show you your room first. Then I'll show you the rest of the house,” she followed him back through a corridor with glass on one side which afforded her a few final glimpses of the sunset over the Pacific. The whole experience of being there with Dylan, in his house overlooking the Pacific was a little surreal and oddly comfortable at the same time.

  “I thought this could be your room,” he said, leading her into a huge bedroom with more glass walls all along the ocean side. It had a big platform bed with thick white comforters and four or five big white pillows. The furniture was light wood and modern-a chest of drawers, a dresser with an oval copper framed mirror. The floors were large planks of dark wood and there were a few white rugs here and there.

  “Here's your bathroom and the closet's in there,” he said, opening the bathroom door and switching on a bank of lights, suspended from the ceiling. The entire bathroom was a rich reddish brown marble, with a huge double sink vanity and a sunken tub you had to take two steps down to get into. There was a shower with about twelve shower heads. The closet was as big as her bathroom in Chicago and had rich mahogany drawers and wardrobes that swung open for sweaters and shoes.

  “Wow, Dylan. This is so nice,” she looked in amazement at everything. “This is ridiculous.”

  “You like it then, I guess,” he laughed.

  “I would have stayed in the garage, but this is...just so nice,” she laid down on the bed and turned her head to look out the window. “I can't believe I get to wake up with this view.” He leaned against the dresser and smiled, obviously pleased with her approval.

  “If you go to bed early enough, you can see the sunset,” he said. “But that's probably not going to happen. I haven't been getting home from the studio until 3 or 4 in the morning.”

  “Oh, if you need to get to bed early tonight, I'll understand,” she said. “I can work on some things on my laptop. The book.”

  “Well I have to go back to the studio in two hours,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking tired.

  “I didn't know,” she said. “Do you think you'll have time to work at all?” she asked. “If you don't feel up to it, I understand.”

  “No, if you're up to it, come with me. You can see what it's like for me in the studio. See me work,” he said.

  “Okay, sure. That'd be nice,” she said.

  “They'll buy dinner after we get there so you can eat. Let me show you the rest of the house,” he held out his hand and pulled her up off the bed.

  His room was next to hers and had the same view, but a different arrangement of furniture. His bathroom was a bit smaller than hers because he had a separate room next to his which had been converted into a closet and had rows and rows of suits, shirts, jeans, pants, jackets and basically everything in every color a man could ever want to wear. One wall was shoes, half of which were high top sneakers. Eva was struck by the strangeness of such a young man having so much.

  He went on to show her a small studio he was having built downstairs in what was once a home theater. He had all types of recording equipment, guitars and a piano.

  “This is so nice,” she said. “I don't know what half this stuff is.”

  “I'm going to be able to do a lot of recording right here when it's done. Not everything, but a lot,” he said.

  “You're not going to become a hermit, are you?” she said.

  “No, but it'll save me a lot of time driving to the studio and back. Who cares how late I have to work? When I'm done, I can just go upstairs and go to bed. I'd like to produce for some new artists here, too,” he said. “Maybe start my own label.”

  “That would be really cool,” she said. She loved watching his enthusiasm. “You really love music, don't you?”

  “It's everything..almost everything to me,” he said. “I seriously wouldn't want to live if I couldn't make music.”

  He led her back upstairs and showed her the rest of the house-the living room, with it's white sofas lining the walls and the massive stone fireplace that could be enjoyed from both the living room and the dining room on the other side, a kitchen any chef would love working in. The whole house was beautiful, peaceful and comfortable.

  “This house is so awesome, Dylan,” she said. “I can't believe this is your everyday existence.”

  “I'm gone a lot, but I like it when I get to be here,” he said, handing her a diet soda.

  “Thanks,” she smiled. “you remembered.”

  “Of course,” he sat down beside her on the sofa. She was quiet, wondering if this was a good time to bring up Calvin, or if she should just let it go for tonight. She didn't want him to have to go into the studio and work in a bad mood. She also didn't know if Calvin was going to be there. That could be awkward.

  “You're quiet. Are you sure you want to go? If you're too tired, you can stay home and rest,” he said.

  “Oh no, I was just thinking. I want to go. We can work on the book, maybe,” she said.

  “Okay, sure,” he said. “I'll fit some breaks in to spend time with you.” His phone was vibrating on the table.

  “Hey, Teddy,” he said. “Okay, we'll be down in a few minutes. I need to grab a few things. Ready, Eva?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Eva grabbed her laptop and a jacket. Dylan came upstairs carrying a guitar and two notebooks.

  “Would you mind putting these in your laptop case?” he asked. “They're songs and some rewrites and stuff I'm probably going to need tonight.”

  “Sure,” she took them from him and stuck them in her bag. “You write long hand, not electronically?”

  “I do, but I like the notebooks better,” he put on a black jacket. “I like the way my words look on paper.” She followed him downstairs to the garage where Teddy was waiting at the car. He opened the door and they climbed in.

  “Where's your studio, Dylan?” she asked him.

  “It's in the canyon, not far from where I used to live,” he said. “It's about 45 minutes away. It used to be someone's house, and now it's been converted to a studio. I like it because they have old fashioned soundboards and reel to reel recording and also all the digital stuff. You can do anything you want with a record there. It's also comfortable. You'll have a quiet place to relax while I'm recording.”

  “How do you keep paparazzi and fans from finding out you're there when you're working?” she asked.

  “Well, sometimes they are there,” he said. “It just depends on who knows we're there and if they're trustworthy. So far, we've had good luck. It's been quiet. It's a lot easier to work this time around.”

  “Do you write all your songs?” she asked.

  “This time, yeah. I've had ghostwriters on my songs for the last three albums, but this is the first where I've written all the lyrics and most of the music myself.”

  “Wow, that's great. I guess it's more pressure on you, though,” she said.

  “Yeah, it's tons more pressure,” he was looking out the window. “There's a lot riding on this one. It's sink or swim.”

  “I'm sure it'll be great,” she said.

  “Really? How are you so sure?” he asked, looking at her. She could see he was smiling when the occasional light hit the car and
illuminated his face.

  “You write your lyrics in a spiral notebook, how could it not be good?” she smiled. “You've got a way with words, I know that.” Now she was the one looking out the window, blushing in the dark. He was quiet and she felt the pinky finger of his right hand touch the pinky finger of her left hand. She smiled out the window.

  Eva was impressed by how ordinary the studio looked from the outside. The '70's era split level resembled the Brady house from television. No one would ever suspect anything remotely exciting was happening inside. Dylan got his guitar from the back of the car and they walked up to the front door, Teddy close behind. A tall, thin man answered the bell.

  “Hey, Dyl. How's it going?” he half hugged Dylan and took his guitar from him. “Who's this?”

  “That's Eva. Eva, this is Roscoe. He's my producer,” he said. Eva shook his hand.

  “Uh oh. Dylan's breaking the no-girlfriend rule,” he laughed. “That's cool, I don't mind.”

  “Eva's writing for me,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? You write songs, Eva?”

  “No,” she said. “Books. Haven't I met you? Did you work with Capital T?”

  “I knew I knew you from somewhere!” he clapped her on the shoulder. “You wrote Cap's book! We met at the North Hollywood studio.”

  “Yes, that's right. Good to see you again,” she remembered him because he and Cap had argued in the studio, and what she felt should take a few hours, took all night. That was the one and only time she tried to work with Cap on the book in a studio setting.

  She settled onto a huge leather couch in a part of the studio within earshot of the recording area. She took out her laptop and tried to work on some notes for the book, but as soon as she heard Dylan singing, she lost her concentration and had to listen. His voice was so clear and he could do anything Roscoe asked him to do with it. She liked the song they were working on. They went over it again and again, making subtle changes she could barely discern, Dylan singing one or two lines, then stopping. Teddy walked over to her and sat on the couch.

  “How's it going, Eva?” he asked, popping the lid on a can of soda.

  “Pretty good. I'm winding down. I'm still on Chicago time,” she yawned.

  “Oh lord, that's right,” he laughed. “Try to stay awake for some food. They ordered a bunch of stuff. It should be here soon. Then you can stretch out and have a nap.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she said.

  After they'd all gathered around a huge table in the kitchen of the house and eaten, Dylan went back inside the recording booth. She found her way back to the couch and stretched out with her head on a huge tapestry pillow she'd found in a corner. Teddy came in and opened a closet and pulled a big quilt from the top shelf. He walked over and draped it over her.

  “There you go,” he laughed. “We'll wake you up before we leave!” She could hear his laugh echoing through the hallway as he left, and she drifted off to sleep.

  She woke up about an hour later to the sound of no music, just voices in the distance. Dylan was sitting on the couch at her feet, writing in one of his notebooks.

  “Hey,” she said, half sitting up. “What time is it?”

  “Uhh,” he looked at the wall behind her. “It's ten after 2. You look sleepy. We're gonna try to record this last bit, and then call it a night.”

  “I'm fine, whenever,” she said. “I'm just going to sleep for a few seconds more.” And she was out again.

  “Wake up, it's time for school!” Dylan was laughing and gently shaking her shoulder.

  “Oh god,” she said, trying to wake up. “What time is it now?”

  “It's 3am. Time to go home,” he had his jacket on and was holding hers out for her. She sat up and reached for her laptop to put it back in the case. “I put it away for you. Here are your shoes and coat. All you have to do is stand up, really.” She stood up and stepped into her shoes and slipped into the coat he was holding out for her. He turned her around by the shoulders and led her out the door. Teddy had the guitar and her laptop strapped over his shoulder. They climbed back into the SUV.

  “So much for working on the book. You can sleep on the way home,” Dylan said. And she did.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  When they got back to Dylan's house, she took off her coat and put her laptop away. She was disappointed that she hadn't worked on the book, but she really hadn't expected to get much done on the first night.

  “I'm starving again.” Dylan said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Oh, I'm not sure if I'm hungry, or just tired. I try not to eat too late at night,” she said.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “I don't want to get chunky,” she said.

  “You're just the right size,” he said.

  “Thanks, I want to keep it that way,” she laughed. She walked into the kitchen and started rummaging through the huge refrigerator. “I'll cook you something. What do you like?”

  “Really? I don't know. Anything,” he said, sitting down on a bar stool at a huge granite center island.

  “ You don't have a whole lot in here, Dylan. How about an omelette with cheese and mushrooms?”

  “That sounds good. It's 4am. We can call it 'breakfast'.”

  She fixed both of them an omelette and toasted some bread she found in the cabinet. They took their plates into the living room and sat on the floor at the giant glass and teak wood cocktail table. She pretended to be chewing while she figured out how to tell him about Calvin's phone call. She decided just the facts would be best, but she would break it up into first Calvin's concerns and second, the promise she'd made about the book.

  “Dylan,” she started.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need to tell you something,” she said.

  “What?” he looked up from his plate.

  “Calvin called me before I left Chicago today. Yesterday. He was kind of upset that I'm staying here. With you,” she said, and went back to eating, trying to appear calmer than she felt.

  “Why is he concerned about who I have at my house as a house guest?” he was getting upset and that made her a little uneasy.

  “I don't know, I mean I guess...well, he said it would look bad, you know to your fans and the press,” she said. She was trying to remember Calvin's exact words so she didn't screw it up and report something she'd just surmised and not what he'd actually said. “To have a woman here. Especially an older woman, like me.”

  “That's stupid on so many levels,” he got up from the floor and sat down on the sofa. He leaned back and put his feet up and his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. Eva let him be quiet for a minute, both of them thinking. She toyed with the omelette on her plate. In a few minutes, he sat up and faced her across the table, his elbows on his knees. He looked tired.

  “Eva, I don't know what anyone's gonna say about me and you. I mean, seriously, we have to figure out what that means first, before we start worrying about what other people are gonna think. You and me...I mean. I'm taking it slow, just like you asked. But you have to understand. I can't be figuring you out and worrying about Calvin, and the press and the label and the fans...It's too much. I'm just one person and I want to live my life for me...and the people I love, not a bunch of strangers and businessmen. If you start thinking like Calvin, Eva—you'll just drive yourself crazy. Please, just forget about Calvin. I'll handle him. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, looking up at him from her seat on the floor. He made it so easy to be agreeable. “I just felt like I had an obligation to tell you he called and we talked.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate that. You're honest with me and I really appreciate that.” He looked in her eyes. “Thanks for the omelette. You were right, you are a good cook,” he leaned forward, his hands on the table and kissed her forehead.

  “You're welcome,” she said. “Oh yeah...there's one more thing. I told Calvin I'd have a rough draft to the publisher by Thanksgiving.”

  “Okay. We'll just have
to buckle down. Tomorrow...tonight I need about four hours in the studio, then I'll be done. Maybe we can get home by midnight and work on it some,” he said.

  “That didn't go so bad,” she let out her breath. “I thought you'd be mad.”

  “I'm not mad. I'm really happy,” he said. “I'm just glad you're here.”

  “Yeah, me too,” she smiled. “I better go to bed now. In Chicago it's about 6am.”

  “Okay. I'm going too,” he said, taking their plates to the kitchen.

  “Well, goodnight,” she got up and walked down the hall, hoping she could remember which door was her room.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, following her. He stepped in front of her and opened her door. He went over to the windows and flipped a switch and the windows darkened. “It's going to be light out in less than three hours. You'll be wide awake if the windows aren't darkened.”

  “Wow. I didn't even know windows could be darkened,” she laughed.

  “I know. It's pretty cool,” he sat down on the edge of her bed, and she didn't know what to do so she just stood there. He spoke after a full minute had passed. “You want me to go, don't you. Can I stay?”

  “Dylan...I don't want you to go. I don't want to go slow, I..I like you so much. And you're probably the most beautiful man I've ever seen, but...I can't screw up. I don't want to mess this up.” She didn't know the right words to explain herself anymore. Being understood by him felt like the most crucial thing in the world, and she couldn't find the right words.

  “It's okay. I just need you to tell me you feel something for me, and I'll go slow,” he said.

  “I...yes, I do. I...,” she sat down next to him on the bed. She looked up into his eyes, hoping what she couldn't find the words to say would be obvious to him.

  “I'm just scared, that's all. I can't have my heart broken again, “ she said. “I can't let that happen. So you need to go slow and make sure you're sure about me. You..you're different. I didn't even feel like this with Paul and that's scary. I can't fool around with you and...go home when it's over.”