Finally, Forever (24 page)

“Now, as for this hair of yours,” she says and picks up a handful of my hair with a frown. “
Dylan, what delinquent hair hater cut this?”

“Me,” I say.

“Oh. Well, we’ll just put some curls in it. At least you won’t see how uneven it is.” She plugs in the curling iron and shakes a bottle of hair spray. She sets down combs and picks and brushes on the countertop like she’s a doctor assembling tools for surgery.

Once she’s satisfied with my loose curls, she comes at me with a pencil in her hand.

“Hold still.”

“Wait. Whoa. What is that?” I lean away from her outstretched arm.

“It’s blue eyeliner. Just like the color I’m wearing.”

I stare at the tip of the pencil like it’s a burning fire poker
and shake my head.

“Look, I
agreed to wearing a full-length glitter tube top that astronauts can probably see from outer space, and I smell like a can of hairspray. I think I’ve been more than accommodating. Can you please leave my face alone?”

My sister refuses to budge.
She informs me there’s even more makeup to come. I look at the sparkling blue eyeliner that highlights her eyes. It looks like puffy glue and I’m afraid it will never come off. I back up toward the door.

“Mom!”
I yell for help. Serena’s face drops into a pout and I immediately feel guilty. “Please, Dylan?” she asks. “For me? It’s my wedding day.”

I sigh
and sit down on the stool next to the bathroom counter. I close my eyes and hold my breath as the pencil scratches across my eyelid. Serena keeps telling me to relax my face and to breathe. This is worse than the dentist.

A half hour later, the makeover is done.

“You’re beautiful,” Serena says. “You’re welcome.”

I
mumble a thank you and slip off the stool. I turn and look at my reflection before I open the door. I’m actually surprised. Serena went light on the makeup, just touching up my skin to make it all one tone. She used a light dusting of blush on my cheekbones, and my lipstick is pink, but it’s a light pink that compliments my coloring. Even the blue eyeliner isn’t very noticeable. It’s blended into gray eye shadow.

“Now get out,” Serena says. “No way are you going to look hotter than me today.”

***

Six hours later my baby siste
r is legally married and has a child, but she’s too young to drink a glass of champagne to celebrate. Laws make no sense. We walk back to the beach house and Mike’s aunt has a catered steak dinner set up in their backyard. White lights are strewn around flower pots and eucalyptus trees. Two long picnic tables are covered in white linen and sprinkled with pink rose petals. I set down my phone and camera on the back steps and take off my stilts. I stretch my feet and slip on a pair of black sandals.

I walk out into the garden and grab a thin, soft eucalyptus leaf. I pull it apart and breathe
in its sweet scent. My head is heavy with thoughts, all about Gray. There’s been a nagging question in the back of my mind all day that I need to ask him.

Just as I
turn to walk inside, I hear my cell phone ring. I pick it up off the steps and look down at the screen and I simultaneously want to laugh and cry. I missed him so much today. 

“Hey,”
Gray’s voice comes through the speaker, through my ear and punches against my heart. “How was the wedding?”

“Gorgeous,” I say. “It was perfect weather, right on the beach, officiated by Mike’s friend who has a voice
that sounds exactly like Russell Crowe’s. It’s like the ocean itself was speaking.”

“What are you guys doing now?” he asks. “Do you have dinner plans?”

I look around at the empty backyard. “My sister’s sleeping. Everybody else is watching football. A newborn baby cuts into evening social plans.”

“So, you’re free?” he asks.

“I’m always free,” I say.

“Excellent,” he says. “There’s a surprise for you outside.”

I open the patio door and walk down the hallway, passing the dining room and the living room. I open the stained glass front door and look around the steps for a package or flowers. The wooden steps are empty.

“I’m not seeing anything,” I say.

He laughs into the phone. There’s a strange echo to his voice.

“Look around,” he says.

My stomach jumps. I realize what the surprise is. I look up and down the curb, lined with parked cars. I don’t see his hatchback anywhere. “Where are you?”

“I’m standing in front of my car,” he says.

“I don’t see your car.”

“
Dylan, look across the street.”

I hear laughing and it sounds like it’s coming from straight in front of me. I look across the street, and there he is, leaning against a black convertible. He’s wearing dark, faded jeans and a red, Bob
Dylan concert t-shirt. The sky is turning dark, but there’s still a ribbon of neon light in the western sky.

I still have
my phone to my ear. I press the receiver to my heart to see if he can hear how fast it’s beating and he laughs. He puts his phone in his pocket.

He raises his hand and waves.

I clear my throat and slip into character, mustering up my best Molly Ringwald imitation. I glance up and down the sidewalk with disbelief and then I point to my chest.

“Me?” I mouth.
Gray shakes his head.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘Yeah, you,’” I shout across the street.

“Uh-uh,” he says. “This is as far as I go.”

I walk across the street to meet him. “You watched the movie,” I say and he nods. “Did you like the ending?” I ask.

“I understand why you like it, but it’s not why you think,” he tells me.

“Oh, really?”
I look in his eyes, and they’re lighter and happier than I’ve ever seen them.

“It’s not the scene you remember. It’s that song. That song makes the ending.
A classic eighties melodramatic balled by the Thompson Twins? Possibly the sappiest crap of all time.”

“By sappy you mean incredibly moving and laced with deep messages about life?”

“Sure,” he says. I look past him at the black convertible.

“Sorry it’s not a red Porsche,”
Gray says. “That’s a little out of my price range.”

“
This is yours?” I ask him and he nods.

“My dad helped me pick it
out. Signing bonuses pay pretty well,” he admits. “I’ve never seen my dad more excited. We drove it around all week.”

I run my hand over the sleek roof
, cool against my skin.

“Wow,” I say. “I’m naming
him Black Panther.”

Gray
steps back so he can take in my outfit.

“You look—” 

“Like a sparkly baton, I know. Not by choice, by force.”

“Sorry I didn’t wear my pimp suit
so we could match,” Gray says and I roll my eyes.

“
You can blame Serena,” I say. “She practically had to tie me down to give me a makeover.”

“Blame
her? You mean thank her profusely.”

“Y
ou like my new hooker style?” I ask.

“I would never label you as that,”
Gray says. “I was thinking stripper,” he says.

I laugh and
Gray turns me around with his hand. “Perfect,” he says. “It has a slit. Slits are just a starting point for ripping something off.”

“Go right ahead,” I say. “Right now, please.”

“Oh, I will,” he says and his eyes look serious. It sends an erotic jolt up my legs. “But not yet,” he says.

“First we’re having cake?” I ask.

“No,” Gray says. “No more
Sixteen Candles
. I have a much better idea.” He opens the car door for me. “Come on,” he says. “We’re going for a drive. I want you to see the city lights.”

I slide inside and he closes the door. The smooth black leather seat brushes against my legs. I fasten the seatbelt and
Gray gets in next to me.

“You need to see the sky scrapers in a convertible at night. It’s the
best way to see a skyline.” He starts the car and shifts into gear. The engine purrs as he drives onto the road. He turns up the stereo and plays Counting Crows, album one, track eleven. I smile. It’s one of my favorite songs.

I watch the houses and apartments pass until we’re on Pacific Drive and suddenly the ocean is right next to us
spilling onto the sand. I can smell the salty air as the wind whips against my hand. I reach my arm out—there’s no window frame to block it, no roof to enclose it. I feel like I could lasso the purple clouds in the darkening sky and reel them in. The car accelerates and we’re coasting up a freeway ramp. I lean my head back against the seat rest and let the sky and the music pour over me.

“
Ryan Adams is performing tonight,” he tells me over the music. 

Gray
and I have listened to every single one of his records together. We’ve analyzed every song. We’ve had sex to every song.

“In LA?” I ask and
Gray nods.

“He’s playing at the Walt Disney Concert Hall,” he says. “It’s an
amazing venue. But there aren’t any tickets left.” He looks over at me. “I checked. It’s been sold out for weeks.”

I refuse to be discouraged.
Words like “sold old” only imply a challenge. You can’t make an amazing discovery and let it slip through your fingers.

“
Gray, this concert is a basic need. We have to try,” I say.

He nods. “
I thought you’d say that. If anyone can talk their way in, it’s you.”

He maneuvers around traffic and we fly down the freeway, surrounded by a red
stream of lights in front of us, and white lights, like comets, behind us. We are in a galaxy. The downtown skyline rises in the distance like a space station. The Staples Center is lit up with purple neon lights like a futuristic landing strip.

We exit the freeway and turn
down Broadway, heading for the glowing buildings. Gray was right. Everyone needs to see city lights in a convertible. I lean back, mesmerized as they approach. The skyscrapers loom around us and above us, towers of light that stretch all the way to the stars.

Gr
ay

I slow down and point out the Walt Disney Concert Hall, a theater in the downtown music district. I love the architecture of the theater, the way it waves as if it’s moving like a flag, batting in the wind. At night it’s even more dramatic. A
band of lights cut through the center like an electric sail. The curving steel makes it half anchor, half sail, half boat, half building.

Dylan
looks out at the empty sidewalks with disappointment. A few people are scurrying up the steps to the entrance.

“I don’t see anyone selling tickets,” I say.

“Then we’ll sneak in,” Dylan informs me and I smile at her tenacity. She points at the theater. “Ryan Adams is inside that building. The only thing standing in our way is a flimsy door.” 

“And a lot of security,” I point out.

I’m interested to see how she plans to pull this off. I turn into the underground parking garage and hand the attendant the astronomical twenty-dollar parking fee. Welcome to LA.

As soon as I find a parking spot
Dylan throws the door open. I get out and run after her and we both sprint for the escalators. 

“Here’s the plan,” she says once we reach the metal stairs. “We’re local radio station journalists but we forgot our press passes.”

I nod. I’m smiling at her determination. I look closely at her eyes.

“Are you wearing blue eyeliner?” I ask.

“Yes. Gray, please focus. We’re publicity.”

“Right,” I say. “Which
Los Angeles radio station do we work for?” I test her.

“Z…1…0…crap.” She shakes her head. “Okay, scratch that. We need to go with something familiar. We’re photographers.”

“Um, no cameras?” I point out.

She slaps her hand over her forehead. I’m starting to feel bad. There’s no way we’re going to sneak into this venue. I’m just getting
Dylan’s hopes up.

“The one time I don’t have my camera,”
she says.