“Alright Mr. Chasez, you are now the proud owner of 8,000 square feet of empty space right on the Sunset Strip. Congratulations”
The realtor’s words echoed in his ears as he reacted automatically to her extended hand by clasping it in a firm handshake. In a daze he took hold of the duplicates of the purchase agreement, folded the paperwork methodically and placed it in his briefcase. As though on auto-pilot he smiled at the agent, made his way out of the air conditioned office building into the blazing afternoon sun and into his car. As he sat behind the wheel, his hands still gripping his briefcase, the situation dawned on him with the force of a ton of bricks.
Was he really going down that road again? The bitter taste of the failed foray in restaurant-owning was still lingering in his mouth and here he was signing his name on the dotted line to own a space right on the Sunset Strip. For months he’d been tossing around the idea of opening a club that would serve as a venue for new artists and, he admitted to himself, for his new material as well. Music was his life; this new venture was simply an extension of his passion.
He’ll be wiser and more careful this time around. He won’t trust just anyone with his new baby and the situation won’t get out of hand. He’ll keep his finger on the pulse and only hire people he completely trusted.
What will his parents think about him taking the plunge a second time? Will the media shred him to pieces? Will people think: Look at another pop star trying to be an entrepreneur! Let’s see how long until he falls on his ass this time.
With a shake of his head he placed the briefcase on the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt. Resolutely he looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror and muttered to himself.
“Quit being such a pussy Chasez, you’re a grown man and you can do what the hell you want.”
As he placed the keys in the ignition of his Audi Quattro convertible he dialled the familiar number on his cell phone.
“Yo!” the voice on the line answered
“Hey Terrence, it’s JC.”
“I know it’s you fool, I’ve got this handy, futuristic device that’s taking the world by storm. It’s called the caller ID.”
“Real funny smartass. I was calling you to say I did it. I signed the papers, the deed is mine.” JC swallowed the lump in his throat, not wanting his friend to know just how queasy those words made him feel just then
“For real? Uh… okay! So, like, what’s the next step? What do you want me to do man?”
For all his ribbing, Terrence Lowell respected JC and saw him more like a brother than his boss. Though they’d known each other for a couple of years now, Terrence had only started working for JC in the last two years, serving more as an all around go-to guy than as a simple assistant. He’d seen what his last endeavour in entrepreneurship had done to him and wanted to avoid a repeat at all cost. Though he wouldn’t admit it unless tortured, Terrence truly did love JC and would go to the mat for him.
JC laughed at his reaction, somehow feeling calmer now that he could hear the panic in someone else’s voice instead of his. With a renewed sense of confidence he placed his earpiece in and pulled away from the curb.
“The building is sound and solid as a rock, I had it inspected by the same guy that checked out my house. All I need right now is for you to find me a kick ass designer to make this place look great.”
“Search no more man; I know exactly who you need. Remember that boutique hotel we stayed at last year when we went to Vancouver for that Winter Ball?”
JC searched his mind, trying to think back to the last time he’d been up to Canada. He remembered performing at some charity event and freezing his ass off but he couldn’t recall the hotel.
“You have to remember; you spent the entire three days we were there telling me, and anyone who was stuck next to you, how you loved the design and how the ambiance was amazing.”
“How the hell do you remember all that?”
“Besides the fact that it’s my job to retain information, my mind’s a damn Memorex when it comes to the fine ladies of this world. The last night we were there, while you were sick in bed with that nasty ass cold, I was downstairs trying to get close to Ms. Designer herself. She was in town doing what she does best for some restaurant.”
JC laughed loudly, earning looks from the other driver waiting at the red light beside him.
“Only you Terry, that’s all I’m going to say. So how come I never heard about this girl anyway?”
“Are you crazy? What man in his right mind would introduce a hot, smart and single woman to you if he wants to have a fighting chance? I wasn’t born yesterday!” Terrence laughed on the line
“No comments. Okay so since I’m assuming you obtained her digits why don’t you just send me her info and I’ll call her up and tell her about the project when I get home.”
“While you’ve got her on the phone tell her I said hi.”
“What are we in high school? You’ve had her number for a year now, if you haven’t called her it’s on you buddy.”
“Remind me not to be your wing man anymore; you ain’t got any loyalty in that skinny ass body of yours.”
“Luv ya too. Talk to you later.”
Tossing his earpiece in the middle console JC sighed satisfyingly. He felt good about this.He would succeed.
***
She swore to herself she wouldn’t panic. There simply was no reason to do so.Just because she’d quit a job she was content with, moved to a different country and didn’t know a single person in this city was no reason for losing her cool.She was Noree Armstrong, interior designer extraordinaire. Even if this meant nothing here in sunny California, it meant something back home in Montreal. It meant something to her.
Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep cleansing breath and trying to exude a confidence she certainly didn’t feel at this very moment, Noree grabbed her suitcase and made a beeline for the row of cabs waiting patiently outside the terminal.
The sun was blinding and hot on her skin. She could feel the prickle of it on her naked arms and exposed legs. Her brown eyes, shielded by her Jackie O-inspired sunglasses, caught her reflection in the glass panels of the terminal.
At 5’-6” she was more curvy than slim, a fact that had caused her much self-inflicted grief as a teenager surrounded by tall and slim cousins. After years of failed fad diets, extreme workouts and crying jags, Noree came to the conclusion that curvy was her lot in life. Her grandmother used to tease her and say she’d been born a couple decades too late and that her old school coke-bottle figure would’ve garnered her plenty of admirers. Noree supposed that statement was meant to make her feel better about herself but it only succeeded in making her long for the 1920’s.
As an adult she could examine her figure with a different eye; her arms were sleek, her stomach flat with a hint of definition, her bottom was high and round and her legs were long and toned despite her small stature. She kept her curling brown hair long, despite the sometimes cumbersome thickness. Her skin, thanks to a mixed heritage dating back a couple decades, was the color of café au lait and the sprinkling of freckles on her nose and cheeks gave her face a gamine appearance.All in all, she could finally see herself for what she was; a very cute young woman.
Breaking out of her reverie Noree turned around and quickly made her way to the first cab in line, placed her suitcase in the trunk and slid inside on the cooled seats, reciting her new address to the driver.
A mere thirty minutes later she was standing on the sidewalk, staring at the small two-bedroom house she'd be renting for the next year at the very least. As the driver pulled away from the curb, leaving her suitcase at the curb, Noree turned her gaze to look around her.
A woman in shorts and a tank top was jogging down the street, her large breasts following their own rhythm, two elderly women were walking with their poodles under their arms and a car full of teenagers was roaring down the road.
She turned back towards the house and forced a smile.
This was her new home and she would succeed.
