Apparently “any time at all” meant the very next night. Emmy asked if I could cook my mom’s special recipe roasted tarragon chicken, one of Emmy’s favorites from my admittedly limited repertoire. I worked up a shopping list, which Emmy said she would hand to the concierge first thing in the morning, getting a chuckle from me about how our life had become.
“I think we will need to hire people, with our new house,” Emmy said. “Just as we hired Luisa and Wally in Manhattan, we will need people to take care of things for us.”
“Yeah, I’d been thinking about that,” I admitted. “I figure we have a few months before we need to start looking, but it’s not a bad idea to put some thought into what help we’ll need. You’re also going to need people to work in your studio, too.”
“Lee and Jackson and I have discussed this. We have offered permanent positions to several of our tour crew, and Snake and Riggo have already accepted.”
“Snake? You have a guy named Snake as a roadie? And Riggo?” I asked, amazed.
“Snake is not a guy, but yes, that is really her name. I have seen her driver’s license. Riggo, that is his nickname, since rigging is his specialty.”
“All right. I’ll get an LLC setup for, I don’t know, ‘Downfall Productions,’ or something like that and get payroll and accounting going,” I said, thinking about what needed to be done.
“The payroll and costs will be paid for by the band,” Emmy said. “This is something that the three of us have decided.”
“All right, that’s fine. I’ll have the three of you listed as the officers. I know that Jackson was studying law before you guys formed, so he’ll understand the steps involved. The three of you are going to have to come up with seed money to start the bank accounts and pay the professionals…” I said, thinking aloud.
“We have discussed that, too. How much do you think we will have to deposit?”
“Well, assuming that all your royalties will get diverted into the LLC, you’ll have revenue immediately, so not too much. Maybe a hundred grand each? Can Jackson and Lee handle that?”
“I believe so, but I will talk to them tomorrow, to make certain.”
“O.K., talk to the guys right away when you get together, and call me at work. You can speaker phone it and we can talk about what needs to be done, and then I’ll get the thing set up.”
“Thank you, Leah,” Emmy said. “I do not know what I would do without you.”
“Thankfully, that’s not a concern, since you do have me,” I said.
Emmy called a little bit before ten the next morning, and sure enough, the two guys were there on speaker with her. I ran over what was needed to set up an independent business entity. Jackson was vaguely familiar with a lot of it, but he’d never actually had to put anything he’d learned in his corporate law classes into use, so the nuts and bolts were unfamiliar. By the end of the conversation we’d gotten all the basic details sorted out and a commitment for two hundred grand each from Lee and Jackson (and of course, from us, too) to get the ball rolling. The LLC would rent the studio space from Emmy and me at a nominal cost, but be responsible for maintenance and expenses. All in all, generous on our part, but fair enough. While we were all hashing out the details, I shot off emails to our lawyers with instructions to create the LLC, and to our banker to create the necessary account paperwork and email it to the various parties.
After the call wrapped up, Nash knocked on the doorframe. I’d noticed him lurking out in the hall, waiting for my call to end.
“Hey, Nash,” I said when he stepped into my office. “How is the transition going?”
“Good. Really good, actually, really good. Jackie and I have been house hunting, and we’ve seen a few places that are close to what we want. We’ll find the right place soon.”
“Close to your in-laws? You said they live in Orange County, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, Costa Mesa,” Nash confirmed. “We want to be close enough, but not too close, if you get what I mean,” he said, taking a seat and laying a fat three ring binder on my desk. “Here are three possibilities for the new corporate office,” he said. “I’ve ranked them three different ways. You’ll see, it’s all there.”
“All three are suitable?” I asked, sure the answer was going to be ‘yes’.
“Yeah, to one degree or another,” Nash said. “It’s just a question of priorities. The first place gives us the most room to take everything under one roof, but the area, well, it’s not the best, and might not present the best look for visiting clients. The second one would cost more to build out, and would require a sort of ‘campus’ setup rather than one single building, but could be made to be really nice. The bones are there, but it’d take a while to get it to where we need it. The third is almost move-in ready, but offers the least room for growth long-term. It’s my least favorite of the three, but I wanted to include it so you could see the option and go that route if you wanted.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, leafing through the binder. “It’s going to take at least a year to get the company realigned anyhow, so we have some time. Still, it’d be good to get rolling on this ASAP. Thanks for putting this together so quickly, Nash.” Then, since it just occurred to me, I asked, “Hey, you and Jackie want to come over for dinner some time? I’m not nearly the cook Jackie is, but Emmy and I would love to have you guys.”
“We’d love to,” Nash said. “I’ll talk to Jackie and we can figure out when would work.” With that, he got up to leave. “Um, Leah, you remember Jenny, right? My daughter? Played volleyball at Chico State?”
“Of course,” I replied.
“Well, she’s staying with us until school starts again next month. Would it be O.K. if she comes over, too?”
“Are you kidding? I asked. “Of course it’s O.K.!”
After Nash left I looked through the info on three properties he’d found, ultimately deciding that I would really have to do a site inspection to get a feel.
Setting the binder aside to look at later, I returned to looking at what I’d been reading when Emmy and the boys called earlier, the inspection analysis for a twenty-seven unit apartment complex in Long Beach that we were thinking of acquiring. The inspector we used in Los Angeles had a different way of writing up his reports than the guy I was used to up in San Jose, so I’d flagged a few items to ask him about.
I found my mind drifting a bit, so I set the report aside and went out to get lunch. I didn’t really feel as if I wanted company, so I just walked a block east to the Irish pub. As odd as it may sound, they had a really good Cajun chicken penne that was worth putting up with all the ersatz Irish decorations for.
Since I was eating alone, I just sat at the bar rather than take a table or booth. It’s not that the place was all that busy, but still- it’s just common courtesy towards the establishment. I was sitting there, working on my pasta and responding to an email from James in Palo Alto about whether he could extend the invite to a mutual friend of ours to the track day, when a guy sat on the stool next to mine, even though there were plenty of empty spots farther away.
“Hey,” he grunted in greeting when I looked up at him. I just nodded, then went back to paying attention to my phone.
“That’s the cajun pasta, right?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts. “How is it? I’ve seen it on the menu and wondered what an Irish pub is doing serving an Italian dish done up in a Louisiana style.”
“It’s pretty good, actually,” I replied, more to be polite than anything else. “Honestly, besides the Harp and Guinness signs behind the bar, there really isn’t much Irish about this place at all.”
“True dat,” the guy said with a laugh. “Now, maybe if they played some Dropkick Murphys on the stereo…”
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“Then it’d be a Boston bar,” I said.
“Touché,” the guy replied.
Thankfully, that’s as far as the conversation went, because just then the bartender came and took his order for Cajun penne. I returned to emailing James that it was cool if he invited Justin down, too, and anyway, I was coming up to San Jose later in the week and we could get together at the speakeasy and talk details.
“You were right- that pasta is pretty good,” the guy sitting next to me said.
“Try the fish tacos next time- they’re also worth eating,” I replied. “And just as Irish.” With that, I signaled for the bartender, and handed him a twenty when he came over. “Thanks,” I said as I stood up to leave.
“Hey, great talking with you,” the guy said.
“Try the marshmallow milkshake for dessert,” I told him as I started walking away. “It’s also really authentic.”
Bemused by the odd conversation, I walked back to the office, ready to face an afternoon of spreadsheets, financial reports and other forms of paperwork.
Settling down at my desk, I glanced up at the poster of Emmy’s face on the opposite wall. Just seeing that gigantic photo of her face made me smile, so I sent her a text. “Missing you”, I texted. I figured she was probably practicing and wouldn't hear the phone buzz, so I was surprised when a reply came back almost immediately.
“I miss you, too.”, was the reply, followed by a series of three little red hearts. “When will you be home?”
“I was thinking I’d head home at 4.” I texted back. “Andy and his girlfriend are supposed to come over at 6:30, right?”
“Yes. Will that give you enough time to cook dinner?” Emmy replied.
“No problem”, I sent back.
“OK. See you then”, Emmy texted, with another three red hearts.
In a better mood, I dove into work, and the time passed quickly. Driving back to Century City, I got to wondering what Andy would be like. Sure, I grew up going to the same schools as he did, and so in that sense we’d known each other since we were eight years old or something like that, but we really hadn’t travelled much in the same circles at all since high school started. In fact, the most time I’d spent with him was when he and the other guys from the football team had sat with us in solidarity for a while after Emmy and I were outed.
Since then, it’d been four and a half years since I’d seen him last. I was trying to picture what he must look like, mentally adding a few years and maybe fifty pounds of muscle to his already fairly big frame. He undoubtedly still had that slightly lopsided grin, and I just couldn’t imagine him with anything but the same mop of dark blonde hair he’d had in all the time I’d even known him. I mentally tried on facial hair, too, but that just didn’t seem right.
What would his fiancée be like? Probably nice, I decided. Andy hadn’t ever really fit the shallow football player stereotype back in school. He hadn’t gone for the typical pretty girls the way some jocks did, so she probably wasn’t a cheerleader or anything like that. Maybe they met in international studies class, or world history? That would be much more believable than some sort of air-headed sorority girl out to snag a husband with good economic prospects.
How much did linebackers fresh out of college even make in the NFL, anyway? I knew that big contracts made the news, but most players don’t get those gigantic paydays. Maybe Andy was signed to a three, maybe four year deal?
I was pondering the possible paychecks of defensive football players when I walked in the door of our seventeenth-floor apartment, which smelled amazing.
“Leah!” Emmy exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Look! I am making cookies!” she said, indicating a pan of chocolate chip cookies cooling on the countertop. “Lacy shared her secret recipe with me. It is not hard!”
I looked at the relatively minimal mess Emmy had made and spotted the empty bag of Ghirardelli chips, laid flat and smoothed out.
“This recipe?” I asked, pointing to the back of the bag, with the instructions written on it.
“Yes,” Emmy agreed. “That is Lacy’s secret. She simply follows the directions on the bag, and does not try to alter it or modify it to make it better, since that always turns out poorly,” Emmy explained, completely seriously.
Laughing, I asked, “Are they ready?” as I reached for the tray.
“Yes, but you may have only one before dinner. The rest are for afterwards.”
“O.K.,” I agreed, already stuffing the cookie into my mouth. “I’m gonna wash up, then get started on dinner.”
“I will clean all this up right away,” Emmy said. “How was the cookie?”
“Great,” I said. “Hey, is that a bird on our balcony?" I asked, looking past Emmy. When she turned around to see where I was looking, I snagged another cookie, but she caught me.
“Oh! You are terrible!” Emmy said, giving me a playful swat.
“You know what’s sweeter than these cookies?” I asked.
“What is that?”
“You are,” I said, wrapping my arm around her waist and drawing her in for a kiss.
After we parted, Emmy said sternly, “Do not think your Casanova ways will earn you another before-dinner cookie. You have had enough for now.”
“Well, then, I’ll just have to get another kind of sweetness, won’t I?” I asked, leaning in for another kiss. Yeah, it was cheesy, but sometimes that’s what was called for. It seemed to work, since Emmy melted in my arms.
“How did I get so lucky?” I asked, when we broke our kiss. “Beautiful, talented and charming,” I said, and Emmy’s eyes grew soft. “And also a wife who makes cookies.”
Emmy realized what I’d just said, and gave me another swat. “Yes, you are beautiful, talented and charming,” she said. “But do not count on too many cookies in the future!”
“As long as I can get my sweetness this way,” I said, kissing her again, “I can live without cookies.”
“How much time do we have before you must start cooking dinner?” Emmy asked, glancing towards the bedroom.
Checking my watch, I said, “A little less than half an hour. Why?”
Looking disappointed, Emmy stuck out her lower lip. “That is not enough time for you to make it up to me for stealing an extra cookie. You will need at least, mmm, two hours for that. I will just have to wait until later tonight,” Emmy declared.
“And how will I make it up to you?” I asked, gently stroking her sides.
“I will think of a way,” Emmy promised. “It will involve plenty of exercise to work off those calories.”
“If I promise to work it off with an additional hour, can I have one more cookie now?” I asked, hopeful.
“Yes, you may,” Emmy said, giving it some thought. “But do not use your tongue when eating it. You will need for your tongue to be well rested before the exercises start.”
“It’s a deal,” I agreed, snagging another Toll House from the tray. “Hee? O tong,” I said, eating the treat like Cookie Monster from Sesame Street.
“Go get cleaned up,” Emmy commanded, trying to keep a straight face. “I must clean up the kitchen. And hide the rest of the cookies.”
Doing as I was told, I changed out of my office clothes and into a pair of jeans and a nice sage green linen shirt. Keeping it California casual, I didn’t bother with shoes and just went barefoot.
“You look beautiful,” Emmy said when I returned to the kitchen. “And talented and charming. Now make dinner,” she commanded.
“Your wife’s place is in the kitchen?" I asked.
“Right now it is,” Emmy said. “Later, my wife’s place will be in the bedroom.”
“I see how you are,” I said. “I see how you are.”
“How am I?” Emmy asked.
“Adorable,” I replied, wrapping her in my arms again.
Emmy leaned her head against my chest and held me tight for a little while, then got up on her tiptoes to give me a kiss. “I do love you so,” she murmured.
“I love you, too, baby,” I said, kissing the top of her head.
It didn’t take me long to prep the chicken and get it roasting, along with a baking pan of veggies. While that was in the oven, I made a nice salad and put it aside, then cut up some fruit, and, following Mom’s recipe, mixed up a pitcher of sangria.
“You make all that look so easy.” Emmy commented from where she’d been watching from the kitchen counter bar stool.
“It mostly is easy,” I said, cleaning up. “Well, the doing is easy. The knowing what to do, that takes some guidance.”
“I liked to watch Marie-Anne when I was young,” Emmy recalled. “I do not believe I ever saw her use a cookbook. Not one time. It was like magic. She could make amazing meals from whatever she had available.”
“I’ll never be as good a cook as Marie-Anne,” I admitted. “Not in this lifetime.”
“What do you think about bringing her to Los Angeles?” Emmy asked, thinking about it.
“Would she leave your parents? Would they be O.K. with that?” I asked. “I mean, it would be awesome, and I know we talked about needing some people for the new house,” I said, considering the idea. “I guess we’d need to tell the architect to carve out some space for an apartment or two in the plans, if we’re going to have full-time live-ins like Marie-Anne.”
“You would be O.K. with that?” Emmy asked. “To have other people in our house all the time?”
“I mean, I guess that’s the way you grew up, Em, so it seems normal to you, but it’s a little strange to me, you know? But we’ve committed to that in New York, right? And eventually we’re going to have a baby, so it would be nice if we had somebody else taking care of things while you focused on being a mom…” I said, rambling.
“It would mean a very lot to me if we could bring Marie-Anne to Los Angeles,” Emmy confirmed. “I had not suggested it before because I did not think that you wanted people in our house.”
“What made you think that?” I asked, surprised.
“When I suggested in Palo Alto that we get a cleaning lady, you said that you did not like that idea,” Emmy said.
Understanding dawning on me, I said, “No, babe, it wasn’t that I didn’t want strangers in our house or anything like that. It was just that I didn’t think that the two of us made enough mess to justify it, and we could clean up after ourselves just fine. After all, that was just a fifteen hundred square foot townhouse. But our new place? It’s going to be what, eight times the size? That’s a lot for just the two of us to manage.”
“I think Marie-Anne would come if I asked,” Emmy said, thinking about it. “Especially, she would come if she knew there would be a baby.”
“There is going to be a baby, right?" I asked, moving to sit next to Emmy so we could talk. “We are going to try to get you pregnant once we’re settled into our new place?”
“Yes,” Emmy confirmed. “I want to have a baby with you so very much it hurts when I think about it. I want it so very much, Leah,” Emmy said, tears forming in her eyes.
“Me too, Em, me too,” I said, taking her into my arms again. “Soon, baby, soon.”
“I worry that we will not be good mothers sometimes,” Emmy said in a little voice. “I am too busy with my music, and you with work. How will we be able to give our child the time and love she will need?”
“We will,” I said. “We’ll be great moms. You’ll see.”
We sat like that for a few minutes, until Emmy regained her composure. “I must wash my face,” Emmy said. “Our guests will be here soon.”
“I hope so,” I said. “Dinner is almost ready.”