Well, thanks to preparations for the holiday (Thanksgiving here in the US), I didn't manage to get this midweek chapter done much at all. On top of that, we've decided to take a few days off and stay at a friend's cabin in the mountains, so I'm not expecting I'll get much, idk any, writing done until Monday.
So yeah, sorry about the delay. I have the rest of the tour arc plotted out so I should be able to jump right back into it, but for now I'm going to have to leave you all, me dear readers, hanging.
And now, since RR has a word count minimum for a post, here's a scan from a while back:
Needing a break and feeling a bit hungry, I went down to the hotel bar for a quick bite and maybe a drink, since it was after ten o’clock. The place was surprisingly busy, so I just grabbed a seat at the bar.
“Can I buy you a drink?” asked a guy who looked to be in his mid thirties. He had that well-groomed look that told me has was probably in sales, in town on some sort of business trip.
I made a point of tapping my wedding ring, but he shrugged. “Hey- if I were married to Emmy Lascaux, I wouldn’t be sitting in this hotel bar all alone,” he said.
Not too surprised he’d recognized me, I laughed. “Business,” I said. “She’s back at home in LA, recording with the boys.”
“I really like their version of Werewolves Of London,” he said, sitting down next to me.
“Yeah, it’s fun,” I agreed. “So, you know who I am, but…”
“Sorry,” he apologized. “My name’s Robert. I’m not actually married to a rock star, myself.”
Chuckling at that, I said, “Take a seat, why don’t you.”
“Thanks! I think I will,” he replied, signaling to the bartender. “A gin and tonic, please. And get the lady another one of whatever it is she’s having.”
“So, Robert, what brings you to Seattle?”
“A big client meeting,” he replied offhandedly, as if work was the last thing he wanted to talk about. “You?”
“Setting up a non-profit,” I said. “And buying properties. And visiting with old friends.”
“Sounds hectic,” Robert said, handing his credit card to the bartender.
“Oh, and there was a trip to Alaska in there, too,” I said.
“Very hectic.”
“I wasn’t too bad, actually, but I’ll be happy to head home in the morning,” I said, giving him a little salute of thanks with my glass.
The cocktail I’d ordered (and then Robert ordered for me again) was some sort of berry-infused, blood orange-essence I don’t know what, but it was actually pretty good.
“Last night in town?” he asked. “Out of curiosity, what airline do you fly?”
“God, we flew commercial up to Alaska,” I groaned. “What a pain that is. I tell you, it’s hard to go back to that.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“I take it you don’t often fly commercial?”
“This was the first time in a few years for me,” I admitted.
“You have your own jet?” he asked, impressed.
“No, I just mostly fly executive charter. I’ve been thinking about buying a plane, but you know what they say.”
“Rent it,” Robert said with a laugh.
“Oh, it gets worse. There’s been talk in the household about buying a yacht,” I said.
“Rent it!” Robert said again, raising his glass in salute.
“Yeah, I think that’s what we’re gonna do for a while, anyway,” I agreed.
Must be nice, being in the kind of tax bracket where you’re actually considering buying a yacht and a jet,” Robert said.
“It beats living in a cardboard box down by the river,” I said.
“Yeah, that’s no lie,” Robert agreed. “So what kind of jet would you buy, if you were going to buy one?”
“A private one,” I replied.
“Best kind,” he said.
After a moment of silence, I said, “I’m curious. You knew who I was, and knew I’m gay, but you still came over with just about the most tired pick-up line ever.”
“I know it is,” he admitted. “But it’s a good ice breaker, since it is so cheesy.”
“It is that,” I agreed.
“But yeah, I just wanted to talk. It isn’t every day I get to have drinks with a celebrity.”
“I’m not a celebrity- my wife is,” I corrected.
“Hey- if you’re ever on the cover of People magazine, you’re a celebrity,” Robert said.
“I guess, by some definition.”
“Bask in it! Seriously, I recognized you from across the room, right? That’s fame.”
Robert had made a pretty good point, so I just shrugged.
“So, what do you want to talk about? You said you wanted to talk to me,” I asked.
“I hadn’t gotten that far,” Robert admitted. “Maybe watches?” He suggested, pointing at my wrist, then pulling up his sleeve to show off his own watch, an Omega Speedmaster.
“I’m not much of a watch geek,” I admitted.
“Says the woman wearing a watch that costs more than the average home price in Milwaukee,” he said with a wry grin.
“Yeah, it’s a ridiculously expensive watch,” I agreed. “But all it does is tell time.”
“And look good.”
“And look good,” I conceded.
“Well, if you’re not into watches, what does float your boat?” Robert asked.
Thinking about it for a moment, I said, “Well, I like fast cars.”
“Yeah? Like American muscle fast, or Italian fast?”
“I’ve got a few German fast cars,” I said.
“When you say ‘a few’, what are we talking? A collection?” Robert asked.
“Calling it a collection implies that I’m collecting them, right? I just buy ‘em to drive ‘em, not to ‘collect’ them,” I said, making air quotes with my fingers.
“What’s your newest? Or maybe I should ask what’s on your shopping list to pick up next?” Robert asked. He was good at keeping the conversation moving.
“I guess my most recent purchase was my Porsche 918 Spyder,” I said, thinking about it.
“Wait- that’s the hybrid one, like the Ferrari LaFerrari, right?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” I agreed.
“Wow- that’s like a million dollar car, right?” he asked.
“They’ve gone up in value. It’s more like two million now,” I replied.
“Crazy,” Robert said, shaking his head.
“So, Robert, do you have any cool cars?” I asked, trying to turn the conversation his way.
“I’ve got a BMW M3, but that’s nowhere near the Porsche’s league,” he said.
“Yeah? I’ve got an M3 in Yas Marina Blue,” I told him. “It’s a pretty fun car to drive,” I said, an image of driving at night with a naked Ashley in the passenger seat coming unbidden to mind.
“That’s a great color,” Robert said. “Mine’s Austin Yellow Metallic.”
“Flashy!” I said.
“Yeah, it is a bit… boy racer, I guess, but it was what they had on the lot,” Robert said with a shrug.
“Next time you’re in the market, bring it in to one of my dealerships and I’ll make sure you get a great trade-in,” I said.
“Dealerships?”
“Yeah, I have a couple of BMW dealerships in Southern California,” I said.
“And you just bought a million-dollar Porsche?”
“It fell into my lap,” I said, sipping my drink. “I got a good deal.”
“As great as that offer may be, I’m based out of Nashville, so…” Robert said.
“Your loss,” I replied.
“So, let me get this straight,” Robert said. “You own car dealerships in California, but are buying properties in Seattle.”
“I own properties all over the western US,” I said. “Mostly along the West Coast, but a few in other places, too.”
“And that’s how you can afford a million-dollar Porsche.”
“I paid cash,” I said. “And it was one point seven million.” Sure, it was a flex, but why not, right?