Rory vs. Rockstar Read online

  “Mother, I gotta go now, take care of the shop…Yes! That silly little bookshop of mine.” I’d like to have one conversation with her where I don’t end up shaking my head in frustration, she thought.

  “Okay, Mother. Take care.” No I love yous to be said. They never were. As always, Rory hung up the phone feeling much worse.

  She had less than three weeks to fit into this dress and to find a date to take to the wedding. When she thought about it, the dress was the least of her worries. It was her younger sister’s wedding, and in the conservative religious community that her parents belonged to, questions would be asked about the elder daughter. Even if she was elder by a mere nine minutes.

  Rory had no doubts that her parents were constantly at work to find dates for her, guys she would certainly have to meet at the wedding and be forced to have polite conversations with. As the day grew nearer her anxiety worsened, and she wished that she could make some excuse and stay away from it all. Maybe there will be a hurricane and all flights out of Montcove will be grounded.

  A girl can hope.

  She had loved Montcove ever since she started coming here for summer vacations as a child. Tara, her sister, hated the humidity and the sand. Rory, on the other hand, would spend all day chasing butterflies and running around trails with her friend Alicia when she’d visit. Montcove was still scenic, still beautiful, and whatever little peace and calm they had left since the celebrity invasion started a few years ago was enough for her.

  Most of all she loved Montcove because it reminded her of her beloved grandmother who had passed on last year at the ripe age of ninety-five. It was remarkable that Colleen Loughlin had worked till her nineties, stopping only after a hip operation.

  After dropping out of school at USC in LA, and left with a choice between moving back with her parents or becoming homeless, Rory had decided to head to Montcove and take care of her grandmother instead. That was the wisest decision Rory had ever made, as it not only brought her close to grandma Colleen, it also allowed her to alienate herself from her time in the big city of Los Angeles. If she had her way, she would never again set foot in that godforsaken place for as long as she lived. The only thing that was good about it was her friendship with Alicia anyway, and she’d moved to NYC.

  On her deathbed Colleen Loughlin had joked that if it weren’t for Rory coming in to stay with her, she would’ve passed away much earlier. A sinking feeling engulfed Rory’s heart, bringing tears to her eyes every time she thought of Colleen’s last moments. Her grandmother had barely been dead when her lawyer sister had pulled out the will.

  Tara Loughlin and her long-term fiancé Paul had been pissed that Grandma Colleen had left Rory the sprawling Montcove property. Tara apparently had plans to make the place her summer home, where she and her husband could entertain corporate clients.

  The triumph of that victory was short-lived for Rory once she realized the cost involved in keeping such a house in shape. Saying that she had struggled to make ends meet would be an understatement. Ten years ago she could’ve made a good living from a bookstore, but who bought books anymore? Especially in a town of 22,000 people. Tourists certainly didn’t.

  Besides, what did she know about running her grandma’s bookstore or maintaining a house this big? But she couldn’t close up shop. The Open Book, her grandma’s store, was a Montcove landmark. Everyone knew Colleen and in a way, the bookshop was what kept her memory alive. Keeping it open was her tribute to her grandmother. Apart from the few tourists who came into the shop to search for something to read or the declining regular residents, she barely saw any sales. At least it gave her plenty of time to get back to her first love, sketching.

  The sound of the shop computer booting up greeted her as she slid in with a warm cup of coffee in her hands.

  “Morning, sunshine.” Lizzy stood there with a wide smile on her face. The girl had really grown in the years that Rory had lived at Montcove. No longer was she the lanky teenager that followed Rory everywhere. But she still worked at the bookstore, a job that she had been given by Colleen Loughlin when she was caught tearing pages out of a teen magazine.

  “I swear I thought it was gonna rain. I think I even dreamt of it last night.” Lizzy said as she absentmindedly flipped through her phone.

  “Did you do something with your hair? It looks different,” Rory quizzed.

  “Thank you for noticing, ma’am, and yes, I did. Isn’t it wonderful?” Lizzy tossed her head, showing off her new bangs.

  “You have it easy. Everything looks good on you.” Rory smiled warmly.

  “I’m telling you, you gotta let me take you to this stylist. She is magic!” It was not the first time Rory was hearing Lizzy brag about her stylist, but for Rory the idea of spending a hundred dollars on a haircut was insanity. She never even mentioned to Lizzy that she trimmed her hair herself. Besides, I’ll probably get a free updo at Tara’s wedding. At least one good thing will come out of it.

  “Good sales?” Lizzy asked as Rory logged onto her online T-shirts shop.

  Rory had been sure that this idea would work. People loved wearing funny, unique T-shirts, and people loved shopping on the internet. The idea couldn’t possibly fail. Besides, if she wasn’t making any money from the bookshop, she had to find an alternate source of income. But a year after setting up her own shop and putting up a hundred T-shirts designs for sale, she still struggled to make a consistent income that barely covered her expenses.

  “Good enough.” Rory faked a smile. “Hey, how was your weekend, Lizzy?”

  “O.M.G. it was awesome! I met a bunch of friends from high school and we went shopping, got ourselves dolled up, and hit some clubs and I swear, not kidding, that I spotted Brad Pitt.” Lizzy’s eyes were huge, her voice reaching its highest pitch as her hands flew up in the air.

  “Here? On our little island? Brad Pitt?” Rory smiled. Lizzy claimed to have seen all the big celebrities in the world at some point or another. This celeb spotting was as hard to believe as all the others, but Rory didn’t contradict her.

  “Did you blow him a kiss?”

  “I wish. He was in the VIP area and we were down below. But I did scream ‘I love you, Brad!’” Lizzy shouted to the ceiling as if Brad himself were suspended there. Rory laughed. She might live in a dreamland, but she sure is a constant source of entertainment. Lizzy was like the younger sister she’d always wanted.

  After the whirlwind of USC, Rory’s life in Montcove wasn’t so bad. She lived in a pretty house, had the adorable Lizzy for company, and was well loved among the other locals she knew. It was only when she browsed her sister’s Facebook feed and saw her living the perfect American life with her fiancé that she felt depressed and even jealous, though she would rarely admit it.

  She had no one to call her own. No future prospects. No townhouse at a prime location or a job that was almost like a money tree. It also reminded her how disappointed her parents must be in her. That was one of the reasons why she hated family events; they were simply an unending paean to her sister's accomplishments. Tara practically printed money and got one promotion after another while Rory, after countless failed jobs, was struggling to sell T-shirts online.

  Tara is going to have a perfect wedding with the perfect husband and lead a perfect life, while I’m probably going to die all by myself in this huge house. Rory sat back and stared at the bottom of the almost-finished coffee cup. It never gets easy, does it? she thought, her thoughts veering back to the bills and notices that lay on the side table in her bedroom.

  “You know who else I saw?” Lizzy continued. “Martha.”

  “Martha? Martha Stewart?” Rory raised a brow, ready to doubt another name drop.

  “No, silly, Martha from the bakery. She’s making her way to the door right now.”

  Rory turned and a smile grew on her face. Martha, the old lady who owned the German bakery and who was her grandmother’s closest friend, was walking in the door. Jeez, when was the last time I saw her? />
  “How are you, hon’?” Martha asked, as Rory embraced her. Right behind her was Sharon, one of the neighbors. Sharon was stay-at-home-mother to three children, who were not the most well-behaved.

  “I’m good. And you... you look good too.” Rory smiled back.

  “You still got this one around, I see.” Martha nodded at Lizzy, who in turn went bright red. Martha was always chiding the girl to be more ladylike, and Rory was convinced that Lizzy was terrified of the old lady. If it weren’t for the insanely good cupcakes Martha made, Lizzy probably wouldn’t step within a hundred feet of her.

  “Sharon was at the bakery and mentioned that she was coming here, so I thought I’d surprise you as well. Not like you ever bother to visit this poor old woman,” Martha went on.

  “It’s not that and you know it. It’s just been so busy.” Rory was looking for excuses, but her mind was going blank. “You know Tara’s getting married and there’s so much to do, and the shop and …life in general,” she sighed.

  “That little sister of yours? Married? God save the poor fella.” As Martha made the sign of a cross, even Lizzy let out a chuckle, though sheepishly. Tara had never been kind to Lizzy, bullying her constantly.

  “Yes, in two weeks. He’s in the same line of work as she is. My mother is pretty excited.” Rory kept a polite smile on her face.

  “Well, good for her,” Martha replied. Rory could feel that there was a question in there somewhere. And what about you, Rory?

  “Rory, I need some storybooks. Some with a lot of pictures to keep my boys quiet. I barely have a moment for myself and I am not sure how much more of it I can take,” Sharon said as she browsed the shelves.

  “Sure thing. There are tons of them here. Lizzy, show her around, will you please?” Rory replied and escorted Martha to the coffee table they had set up by the counter for people who wanted to read in the store. It hadn’t seen much occupancy of late.

  As curious as she was, Martha didn’t prod much or ask questions Rory wasn’t ready to answer. Instead, she spent the next hour gossiping with Rory—about people they knew, about people only she knew and about her incompetent kitchen staff.

  Lizzy had prepared some tea and opened the bag of goodies that Martha had brought for them. It had been a long time since they had tea like this. When Grandma Colleen was alive, it happened almost daily. It had a sense of familiarity, of comfort. Like slipping into a comfy, old pair of jeans.

  By the time the two women left, it was well past lunchtime and Rory was left with Lizzy blabbing on and on in her ear. Lizzy’s lack of ambition and intelligence got to her at times, but she reminded herself that not everyone has to have the same kind of goals that she herself had in life.

  Goals that I have not done anything about. Rory stopped herself before she slid down a dark hole of self-pity. She had enough to worry about already, like fitting into that damn dress and making it through another family gathering.

  To divert her mind from such thoughts, Rory logged onto her online store again. Gone were the days when she checked her sales data with excitement. Now she just prayed that a few pieces would sell everyday so that she had enough to make ends meet. There was nothing she wished for more than financial freedom, and the more she strived for it, the more it seemed to evade her.

  Three new sales, it said. Rory stared at the screen numbly. Maybe sales will pick up later in the evening. She repeated the mantra that she told herself almost on a daily basis. Her only saving grace through all these years of struggle had been her ability to stay positive and keep a straight face. Of late, she hadn’t been sure if she would be able to maintain it for long.

  Irritated, she walked away from the computer. Only a total of two other customers walked into the bookshop for the rest of the day. One had just browsed around silently while the other had bought a map of the island.

  Lizzy left at five as she had a Zumba class, an invitation to which Rory declined. Forty dollars to dance around? No, thank you. Besides, evenings were her favorite time to sketch, and she was not going to give that up for anything.

  The day before, she started on a new T-shirt design: an overly smiley, plumply cartoonish garibaldi fish with thick lips and a sarcastic smile. She was sure it would appeal to kids. After trying all sorts of designs from faux artistic impressions to vintage cars to stuff with a lot of text on it, she had no qualms about diversifying further. Nothing had really worked for her so far except that one time when a lot of those “Keep Calm” T-shirts had been trendy.

  Rory was really hoping that this cartoon character that she had envisioned in a weird dream would take her to the next level and provide her with financial security. She was sick of skipping dinner every other day and cutting costs wherever she could. At one point she even thought about giving up the house to her sister, but found it incredibly hard to let the memories of her grandma go.

  She smiled as she thought of Grandma Colleen and got down to sketching again. Even though she was no longer in this world, just the memories of late-night talks with Granny strengthened her resolve to do more with her life. Rory just wished that she had such a strong resolve twenty-four hours a day.

  She was lost in sketching and thinking up a name for the character when the rain started lashing down. Nothing like a long, deep sleep in the rain to rejuvenate the body and the mind, she thought to herself as she got up from her desk to head to her bedroom.

  Her footsteps echoed around the huge, Victorian-style house where every rustle of the wind sounded like reverberating waves of the ocean. Rory wrapped herself in a comfy nightgown and was about to get in bed when she felt the floor shake and heard a loud booming noise, like that of a bomb exploding.

  3

  Arsen felt like he often did after a very heavy workout in the gym. Except this was much worse, as every single muscle in his body ached more like he had been beaten with a club. He wasn’t even sure whether he was alive or dead. The sound of whirling winds still surrounded him, and he felt a trickle make its way down his face. Water, or maybe blood? His vision was limited to the blur that was in front of his eyes.

  Am I dead?

  The words echoed in his head. Along with the sound of his favorite Sinatra song coming from somewhere far away.

  Am I really dead? he asked himself again. Arsen tried to lift up his body, but he struggled. Raising his head, he saw a soft light. Suddenly through the light, he saw a young woman with long hair and a glowing face extend her hand to him.

  Is that the angel that is supposed to come and take me to the beyond? Is that the light at the end of the tunnel?

  The thought made him feel strangely relieved. Arsen wondered if this is what everyone who overdosed on drugs and was pronounced clinically dead for minutes talked about when they were resuscitated.

  Is this how the story of Arsen Ford ends?

  Arsen felt numb. Not remorseful, not content, but emotionless. He was surprised by his own lack of reaction, so he shut his eyes, willing himself to pass on to the other side.

  “Hey?… Hey!” the woman shouted. Arsen opened his eyes and rubbed them gently. For an angel, her voice is kind of harsh. He’d expected an angel to have a silky voice, like that of a vintage harp.

  “Hey!… Dammit. Lemme call the cops,” she shouted.

  All of his senses came rushing back to him as he heard the word cops. In a split second, everything came back to him—rain—Ferrari, Jack Daniels—DUI. Fuck. He forced himself up and realized that he was partially trapped under the airbag that had deployed upon impact.

  He stretched his hand out of the window and motioned for the woman to stop. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with cops. Especially when neither his manager nor his lawyer were present. He’d have to think on his feet for a way out of the situation.

  “Help me.” He motioned for her to come closer and could sense her reluctance at this request. “Just open the door from the outside.” He tried to speak loudly. She was slender and Arsen wasn’t even sure if she could pull hi
m out of the car if she had to.

  Arsen cleared his throat and said out loud, “Just pull me out.” Through the streetlight that blinded him, he could see the woman reluctantly make her way toward him.

  She slowly opened the door and he extended his hand toward her. It hurt as numb muscles awoke in his body.

  “I’m not sure I can do this.” She hesitated. At least she was contemplating helping him.

  “You can. Just take my hand and give a pull,” Arsen said with his eyes half closed. A long forgotten warmth curled through him as her hand clasped his. Arsen pushed against the steering wheel with his other hand and threw his body out of the car. With a thud he landed on the ground, right on top of the soft curvy body of the woman that he had mistaken for an angel.

  His eyes looked into hers and Arsen studied her face as if she were the only thing he wanted to look at ever again. The distance between them was temptingly close, and there was heat in the air that was warmed by their bodies, moistened by the rain. Adrenaline spiked in his body, the intimacy of skin touching skin making the feeling unbearable.

  She was all woman, a fiery petite storm, that turned slowly in his grasp. A bolt of desire rushed through him, igniting in him a long-forgotten fire, the scent of her feminine body encompassing his senses, and a thin nightgown all that laid between him and her body. For a moment Arsen forgot about it all, choosing instead to stare deep into the most expressive eyes that he had ever seen. Her hand pushing against his chest brought him back to the present. She was scowling.

  “Hey!” Even though she was loud, Arsen could tell that under normal circumstances, she was a soft-spoken person. As a musician, he had come to notice such things about people. There was rarely a sound that escaped his trained ears. He rolled off of her, landing on the soft ground next to them.