"Walk of Fame," the guy responded without skipping a beat. "Always love that stretch."
"Darla," Mach called, "Time to head out."
"See you there?" she asked the guy.
He nodded and she was all grins as she sauntered back to Mach because she knew exactly where they were headed next.
Chapter Seventeen
MACH
Mach never expectedthere’d be a day when he didn’t try to ditch the paparazzi. But today was that day, and he went slower than he’d like on the bike so they could get their fill of pictures. He didn’t like going slow and he didn’t enjoy being tailed. But he did love having Darla wrapped around him.
It was going to suck when this was over.
When something felt too good to be true, he’d learned not to trust it. And this was definitely in that category.
Even now, with the Dimefront fantasy he got to live, he knew eventually they’d go their own ways and he’d be on his own. Good things didn’t last for Mach, and that was fine. It’s how things were. It’s why he lived the way he did and savored the time he had. He didn’t need to think about this stuff too hard because that defeated the purpose of savoring the moment and rolling with it.
He slid into a spot for motorcycle parking on Hollywood Boulevard and cut the engine. He helped Darla off the bike, even though she was becoming a pro and didn’t really need his help anymore.
He liked the way she looked up at him with those gorgeous peach-flecked eyes as he helped her down, though.
Darla didn’t waste any time once she was steady on the asphalt, heading right to the first star in front of them.
"Stevie Wonder," she announced, and she sang one of his songs—the one about saying I love you on the phone. Huh, Darla couldn’t hold pitch at all.
She didn’t care, though, that she couldn’t sing; she went all in and sang anyway.
"Whatchathink?" she said when he approached her and couldn’t wipe off his grin.
"That was somethin’," he said, since it was a safe reply.
"Oh, come on." She linked her arm with his. "Everybody has to start somewhere."
She wasn’t wrong and the plethora of street performers down here punctuated her point. A guy near the Roosevelt Hotel played guitar and, actually, he sounded good. The guywasgood. Total rocker looking for his big break. He sat on a stool beside his open guitar case with an electric guitar and a small amplifier. Dude was young, maybe his early twenties, and he looked like Linx with his wild mane of unkempt hair that fell over his face whenever he bent down to stroke the strings of the guitar.
Mach and Darla stopped for a second and listened, Darla tucked up against Mach’s side while the guy covered a Dimefront classic.
Mach reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty, dropping it in the case. Dude lit right up and put more effort into the song.
"He’d lose his mind if he realized who you are," Darla whispered, her lips brushing against his ear.
"Some secrets should stay secrets," he replied.
"Then we should probably move along before our camera friends show up," Darla said, all cheeky like she was prepared to go in on a secret with him.
The paps had to park and that was more of a chore than one might think down here with all the tourists.
They continued down the boulevard, the paparazzi finally catching up to them. On the one side was the Walk of Fame filled with pink stars on black stone that stretched for over a mile. Icons celebrated and immortalized forever; it made him feel small but inspired. On the other side of the street was a line of shops and hotels with anything a person could want. Boots and liquor alongside kitschy stores with celebrity bobbleheads and keychains shaped like the movie clapboards they used to call "action."
"You need to be a bobblehead," Darla announced, turning so they were facing each other but still moving. This meant she was walking backwards. He kept his eye out so she wouldn’t biff it on a sidewalk lip or something.
"I’m good," he said, but it was nice she thought that’d be sweet. It would be sweet, but he was good and he didn’t need a bobblehead.
"I’d totally be a bobblehead if I could be," she announced as they continued on. "They don’t make them for nurses, though." She shrugged.
The paparazzi got distracted by some celebrity across the street and stopped tailing the two of them so closely. Which gave them the chance to just be Mach and Darla.
