CHAPTER11
Ian slept well and rose with the dawn. He took his coffee out on the apartment’s stubby balcony, which overlooked the town and the mist-wrapped horizon. Amelia had written him several times about this wonder. How the shoreline and much of the town was blanketed by a marine layer, sometimes for hours, and occasionally all day. Yet from his perch, Ian could see how the main street emerged from the haze as it rose gently from the Pacific. The first structure to be seen clearly was Castaways. Ian wondered if this was why the sea captain had built it where it stood, just beyond the drifting tendrils. Up where he sat, the sky was a pristine, cloudless blue, the daylight and colors both gradually taking on strength.
He stared at the old building and recalled his stint on the Castaways stage. He had wound up playing both sets, melding easily with the others. Connor’s band members were all experienced studio musicians, well accustomed to accepting changes on the fly. Ian finished his mug, reentered the kitchen, and filled it a second time, then returned to the dawn. The fire he had always taken for granted was still gone. And yet, for the first time in months, the taste of ashes was absent as well. Strange as it was to admit, Ian looked forward to another series of studio takes.
What was more, he had an idea how the session might take shape.
Ian decided to call Arthur and treat it as a sort of test. Involve himself in the work to come. See if this mildly pleasant sensation remained intact.
Arthur greeted him with a typically bitter “I suppose you’re ringing to ruin my day. Something to the effect you’re going to be late. Or not show up at all.”
“I hope I’m not calling too early.”
“What, you think perhaps if I’d finished my morning constitutional, I’d be more open to your version of bad news?”
“You mentioned bringing in studio musicians, adding some depth to portions of my first session.”
Arthur snorted. “Having second thoughts, are we? Looking to make fresh misery for me and Danny both? Seeing as how we’re already working the segments into the film’s final cut.”
“Is there any chance you could bring the musicians in today?”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“I have an idea about the next scenes.”
“And?”
“Could we hold off discussing this further until I’m in the studio?”
“Am I going to bitterly regret saying yes?”
“Hard to say.” Ian was grinning as he added, “One more thing.”
“Yes? What further misery have you concocted to ruin this perfectly good morning?”
“Your neighbor, Connor Larkin.”
“I’ve already heard about your invading his rare appearance onstage.” Arthur grumbled, then allowed, “Wasn’t altogether a bad night, by all accounts.”
“Could you phone him, ask if maybe he’d be willing to join us?”
There was a moment’s silence, followed by a faint gurgling sound.
Ian asked, “Are you laughing?”
“Certainly not. You’ve got some bloody nerve, I’ll give you that much.”
“Is that a yes? Hello?”
But the old man had already hung up.
* * *
Connor Larkin was already there when Ian arrived. The actor was sprawled on the front room’s leather sofa, cradling a mug of coffee. “Vanessa, Larry, and Leo are on their way,” he said in greeting. “They all live in San Lu. Be another half hour or so.”
Arthur demanded, “You asked your band to trek north on the basis of a few words from this one?”
“Nobody required convincing,” Connor replied. “I mentioned Ian’s name, and they were already moving.”
