His Vinyl Vixen Read online

  If he could speak to her without looking like a complete asshole, all the better. He quickly apologized and explained that he had bought her coffee.

  After that, the conversation hadn’t been too terrible. Even when she said, “fuck off with your coffee,” she seemed to have been eyeing his guitar, and his chest.

  She probably thinks I’m a hippie poseur who’s got no talent whatsoever.

  And why was he caring about her perception of him? Nobody had ever affected him that deeply on a first meeting. He never thought he cared for the hardcore punk aesthetic. But suddenly, he was coming around. Maybe it was her scent. Something about getting a whiff of her as she spun around had reminded him of special treats, like a kid getting surprise strawberry shortcake for breakfast.

  She was so striking, he could come around on a lot of things. Pantomime. The word “slacks.” Cheaply built McMansions. If he found out she liked any of those awful things, Kai would be the first in line for that bandwagon.

  When she had consented to shake his hand, she felt cool to the touch, and it matched her overall cool, attractive, confident demeanor. But still, there was something else there. Her skin was impeccable, her hand felt soft and welcoming inside of his. Even as she was telling him that his favorite pastime, busking, was loitering, he sensed she didn’t actually believe that. Or, that she was making an exception for him because she liked him. Whatever the reason, the little punk female was giving him hope.

  After his encounter with Zara, Kai questioned his plan to stay in Sea Grove just long enough to earn a few bucks. He decided right then and there, that was a terrible plan.

  He had no idea what the new plan was. Kai had never spoken to anyone quite like Zara in his whole life. Just one look at her had kicked the shit out of his heart, and he was happier for it.

  Chapter 3

  Zara

  Dusty entered the store smiling to herself, the doorbell signaling her presence with its sweet six-note chime that was only recognized by their most frequent customers as “Mama, I’m Coming Home.”

  “Good morning, Ozzy, hope you’ve been watching over my sweet baby Zara, hard at work,” Dusty chirped.

  Zara didn’t want to know why she was so chipper and she wasn’t going to ask. “You do know Ozzy is still alive, right?”

  “Of course he is, doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him,” Dusty replied, flipping around the “Open” sign.

  Zara shook her head and continued working on getting her mother’s books in order. Looking at the ledger, it was easy to see her mother was not a gifted bookkeeper. “What is ‘bird banders’ and why is there a debit of $50 next to this entry?”

  Dusty was fingering her hair in the reflection of a Bad Company CD. “Oh come on, you know. It’s when wildlife experts get together on the beach and put little bracelets on birds, so they can track the population. I mean, you’re an Ivy League graduate, are you not? Aren’t you the one who is supposed to be telling me what things are and are not?”

  Zara took a beat to sip her coffee before she snapped back. She had switched to the coffee from Voltaire’s. Her stainless mug sat by the register, ignored.

  Voltaire’s coffee was good. House blend, cream, no sugar. It was a good thing Kai had not given this coffee for Dusty, because she liked sugar.

  “Mom, I know what bird banding is. I’m asking you, why would Vinyl Vixen, a record store that is not exactly comfortably in the black at this moment, have an entry in the ledger for bird banding?”

  Dusty set about opening a box of something that had just come in from the parcel service. She attacked it carefully with box cutters. “Well, it is a good idea to record your donations, is it not? I thought you would be proud of me for remembering to do that. You know, like a tax write-off? Ooh, yay, the new Foo Fighters on vinyl! I have an online customer waiting for this; god knows why he orders from little ol’ me. Goddamn, I would leave this all behind if that scruffy Dave Grohl ever came walking through this door. Beach Avenue? See ya! Wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

  “Dave Grohl is like, intensely married, mother. And also, you have no business giving to charity in that amount. Do you have a receipt?”

  Dusty turned off the Grateful Dead on the stereo and replaced it with one of her old blues-guitar stand-bys, Jed “Big Daddy” Masters. Jed always put a dreamier look on her face than even the Foo. She swayed to the roaring guitar licks with her eyes closed, like a wanna-be groupie.

  “Hmm? Receipt?” Dusty said absently. “Hey, you know, I wonder if old Jed is married? I bet he’s a sly one. You know, I’ve never been a mistress, maybe I should give it a try. They say you should do one thing that scares you every day.”

  Zara clicked her mechanical pencil on the glass counter that encased a collection of signed concert memorabilia. One was a pair of eyeglass frames that resembled Buddy Holly’s. Zara looked at the frames and wondered why her mother would never have them appraised and put up for sale. She could certainly use the money, if they were real. But, there was no way they could be authentic. They would have to be in the Smithsonian, wouldn’t they?

  Zara sighed and rubbed her eyes. Then her eyes fell on to Dusty’s smart phone that was propped up against the register. Zara picked it up and checked the battery life. Dead. As always. She plugged it into a charger for her.

  “Ma, can we focus please? Why do you have an entry for bird banding in the ledger?”

  “Every spring those scientists come to town to do their thing with the birds nesting on the beach, and I gave them all vouchers. You never know, they could be back this way for vacation over the summer and now they’ll have money to spend.”

  “Your money to spend. And also, that’s not a charitable donation, but it’s decent marketing. That is tax deductible. But you need to find the receipt. And you have to keep better records. Every cent you give away should be carefully accounted for.”

  Big Daddy howled over the speaker system and Dusty clomped over in her Frankenstein-platform boots to kiss her daughter on the forehead. “You’re so smart. I love you.”

  “Love you too.” Zara pointed to Dusty’s smartphone. “But I wish you wouldn’t leave your phone down here overnight.”

  Dusty shrugged. “You know those things confuse me. I would much rather talk to people on a land line. It’s way sexier. The sound quality is totally different. It’s like listening to an mp3 versus a record. Digital has no soul!”

  Zara struggled not to roll her eyes. She had heard this speech way too many times.

  Fortunately, Dusty jumped to yet another topic. “So what are we doing for your big birthday?”

  “It’s not a big deal. I’m only 21.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? We need to go out and party!” Dusty exclaimed, miming a bottle-drinking gesture with both her hands.

  “You know I’m not much of a drinker, Ma.”

  Dusty eyed her daughter. “Baby girl, when I was your age, I was tearing it up with my friends. That summer after high school graduation, we were partying on the beach every night.”

  Zara watched Dusty put the new Foo Fighters stack of vinyl under “G” for “Grunge.” Zara walked over to correctly file them under hard rock. The Foo Fighters had far outlived grunge.

  “Yeah, well, I graduated a year early and I didn’t like anybody at my high school, so I sorta missed all of the local yokel hootenannies.”

  Dusty laughed. “Yeah, you’ve always been your own person, and I love that about you, babe. But you do have a pulse, as far as I can tell. If I were you, I certainly wouldn’t be stuck inside a shop all day long. I’d be outside flirting with that cute young thing out there who’s making googly eyes at you right now, playing Johnny Cash.”

  Zara, before thinking, darted her eyes toward the plate glass window. On the other side, Kai was staring straight at her while loudly singing the chorus to “Ring of Fire.” The eye contact made her stomach flip, and Dusty caught it.

  “Go talk to him!” Dusty said.

  Zara blushed. She wished
her mother would stay out of her love life. She flipped the ledger closed and shoved it into a metal filing cabinet, slamming it shut. “Because flirting with random hippies worked out really well for you at 21.”

  Dusty’s eyes widened at this cruel remark. “Really?”

  Zara realized her emotional confusion had made her lash out at her mom and she instantly regretted it.

  “Ma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Dusty shrugged and set about dusting and straightening. “It’s fine, baby. And it’s true. But remember, you wouldn’t have all this luxury at your disposal without me.” Dusty gestured around the shop with a wide wave of her arm. “Including the water-stained ceiling and lead-painted windows! It’s all yours in the will, princess!”

  Zara laughed. “OK, let me make it up to you. I’ll let you take me out for my 21st birthday.”

  Dusty laughed and wandered over to the outdated computer behind the front counter, plonking herself down in the aging office chair. “Oh, you have no choice in the matter, we are doing that either way. But what you can do is help me organize the block party for the Fourth of July.”

  Zara gave her usual attitude about community events. “Oh yay. Fourth of July. Fireworks. Kids. Meat. Fire. Outdoors. Excellent.”

  Dusty smiled. “Thank you so much, babe. You are my favorite daughter.”

  Zara shook her head. “Well, if you were gonna have another one you better get started now.”

  “Yeah right, with who?”

  “I don’t know, the parcel carrier seems to dig you.”

  Dusty squinted at the screen and tapped the keyboard. “Honestly I don’t trust myself in a relationship with any man other than my reclusive e-mail customers, whom I’ll never meet in real life. Not after everything that happened with your dad.”

  “Oh, Mom. Give yourself some credit. You did manage to not raise me in a teepee.”

  “Barely. Ah, finally, here’s that blasted flier I was working on.”

  “Since I was seven. It counts.”

  “Still feels like yesterday since I woke up to all your dad’s shenanigans.” She tapped on the keyboard and made some edits to the Fourth of July party flier.

  Zara peered over her mother’s shoulder. “Yeah, well, it’s ancient history, and Walter is not exactly worthy of the ‘Dad’ title while sitting in prison.”

  “You know he’s still making fake profiles on social media to stalk me and telling everyone that I bankrupted an entire non-profit group of peace activists.”

  Her father’s antics knew no bounds — not even from prison — and it made Zara angry thinking about it. “The people who really know you know the truth. If anyone else doesn’t see how amazing you are, then fuck them.”

  “Zara!” Dusty spun around in her chair with a shocked look on her face.

  “Oh, what, you want me to call you by your first name like you’re such a cool mom, but you’re gonna get scandalized and grab your pearls because I use a cuss word that I have heard you using daily since birth?”

  “I’ll have you know it’s a spiked leather choker, not pearls. And yes. You are a lady.”

  Zara sipped her coffee but grinned. “I may be a lady, but I learned how to cuss from the best of the ladies.”

  As she smiled at her mother, she looked over her shoulder and stole a glance at Kai through the front window to where he was playing to a group of teenagers.

  She could tell Kai had been staring again but had looked away when she looked his way. He was strumming his way through an acoustic version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Zara could not keep herself from grinning in approval.

  Just then, one of their regular customers, Ben from Orange County, walked in. Music geeks and old-timers all over Southern California sought this place out. Sometimes just to shoot the shit with Dusty and Zara.

  So, it was a good thing Zara had been in love with music since the time she could walk. As a result, her mother employed her as a bit of a parlor trick to impress the hardcore collectors.

  On this day, Ben said nothing, but walked right up to Zara and hummed a few bars of a chorus. Zara took this as her cue that he was trying to locate a certain song, but he couldn’t remember the name of it or who sang it. She listened to Ben for about 15 seconds, then sighed and muttered, “‘Goodnight Sweet Josephine.’ Yardbirds. Filed under Y in overrated 1960s wannabe psychedelic music. Over there.”

  Dusty scoffed. “A bit judgmental, Zara?”

  Zara shrugged. “Ben can handle it.”

  Ben shrugged, nodded in agreement and made his way over to peruse the oddly specific section of vintage records.

  Speaking of filing systems, Zara needed to check on the store’s crowning achievement. She walked over to another massive filing cabinet and pulled open one drawer. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Dusty smiled. “Don’t worry, angel. I didn’t even touch your files. It’s all just as you left it.”

  Zara seemed satisfied, then turned to her mother. “Yes, but did you file the actual music according to the system I have set up in the cabinet?”

  “No comment,” replied Dusty.

  Zara shut the drawer a little louder than necessary and pinched the bridge of her nose. She breathed, and Dusty continued. “Besides, what does it matter? You are a snob. A music snob and a genius who can practically smell which song a customer is looking for the second they walk in.”

  Zara gave another signature eye roll. “True enough. Guess I’ve got all summer to sort it out again.”

  Dusty sighed. “Well, that sounds like super-awesome fun in the sun. You know, they make medicine for OCD people such as yourself.”

  But Zara was ignoring Dusty’s comments, because someone else was catching her eye again. Kai was now somehow managing to vamp his way from Nirvana into “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” by Aretha Franklin. She laughed. She had to admit he had a good sense of humor and a nice enough singing voice.

  Then she caught herself smiling directly at him and turned away.

  Back to work, Zara.

  Chapter 4

  Kai

  Four days into his summer vacation—or whatever this was—and the shy smiles from the girl in the scary boots were coming at him with increasing frequency. That was something. He had made the terrifyingly hot girl smile.

  But was she a goth girl? A punk girl? Hardcore? Something in between? Soon enough, he would find out. Not like he was overly concerned what she identified as. As long as very soon she could identify as his girlfriend.

  Girlfriend.

  He liked the sound of that.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself, man. She doesn’t really like you. She already said she doesn’t trust hippies. And she sure isn’t gonna like your whole complete backstory.

  But over the Memorial Day weekend, he had seen that shy smile more often than he had seen her punk girl scowl.

  As it happened, the holiday foot traffic on Beach Avenue had been pretty lucrative. But even if he’d made zero dollars in tips, just seeing her look at him like that felt like he’d made a platinum record.

  The holiday had come and gone, and now it was June. He had made bank with the crowd pleasers. This morning, Kai was breaking out his truly favorite things to play. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Pink Floyd. Even threw some prog rock and yacht rock in there from time to time. What could he say? He enjoyed him some Michael McDonald and Doobie Brothers.

  For the morning after Memorial Day, he was doing pretty well in tips. He was starting to get hungry, so he counted up his take so far. He had just enough to get something really special for Zara for lunch.

  Just then, Dusty stepped outside and Kai enthusiastically wailed the first few bars of “Crazy Train” on his guitar.

  “You know me well,” she said with a grin, handing him a bottled water. “Just wanted you to know my store’s receipts are up from the last two Memorial Day weekends, and Zara thinks it has something to do with you.”

  He smiled and stopped p
laying to take the bottle. “She does?” He sounded a little too excited and corrected himself. “I mean, oh, yeah? She does? I mean, that’s cool. I wouldn’t want to, you know, drive traffic away.”

  Dusty smiled knowingly and watched him drink his water. Kai could tell she wanted to say something else.

  “How would you like a real job?”

  That was not what he was expecting her to say. He was expecting her to say something like, If you break my daughter’s heart I will break your face. But that was pretty well implied just being around those two.

  “A job?”

  Dusty nodded. “Look, I know what we talked about before. And I still want you to be on the lookout for unsavory characters while you’re here. But, I just wondered if there was any chance you’d be interested in…staying. Taking a real job. Hanging around.”

  Kai caught her meaning completely. She was full of surprises. “Yeah,” he said, his smile broadening. “Yeah, I’d love a job. I mean, I’d want it keep playing if I could—and watching out for the other stuff we talked about—but I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  “That’s good to know, because I have to leave town for a couple of days. I haven’t told Zara, but I’m gonna be taking a little vacation. She can run the place just fine, but we’ll need an extra pair of hands. And eyes. And ears. I don’t want her in the shop by herself. And I’d love for you to agree to provide entertainment for this Fourth of July block party I’m hosting. I’m making it a fundraiser for the women’s shelter in Sand Hill.”

  Kai was bowled over but tried not to sound too enthusiastic about the idea of being alone in the shop with Zara. “Whatever you need. Put me to work. In fact, do you need a stage? I can build you one.” So much for playing it cool.

  Dusty looked pleasantly surprised. “Really? Wow, that’s great! You’re a good man, Kai, thank you.” She put out her hand and shook his. “Glad to have you on board. Zara will be your point person on party planning, so any questions, just go straight to her.”