“It’s about three seconds,” Beau said.
The valet looked Lola up and down. “Lucky bastard.”
Beau laughed as he took out his wallet. “I won’t argue with that.”
The boy’s eyes bugged wide when he accepted his tip. “And I won’t argue with that! Thank you, sir.”
Beau waved him off to let Lola in the car himself. The three-quarter doors rose up like wings. Inside, only the dashboard lights glowed in the dark.
Once Beau was behind the wheel, Lola found the button on the console that lowered their windows. “It’s such a nice night,” she said.
“I’m not really a wind-in-my-hair type of guy,” he protested.
“Can’t you fake it for a night?”
He shook his head at her teasing smile. “I suppose one night won’t kill me.”
Before he pulled into the street, he reached over and undid Lola’s hair with one hand.
“It’ll get messy,” she said when it fell around her shoulders.
He looked at her, winked and stepped on the gas. “It already is.”
Soon, they were speeding down Sunset Boulevard. “Beau,” Lola called over the engine. Her hands wrapped around her neck and hair. “We’re going fast.”
“What other way is there?” he asked, grinning ear to ear. “Relax. Enjoy the ride.”
She forced her fingers to loosen. The road seemed to open just for them. Beau navigated swiftly through traffic, swerving between cars, racing yellow lights, leaving no room for error so her heart raced with them. Neon lights blurred together as they passed bars, souvenir shops, comedy clubs. Black palm trees silhouetted against the billboards. She released her hair, put her head back and closed her eyes.
“You’re so beautiful, Lola,” Beau said. “The most breathtaking thing.”
It was beautiful. She’d never felt so unattached to everything, even her body. She opened her eyes. Nature and commercialism and Beau were all around her. She loved the car and the new way it allowed her to experience the boulevard she thought she’d seen from every angle.
But she shot up from the headrest when she noticed where they were. “Beau, you’re not taking me to—”
“Hey Joe?” he interrupted. “No. Not even I’m that cruel.”
They passed the bar and stopped several blocks down. She knew the building they parked in front of since she used to walk by it frequently on her way to see Johnny at Hey Joe. “What are we doing?” she asked as he rolled up the windows.
“A nightcap.”
“Does it have to be here? Can’t we do it at the hotel or something?”
“It has to be here.” He got out of the car and then opened her door for her. He placed his large hand at the nape of her neck, guiding her down an alley until they were almost in a parking lot.
“What is this?” Lola asked. “I’ve never been here.”
Beau knocked once on large side door. “Used to be a speakeasy.”
The bouncer leaned out, then stepped aside to let them in.
“You must come here often,” Lola said over her shoulder.
“I like their oysters.”
“Is oyster a euphemism for something else?”
He laughed. “Would that bother you?”
“No.” She looked forward again. “Euphemisms don’t bother me at all.”
They passed through a corridor. The fur articles in the coat check were almost too much for her—it was only the beginning of fall, and it was Los Angeles for heaven’s sake. She parted heavy gold velvet curtains to enter a dimly lit room. To her right, a man in a suit clinked tulip glasses with a woman in pearls.
Despite being a few blocks from Hey Joe, Lola didn’t worry about running into anyone she knew. These were Beau’s people, not hers. She started to tell him she didn’t like it but stopped. Underneath and behind the pretentiousness were gritty brick walls and aged-leather booths the color of whiskey. An impressive backlit wall of liquor glowed bronze. In the center of the room sat a grand piano, and the pianist played “Heart-Shaped Box.”
“By the look on your face, I guess you’re a Nirvana fan,” Beau said.
“I don’t think I could’ve dreamed up a stranger song for this place.”
Beau ordered from the bartender while she watched the pianist play.
“The first time I heard Nirvana was on the radio the day Kurt Cobain died,” she said.
“I remember that day,” Beau said. “I was a teenager, so you must’ve been...”
“Pretty young. I fell in love, though. Johnny hates grunge. He’s rock ’n’ roll straight through.” She took the drink Beau offered her without looking away. “How about you?”
“I’m with Johnny on this one.”
“Really?” She glanced at him.
“Don’t look so surprised. Pink Floyd got me through a lot of late nights at the office.”
Lola stopped bobbing her head and took a sip of her drink. She looked down into the glass.
“Do you like it?” Beau asked. “It’s bourbon.”
“Bourbon isn’t really my thing, but this isn’t bad.” She drank a little more. “It’s smooth. Sweet.”