This One Is Mine: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

my bands. Hey, I saw the Bolshoi is coming. I thought you’d like to go.”
    “Wow, I’d love to. When is it?”
    “April something,” he said. “I’ll be out of town, but I’ll get you tickets —”
    Caw! Caw!
A screech echoed through the breezy canyon. Sally covered her free ear.
    “Well, sounds like you’re busy,” David said with a laugh.
    “No, I’m not, it’s just —”
    “Call if you need anything.”
    Then —
splat!
And
another
splat.
Out of nowhere, the hood of Sally’s truck was freckled with white. And in the tree overhead, parrots! A whole flock of them! “Aaaah!” Sally shut her phone and shielded her hair with the
LA Times
.
Splat-splat
.
Splat-splat. Splat-splat-splat-splat.
Wet bird poop machine-gunned the flimsy newsprint. She jumped into her truck, turned on the engine, and drove into the clear. She opened the door and ditched the gross newspaper on the driveway. Always one to learn from her mistakes, Sally resolved to never again park under a tree without first looking for parrots.
    O VER the past several hours, Violet had found many excuses to wander the streets of Beverly Hills, the jazz music beckoning her through the mash of traffic. At one point, she had stood across from the park and watched him. The song was “My Funny Valentine,” whose lyrics always broke Violet’s heart.
    Your looks are laughable,
    Unphotographable,
    Yet you’re my fav’rite work of art.
    The bass loomed over the bass player. His stance was wide, aggressive, and his arms snaked around the instrument’s neck as if trying to wrestle it to its death. But the bass was surely older than the musician who slapped it. It would survive long after he was dust. Between songs, the wizened black drummer said something to the bassist, who in turn laughed. His same laugh from the bathroom. Violet had felt jealousy, stacked with the preposterousness of such jealousy. She had shaken it off and headed to her car.
    Yet here she was again, an hour later, pulled toward the park and the dismantled health fair. She didn’t realize it until her heart quickened. There he was, getting into a car across Santa Monica Boulevard. Violet hustled through traffic, then flat-out ran up the block to the fenderless Mazda hatchback.
    “Fuck! Fuck!” He pounded the wheel with both hands.
    Violet tapped on the window. Still looking down, he smiled, then cocked his head and met Violet’s eyes. He nodded, as if he’d been expecting her. She motioned for him to roll down the window. He turned the crank with one hand and hooked his finger over the top of the glass.
    “Push down,” his muffled voice instructed Violet. She flattened both hands against the window and pushed. Their combined effort lowered it six inches. “Did I fucking predict this?” he said with a great big laugh. “My car won’t start.”
    “Can I give you a ride home?” she asked. The passenger seat was fully reclined. On it rested the upright bass in a black bag. Violet imagined him tenderly laying the instrument on the tattered seat, and blushed.
    “I need this fucking car,” he said. “I have a champagne brunch gig in Agoura Hills on Sunday, and the rest of the band lives in Ventura, so if someone comes to pick me up, I’ll have to give them gas money, and I’m only making fifty bucks for the gig.”
    “Oh my God. It’s like every other word out of your mouth is gas money.”
    “Excuse me if my biggest concern in life isn’t chocolate and hats.”
    “I have a great mechanic,” she said. “I can have your car towed there. He’ll arrange for a rental and make sure your car is fixed in time for your gig.”
    “Really?” he asked.
    “Really.”
    “That’s the way it’s going to happen?”
    “That’s the way it’s going to happen,” Violet said, “because I’m going to pay for it.” She felt as though she had just hurled herself off a cliff. He looked away, unable to see she was falling, falling. He started chewing his nails. “Stop that,”