need to be possessed in the way that Jon dominated her?
He led her up the path toward a set of stone steps. The house was set back with a longer-than-usual portico flanked by tall columns. Above the flat roof of the portico she noticed a double set of French doors and a terrace bounded by ornate metal work unlike anything she’d seen before.
“You’ve a thing for metal work?”
“I enjoy the aqua patina that accents the surface of copper.”
They passed by large urns stationed on either side of the walk at the front steps holding tropical-looking palms and colorful bromeliads. A large doorway loomed filled with a set of double-doors stained a dark crimson red.
“Feng shui?” she asked.
“Harvey DeLoni,” he answered. “Landscape designer. I gave him a rough idea and he delivered. I can’t say the door is my favorite, but then again I don’t notice it much anymore.”
He opened it without a key. Her stomach dropped about three feet. “Is there someone here? I mean, after what we just did,” she whispered, a half-sweep of her hands fluttering between them as though she didn’t want to blatantly refer to the hood-top welcome she’d received.
“No one. Just us.” Inside, he stopped her. “I want you to know, I don’t intend on keeping you here with me in this part of the house. Not if you need your privacy. I’ve thought it through and had an idea. Nothing that can’t be altered, if you’ll listen before overreacting.”
“I don’t overreact.”
“My instep says otherwise. Even so, come with me.”
He walked her through his home that included a large comfortable living room with leather couches and a low-slung cocktail table, a stone fireplace, and large pieces of artwork on the walls. Colorful abstracts in the Kandinsky form, reminding her of the prints her parents, or really her father, had framed in his office. Clean lines. All very neat and tidy, and so like the image of Jonathan Lansing.
They walked through the kitchen, another monstrously large room with bay windows and a large, round wooden pedestal table. She could almost imagine him sitting there, but without any companion it seemed heartbreakingly lonely.
He opened a glass-paneled door and held it for her to pass through the doorway first. Outside, a large pool overlooked a natural rock formation with a waterfall cascading into a hot tub on the other side.
On the opposite side of the pool, a guest cottage lay in wait. “I was thinking you could move in there. You’d have your own space, and you’d be free to come and go. This would be where you stay, and practice. The studio is downstairs. Yours to use as you like. No need to feel ashamed of hiding out. This arrangement is perfectly legitimate and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Roger Altwood stayed there and recorded his double-platinum hit last fall. No one blinked an eye.”
“The man who is now touring Europe with Inkwell as his opening act?”
“Him. The same. He basically laid it all down here. Stayed for a month, at least. What do you say?”
“He’s pretty wild. How did he leave the place?”
Jon smiled. “You’re astute. Dwayne’s been manning a crew all day to get it together. It wasn’t trashed, just more lived-in than you’d appreciate.”
“I’m not saying it’s the greatest idea I’ve heard yet. And a full studio? At my fingertips?” Had he read her Facebook journal and bucket list? #5 Find studio and record without concerns of time or cost. At the present moment, each time Orion went into the studio they might as well have a meter on the door. They signed an agreement by the hour. Now, they’d have a place… “Can the rest of the band come here as well? You know, to use the studio.”
He stopped and brushed the hair from his forehead, and the act said more than if he’d laid down a stack of rules. “I imagined that’s what you’d want. So, of course.”
“They wouldn’t come here and throw the furniture into the pool.
He led her up the path toward a set of stone steps. The house was set back with a longer-than-usual portico flanked by tall columns. Above the flat roof of the portico she noticed a double set of French doors and a terrace bounded by ornate metal work unlike anything she’d seen before.
“You’ve a thing for metal work?”
“I enjoy the aqua patina that accents the surface of copper.”
They passed by large urns stationed on either side of the walk at the front steps holding tropical-looking palms and colorful bromeliads. A large doorway loomed filled with a set of double-doors stained a dark crimson red.
“Feng shui?” she asked.
“Harvey DeLoni,” he answered. “Landscape designer. I gave him a rough idea and he delivered. I can’t say the door is my favorite, but then again I don’t notice it much anymore.”
He opened it without a key. Her stomach dropped about three feet. “Is there someone here? I mean, after what we just did,” she whispered, a half-sweep of her hands fluttering between them as though she didn’t want to blatantly refer to the hood-top welcome she’d received.
“No one. Just us.” Inside, he stopped her. “I want you to know, I don’t intend on keeping you here with me in this part of the house. Not if you need your privacy. I’ve thought it through and had an idea. Nothing that can’t be altered, if you’ll listen before overreacting.”
“I don’t overreact.”
“My instep says otherwise. Even so, come with me.”
He walked her through his home that included a large comfortable living room with leather couches and a low-slung cocktail table, a stone fireplace, and large pieces of artwork on the walls. Colorful abstracts in the Kandinsky form, reminding her of the prints her parents, or really her father, had framed in his office. Clean lines. All very neat and tidy, and so like the image of Jonathan Lansing.
They walked through the kitchen, another monstrously large room with bay windows and a large, round wooden pedestal table. She could almost imagine him sitting there, but without any companion it seemed heartbreakingly lonely.
He opened a glass-paneled door and held it for her to pass through the doorway first. Outside, a large pool overlooked a natural rock formation with a waterfall cascading into a hot tub on the other side.
On the opposite side of the pool, a guest cottage lay in wait. “I was thinking you could move in there. You’d have your own space, and you’d be free to come and go. This would be where you stay, and practice. The studio is downstairs. Yours to use as you like. No need to feel ashamed of hiding out. This arrangement is perfectly legitimate and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Roger Altwood stayed there and recorded his double-platinum hit last fall. No one blinked an eye.”
“The man who is now touring Europe with Inkwell as his opening act?”
“Him. The same. He basically laid it all down here. Stayed for a month, at least. What do you say?”
“He’s pretty wild. How did he leave the place?”
Jon smiled. “You’re astute. Dwayne’s been manning a crew all day to get it together. It wasn’t trashed, just more lived-in than you’d appreciate.”
“I’m not saying it’s the greatest idea I’ve heard yet. And a full studio? At my fingertips?” Had he read her Facebook journal and bucket list? #5 Find studio and record without concerns of time or cost. At the present moment, each time Orion went into the studio they might as well have a meter on the door. They signed an agreement by the hour. Now, they’d have a place… “Can the rest of the band come here as well? You know, to use the studio.”
He stopped and brushed the hair from his forehead, and the act said more than if he’d laid down a stack of rules. “I imagined that’s what you’d want. So, of course.”
“They wouldn’t come here and throw the furniture into the pool.
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