On Tour (17 page)

"Now, that right there's true love," Dan called from his end of the table. "Got yourself a real woman there, Mark." He gave Mark a wink.

George and Randy nodded.

On the ride back to Annapolis the next morning, the reality of the boat explosion hit home. The boat had been Mark's house while in Annapolis. Sure, he stayed over with me when I was home for brief periods during the tour, but we'd never lived together. I was a little nervous about the whole arrangement.

"I can stay at the Executive Suites downtown, if you think it's going to be too cramped at your place."

I glanced over at him. "Do
you
think it's going to be too cramped at my place?"

He sighed. "I don't think so, but I don't want to impose."

It was my hitman after all that had blown up his boat. Okay, so I know it wasn't my fault a hitman was after me, but trouble seemed to follow me like a stray dog. I felt like I was responsible even though I didn't have control over it. Maybe I should get a skull and crossbones tattooed on my forehead. Dual purpose in case I hit the road as a singing pirate again.

Mark peered over at me. "Let's just try it on a temporary basis," he suggested.

I don't know why, but that got my fur up. "Why? Because this relationship is on a temporary basis?"

"Where'd that come from? I didn't say that."

I waved my arms around. "It felt like that's what you were saying."

"I just meant—" He paused. "You know, I don't know what I meant."

He sounded confused. I wasn't comforted. "You're nervous about living with me, right?"

"I guess I am," he said.

I sat back in my seat. "Well, I'm nervous about living with you, too."

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't try it," he said, putting his hand on my leg.

"It seems like we should be excited about it. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?"

He shrugged. "I don't think there's a rulebook for this sort of thing. I really miss the boat."

"I'm sorry about Ed's boat. I can't believe it's gone." We'd had a lot of good times on it. "How did Ed take it?"

Mark laughed. "He said Marci wants to take the insurance money and buy a new yacht."

"I thought Marci didn't like being on a boat?" Ed's trophy wife was not one of my favorite people. Neither was her son, David for reasons described earlier. His snotty attitude and gold digger tendencies set my teeth on edge.

"She seems to be okay if it's a yacht with a hot tub on the deck."

I wouldn't mind that myself. But I doubted Mark's Uncle Ed would be volunteering his new yacht to us anytime soon.

Mark looked in the rearview mirror at Max. He was seat-belted in using his harness and whining about his inability to see outside. "It's okay, boy. You'll be home soon."

I looked back at Max. His ears pricked up at the word "home." His mouth looked a little drooly.

"He doesn't look so good, Mark."

Max made a retching noise.

"I think he's car sick."

"Pit stop," Mark called and pulled into an exit lane in the Kent Narrows area, several miles from the Bay Bridge. "Want to stop for lunch?"

It was almost noon, but we'd had a big Dan breakfast that morning. I suspected Max had had a big Dan doggie breakfast as well. Which would explain why he was so green around the gills. "I'm not that hungry, but I wouldn't mind stretching my legs. Max can sit with us at the Jetty as long as we're outside."

"Jetty it is." Mark pulled into the gravel parking lot of the ramshackle restaurant and bar.

I hadn't played here since last summer. It could get a little crazy when all the bikers were in town. A fight had erupted when I'd launched into "Margaritaville." The bikers had roared for me to stop, and the Hawaiian shirt crowd had demanded I continue. Interestingly enough, the Hawaiian shirt crowd had been ready to throw down to keep the song on the set list. The bouncers had to pull two old guys in shorts and flip flops off a younger biker with a bandana. I played "Margaritaville" that day. Old people rule.

We had to walk through the bar area to the outside seating that ringed the pier. I waved an arm at the bartender. "Alvinnn!" I did a fair impression of the Alvin and the Chipmunks guy.

Alvin looked up. "Lady Di in the house! Yo, we got celebrity status dining with us today. And my man, Max! How ya doin' boy?" He gave me a broad smile and patted his knees at Max.

Max jumped up and gave him a hug. Alvin got a good look at Max's new do. "Woah! Man, looks like he ran into a hedge trimmer." He scratched Max's head.

"It was a five-year old with scissors."

Alvin shook his head. "Chin up, man. Long as you got wag, you got swag." Max wagged his tail.

We exchanged a few pleasantries, and he handed us menus. "No table service until four. Just find a seat, and I'll be out in a few."

We walked around the empty pier until we found a spot out of the direct sun. A family of ducks immediately flocked over to our table next to the water to wait for their share of our food. Max was having none of that. He barked sharply at the ducks, and they scattered away with irritated honks and squawks.

Max jumped up on the chair next to me and curled into a ball with a sigh. "Happy with yourself?" I asked giving him a poke.

Mark laughed. "All in a day's work. He couldn't have those ducks horning in on his treats."

Max's ears perked up at the t-word.

"This place is amazing," Mark said as he looked around the pier. "The inside restaurant goes all the way back to the road. Must be close to an acre of land here."

I looked over the menu at him. "Don't you have enough work to do with the Greene commercial building in Annapolis?"

"I've been a hard-working man while you've been off playing rock star."

I stuck my tongue out at him for that dig.

"I'm done with all the planning. We're just waiting on the city to approve everything, which could be awhile," he added ruefully. "I doubt we'll start actual construction until spring."

"Thought you had some new CIA obligations to fulfill. Something about a small project?" I watched him closely.

He nodded. "I do but nothing full-time or predictable. When they need me, they'll call."

"And you'll take off in the middle of the night and go to God-knows-where." My voice started to take on a panicky note.

Mark placed a hand over mine. "And I'll be gone a few days, and then I'll be back. I'm a logistics guy, remember? I'm not going to be raiding compounds looking for terrorists."

I sighed. We'd been round and round on this topic before. Alvin came over to take our orders.

"Sure you don't want to order crabs, Mark?" I teased.

Alvin lit up. "Man, we've got some awesome number ones in today."

Mark held up a hand. "I'm good, thanks. I'll just have a beer."

"Iced tea and an order of rockfish bites for me, please." I handed Alvin back the menus.

"Hey, Alvin, do you have the owner's contact info?" Mark asked.

"Sure do," Alvin replied. "But he's not going to sell. Man's ninety-two years old and likes things the way they are. Don't care if he's losin' money every month. Stick around. He's usually in for a drink on Saturdays."

"I'd like to talk to him just the same."

Alvin brought a business card with our drinks. We watched people ride jet skis around the bay and sipped our drinks.

"So what would you do to this place?" I asked.

Mark looked thoughtful. "I'd make this into
the
Eastern Shore live music venue. Depending on how much waterfront real-estate there is here, I'd probably add boat slips. I'd add villa-style condos behind us. Probably twenty or so. And on the top floor, I'd build us a penthouse."

I had been looking around as he spoke, picturing the changes. He'd had my attention at "live music venue." My head whipped around. "Penthouse? For us?"

He nodded.

"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" I asked.

"I have a feeling our temporary arrangement is going to work out just fine." He smiled at me, and I melted into his warm brown eyes. A penthouse was heady stuff. I found my mind wandering through the rooms. The deck. The views!

"I can tell from the expression on your face that you've already moved in."

I laughed. "Can't blame a girl for dreaming." I glanced behind us and imagined the three story condo building. An old man sitting at the bar caught my eye. He was wearing a monocle.

I looked at Mark and nodded my head in the man's direction. I pointed to my eye.

"Don't see that every day," Mark commented. "I wonder if he's the owner."

Where do you even buy a monocle these days? Not that there's anything wrong with it. And I'd sure rather see someone with a monocle at this point than a patch.

We finished lunch and said goodbye to Alvin. "Don't be a stranger now that you're famous, Lady Di."

"Never. I'll give you a call in the spring to book something for the summer."

Mark paid the bill and chatted with Alvin for a few minutes.

The guy with the monocle leaned over and said, "Didn't you blow up a boat recently?"

Startled, I stammered, "No, uh, someone was trying to blow me up on the boat."

"You're with that singing pirate, right?"

"I was on tour with him for a while."

He pointed a boney finger at me. "There's your problem." He shook his head knowingly. "Gettin' mixed up with pirates always ends badly."

I didn't even try to explain it wasn't Carlos' fault. I'd found that pirate prejudice ran deep. But the old guy did have a point. If Carlos hadn't stolen my song in the first place, I'd have never been in Puerto Rico and had that run-in with Tyrell.

"I'm trying to avoid pirates these days."

"Wise girl." The old man nodded. "What's your boyfriend want with my restaurant?" He nodded sharply at Mark.

"He's a real estate developer. He's looking for a new project." I was starting to get fidgety. Making eye contact with a monocle wasn't the easiest thing in the world.

"So what's he want to do here? Knock it all down and put in some condos?" He spat out the last word like it tasted bad on his tongue.

"Maybe some villa-style condos. But the main thing he wants to do is make this the best live music venue on the Eastern Shore. Maybe add boat slips."

"Music don't pay," the old man replied sagely. "Been tried before."

"That's because bar owners don't know a damn thing about live entertainment." My hands went to my hips.

"That so." He glinted at me from behind the monocle. "Do tell."

"First off, a great music venue should have a house band. Period. People have got to know there's always going to be someone good on stage. No karaoke. Yeah, I know drunk people love to sing karaoke. Guess what? The real patrons don't like to hear bad singers. They leave and take their wallets with them."

The old man nodded. "Continue. You're on a roll, young lady."

Mark had come up behind me. I felt his hand on my arm. "And you actually have to pay to have good bands. Real money. Now you could save on guest acts if you had a house band, because then you'd have your own sound guy and equipment."

The old man leaned in interestedly. "But where's the return on investment? Let's say I pay some hot shot band a grand to come in here for three hours. Do I sell tickets? Do I have drink minimums? A cover? Regulars don't like that crap." He pounded home his point with a bang on the bar top.

"So get new regulars." Our eyes met. His monocle caught the sun and sparkled like a jewel.

He nodded.

"Now you're talking, young lady! People who don't want dollar beers and ten cent wings. But where do I get customers in the off season?"

"You provide the destination—the best live music venue on the Eastern Shore—book good bands, and the people will come."

He lifted an eyebrow. "If you build it, they will come and all that jazz." He waved a dismissive hand. "What if they don't come?"

Mark leaned in. "That's what the twenty luxury condos are for. Makes the risk on the rest of the project negligible."

Monocle Man noticed him for the first time. "That so? I'd like to see that in writing."

"I can have it to you next week, Mr. Simpson. I'd also like to offer you a price to buy the whole place."

Mr. Simpson dismissed that idea with a wave of his bony hand. "Hah! Not a chance. I got plenty of money and nothing to do. I got lots of ideas and no one to work on them with. If I'm going to do anything, it'll be to bring on a partner for the project."

"An equal partner," Mark squeezed for the concession from the old man.

He sized Mark up and then asked me, "Is he a good man, young lady?"

"He is." It felt formal to say, almost like saying wedding vows.

"Then how come you haven't married him yet?" the old man quizzed.

I shrugged. "He hasn't asked me yet."

We both looked at Mark.

Mark ran his hands through his hair. "Hey! To be fair we've had a lot going on."

I nodded in agreement. But Mr. Simpson was having none of it. "Met my wife at the movies and married her three weeks later. Whatcha got to say to that?" The monocle glinted in the sun.

"I'd have liked to see you try it with this one." Mark pointed at me.

"I just might, at that, if you don't look sharp," the old man chuckled. "Maybe I've been a widower too long." He gave me a wink.

There was a pause, and we all looked out at the water. The old man said softly, "I like your vision, young lady. My wife played a mean autoharp. Used to have the crowd on their feet in this place forty years ago. Might just be an old man's folly, but I'd like to see it like that again."

He pointed to Mark. "Get your numbers together. Be sure to dot your i's and cross your t's. I don't cotton to sloppiness."

Mr. Simpson banged the bar top. "Alvin, three shots of tequila! Get one for yourself, too." Mr. Simpson laughed.

Mark looked over at me.

I raised my shot of tequila. "Never a dull moment, huh?"

We chatted about Mark's new project all the way back to my condo. I was still in shock that we'd gone from an idea to a proposal over lunch. Mark was taking it in stride, but I could tell he couldn't wait to get started on the plans.