When Mike was right, he was right. And he was right to be smugly proud of his music setup.
The music room he'd built at his pad was a kingdom unto itself, and boasted a stereo system, recording equipment and a collection of acoustic and electric guitars. But the house, and its location high in the Hollywood Hills, almost drove the promise of hearing her late brother Benny's only existing recording right from Bonnie's mind.
It wasn't an enormous house but it seemed to hang on the edge, with a narrow outside deck facing the city running the length of the house.
"Holy crap Nesmith! You didn't tell me you lived in Tibet." Bonnie ran straight from the front door through the large, open living room and out the middle door in the wall of glass opposite.
"Whoa, slow down there," Mike strode after her. "That drop's a killer."
She'd stopped short at the deck rail and was staring bug-eyed at the view over the hills, the city, and straight to the ocean. Okay, she had to squint just a little to see the water but so what?
"How did you find this place?"
He shrugged. "Same real estate agent as the other guys. When that first fat check came in, we all went house hunting."
Bonnie looked over her shoulder at him. "But the other guys have huge places, lawns, pools, all that." She'd never seen them herself, but the pictures, and the stories of parties and jam sessions (and groupies), were legend among the crew. She looked down the hillside. "How do you throw a party here without major casualties?"
"No parties, that's how," he said flatly. When she looked surprised he added, "I'm not the other guys. How about I get us a drink and cue up that tape?"
"Can I see the rest of the place?" Bonnie asked, handing him the box she'd been hanging onto since they left the studio.
"Help yourself. Don't lean too far out the windows," he warned as he went to the kitchen. "And don't rummage through the closets," he called after her as she sprinted up the stairs, "today's the maid's day off and it'll take days to dig you out of the rubble."
Bonnie laughed to herself as bounded onto the second floor. It wasn't anything like she'd expected. Aside from a few prints and pieces of native pottery here and there, Nesmith's pad didn't reflect any Southwest décor she'd recognize. It was gleaming white: the walls, ceilings, doors, everything but the dark wood beams. There were skylights above the hallway upstairs. Some doors were open. She peeked into one and knew it had to be a library. Shelves built into the white walls were lined with books. Leather bound literature, paperback classic novels. A little bit of everything.
She ran back into the hallway and yelled down the stairs, "Hey Nesmith, where's the Zane Grey?"
His dark head poked around the corner, his expression not-amused. "I told you before, I ain't no cowboy. Not everybody from Texas is a shitkicker. Now c'mon down here before the wine gets warm." He disappeared again.
Wine?
"Wine?" she called after him as she looked into a standard, if upscale, granite-lined bathroom. Big glassed in shower, and an oversized tub. She'd have killed to have that instead of the tiny midget-clawfoot model at her place.
"Sorry, stranger, I'm fresh outta rotgut whiskey!" he hollered back.
Before going downstairs Bonnie looked in the last door near the stairs, into an enormous bedroom furnished with what had to be custom-made furniture of Mission oak… a couple of oversized chairs, one low table, a desk and office chair, and side tables next to the bed. More bookcases, stereo speakers set into the walls, and shelves of books and record albums. There were sliding glass doors that led onto a tiled deck furnished with a few more, smaller sized Mission tables and chairs. Against the bedroom wall, facing the glass doors, was the biggest bed she'd ever seen, with a towering oak headboard. A patchwork of spreads made of rabbit, some of velvet, and a huge swath of what looked like chinchilla was strewn all over it. Unable to believe it, Bonnie ventured into the room and reached out to touch the bed coverings. Oh my god it is chinchilla. She ran her hand across it, and the rabbit and the velvet... all of it. She'd never felt anything so swooningly soft all in one place... what that must feel like against a body… or two of them…
She jumped a mile at the sound of Mike's voice.
"Hope you didn't bring your white glove, like I said it's the maid's day off." He was leaning in the doorway, arms folded, watching her with an amused grin.
"Jesus Nesmith, you wanna give me a heart attack?" Bonnie didn't know if she was more embarrassed by being caught checking out the bed, or by the possibility that he could read on her face what she'd been thinking.
"Well if I did, this would be the place," Mike winked, and walked away. "Now if you're through researching for House Beautiful… feel free to join me in the music room."
Standing there stupidly until she heard the clatter of his boots descending the stairs, Bonnie followed without sparing another look around the bedroom. She knew as well as Nesmith did they'd be back here sometime or other; the only question was when.
