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and included me as if I was part of the family. James handed the valet another hundred for having his pickup already waiting. James let the valet help me in and I was annoyed at myself for being disappointed James hadn’t assisted me.
    I found the whole restaurant experience rather confusing. James wasn’t a complete jerk, but he could be rather abrasive and rude at times. Nevertheless, everyone at his steakhouse seemed to love him. He seemed to have a lot to affection for them too. Again, I saw a side of James I didn’t expect, completely the opposite from the man that swore I’d be begging to have sex with him. When I thought about his softer side, I almost believed that I might.
    We drove west to the coast and then along the ocean on Highway 1 into Malibu. James pulled up to a gated house along the ocean and the iron gate opened for him. Inside the tall exterior walls beyond the gate was a Spanish style house with a red tile roof. Okay, it was a mansion. Not the rock star haven I might have imagined, but a lovely, well maintained and landscaped yard surrounding a rather large two-story house that could have easily been home to a well-to-do family. I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it.
    We pulled up to the front of the house on a large covered driveway. Wow! I’d never been in a house like this and I wondered what I’d find inside despite the well-maintained exterior. I half expected a huge man cave filled with tacky furnishings, posters featuring bikini clad woman and empty pizza boxes. I couldn’t have been more wrong. James’ house was as beautiful inside as it was outside. Rich wood, marble floors, soaring ceilings and a wall of windows overlooking a beautiful pool and the Pacific Ocean. I immediately went to the windows, drawn to the amazing view. I looked out over the water and then at James, finding the home and the man incompatible.
    “It’s beautiful,” I said. Nothing in the house spoke of the abrasive rock star that lived here.
    “Thanks. You look surprised,” he said as he offered me a bottle of water he had retrieved after putting the cheesecake away.
    “I guess I am. This isn’t what I expected,” I admitted.
    “Come with me,” James said and his hand found the small of my back again as he lead me away from the windows. I allowed him to do it, mostly because my temper had been quenched by the meal and the beautiful view. However, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it when James touched me like that.
    We approached a set of French doors at end of the expansive living room and as James opened them, I saw the man cave I expected but it wasn’t tacky or unkempt. The room was all James Turner. It screamed rock star but in a classy sort of way. Guitars hung on one wall and a collection of amps sat below them. A sofa and ornate table anchored the wall opposite the guitars and against the far wall was a large, oak desk and leather chair in front of another bank of windows. Concert photos and platinum albums hung everywhere. Memorabilia sat on selves, mostly music related.
    “ This is home,” was all he said and offered me a seat as he went to the sofa. I followed but something caught my attention. A poem, handwritten on a cocktail napkin, hung framed on the wall. I stopped to read it.
     
    She awaits in my mind, a vision, a goddess, a haze.
    I am no good, not worthy of her but nevertheless I crave.
    She looks upon me and lays me bare with her fiery gaze.
    I am powerless before her, a broken, willing slave .

 
    ~6~
     
    “What’s this?” I asked. The poem was beautiful if not a little dark.
    “That’s James Turner 101, little girl,” he said and then picked up a remote and music came from unseen speakers. James sorted through songs I didn’t recognize until he found the one he wanted. He motioned for me to join him. “Take off your shoes and get comfy,” he told me. I did, seeing no harm in it. As I sat, a soulful song slowly built in volume and filled the room. Two