Malibu Rising: A Novel - Taylor Reid (top 10 motivational books .TXT) 📗

June on the cheek in the driveway. “We’re really going to be something together. You know that, don’t you?” he asked her.

And June beamed. “Of course I know that.”

He held her hand tight as she tried to walk back into her house, as if she could drag him with her. He dropped it at the very last second, not wanting to say goodbye. He stayed in his car until she waved at him from her bedroom window. Then he backed out and went on his way.

Christina found June in the bathroom moments later, washing her face. Christina was already in her robe; she’d set her hair in rollers to sleep in.

“June, are you sure?” Christina asked.

June felt her shoulders begin to slump. She straightened them out. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I know he’s handsome and I know he’s got a great voice but …”

“But what, Mom?” June asked.

Christina shook her head. “Just make sure he knows how to run a restaurant.”

“Did it ever occur to you,” June said, feeling her voice getting higher, “that I might be meant for something bigger than a restaurant off the side of the road?”

Christina’s face tightened, her lips pursed together, as if she was guarding herself against her daughter’s sharp tongue. June braced herself for a moment, unsure how her mother would react. But Christina softened once more.

“I know you like all this flash, honey,” she said. “But a good life is knowing people care about you, knowing you can take care of the people that count on you, knowing you’re doing a little something in your community. The way your father and I do that is by feeding people. I truly can’t think of much bigger than that. But that’s just me.”

June apologized and kissed her mother good night. And then she picked up a copy of Sub Rosa and imagined, one day, reading about Mick in those pages.

• • •

Mick started getting paying gigs at restaurants in Hollywood and Beverly Hills singing standards while rich people ate dinner. Then he booked a few clubs in Hollywood with a backup band he’d put together called the Vine.

With each show, June became prouder and prouder, telling anyone who would listen that she was marrying a professional musician.

Mick and the Vine booked a show in a small casino in Las Vegas, a week on a cruise to Ensenada, a wedding for the head of Sunset Studios.

Then the Mocambo called with an offer for Mick to do two shows there solo. June jumped up and down when he told her. Mick picked her up and swung her in the air.

The first night at the club, June came with him and stood behind the curtain as he sang, staring at the stars who came and took seats. She thought she saw Desi Arnaz. She could have sworn Jayne Mansfield was there.

When Mick finished at the Mocambo, he was invited to play at the brand-new Troubadour in West Hollywood. And suddenly, there it was, his name on a marquee. MICK RIVA: ONE NIGHT ONLY.

June delighted in it all. “I’m marrying Mr. Mick Riva,” she would say to Mrs. Hewitt, who ran the grocery; Mr. Russo, who delivered the clams to the restaurant; Mrs. Dunningham at the bank. “He just did two nights at the Mocambo. Don Adler was there. I saw him there with my own eyes. The night before he was there, Ava Gardner had come in. Ava Gardner!”

She showed off her tiny ring to her childhood best friends and the girls who picked up shifts at the restaurant sometimes. “He’s going to be a big singer one day, already is practically,” she’d say.

Two months later, Mick finally got his meeting with Frankie Delmonte at Runner Records. A week after that, he came to June’s house with a record deal and a new ring. This one twice the size of an apple seed.

“You didn’t have to do this,” June said. It was so brilliant, so bright white.

“I wanted to do it,” Mick said. “I don’t want you walking around with a tiny little something. You need bigger, you need better.”

June had liked the small little ring. And she liked this one, too.

“Just wait,” Mick said. “We’re gonna have so much money it’s gonna be embarrassing.”

June laughed but that night, she went to bed dreaming about their future. What if they could have a king-sized bed? And a Cadillac? What if they could have three kids or even four? What if they could get married on the sand, under a huge tent?

When she confessed these ideas to him, asking if he thought any of it was possible, he always told her the same thing. “I’ll give you the world.”

He would whisper it in her ear as he took off her dress. He would pledge it to her as he put his leg between hers. “Anything you want. I’m going to make sure you get it.” He would run his hand down her back, kiss the skin behind her ears, grab her hips.

Who could blame June for how often she lay naked beside him before they were married? When he knew so well how to touch her?

When they realized June was pregnant, neither of them was surprised.

• • •

“June,” Christina said as she shook her head, standing in the kitchen of Pacific Fish, whispering her frustration. “I thought you were smarter than this, honey.”

“I’m sorry,” June said, nearly in tears. “I’m sorry.”

Christina sighed. “Well, you’re going to have to move up the wedding. That’s first. And then I guess we will get you a forgiving dress. And figure out the rest as we go.”

June dried her eyes.

“You’re not the first woman in the world to lose her head over a man,” Christina said.

June nodded.

“C’mon, now,” Christina said. “Cheer up, buttercup. It’s a beautiful thing.” She pulled June into her arms and kissed the top of her head.

Mick and June said “I do” in a tent under the stars, right there on the sands of Malibu. Family on her side. Some music