Welcome to Hayleywood

Chapter Four: Passenger Seat

            Cameron’s car is well, interesting….I mean, it’s not really clean, but not exactly very dirty either. If that makes sense. It’s more of organized chaos, I guess you could say. If you open up the little compartment in front of you, you’ll find a ton of those little books that you can put C.D.’s in. But that’s not it. There are more above you, in a slip-on case on the mirror you can pull down.

            “So…You like music?” I ask.

            “Not really,” he says, surprising me.

            Well, that’s quite an understatement.

            “I mean, I have to go to all these album release parties with my dad, and you just kinda get them for free,” he explains.

            “And you kept them all-in the open?” I ask remembering all the clothes stashed in our closets and the boxes of Flip video cameras we have stacked in our hall closet.

            “Well, yeah, I mean, they’re not that bad. And you have to admit, they haven’t got one decent station in Hollywood. It’s all that pop savvy music with fake vocals. None of those singers even have a strong singing voice.”

            I mean, you can’t just argue with that. Everything he said was true.

            “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I say.

            “Wanna pick one?” he motions to the C.D.’s I’ve pulled out on my lap.

            I’m still thinking about what he said before, so I’m lost. “Oh, um, sure,” I finally realize what he asked me.

            I choose a C.D. titled “Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop” by The Maine. I’ve never heard of the band, so this should be interesting.

            I stick it into the C.D. slot and it begins playing the first track.

            Cameron grins. “Good choice,”

            “Thanks,” I say.

            I have to admit, this band isn’t even that bad. They’re actually good-really good. The lead singer, John, has got one of the greatest voices I’ve ever heard. I mean, it’s great. “Why don’t they ever play them on the radio?” I think aloud.

            I’m hoping Cameron didn’t hear that, considering I didn’t even mean to blurt that out.

            “I don’t know,” he says, as we drive down Rodeo Drive. “They’re not from big record labels, so it’s just…they don’t have a radio station for this kind of music.”

            “They ought to,” I think silently as I watch people cross the street.

            I almost swore Cameron read my thoughts or something, because he said, “Yeah, I mean, they really should,”

            I look back outside the window. We’re almost there.

            Once we pull up in front of Cameron’s house, I pull out my Sidekick.

            2 missed calls.

            Crap.

            It’s just Jess and, oh man, Mom.

            I check to see what time she called-5:30 P.M.

            I check the time now-6:30 P.M.