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She hardly had enough time to check her e-mails and change her clothes before it was time to pick her up. One of his assistants was waiting outside the hotel in a 1940s panel truck. It was cherry red, and she was enjoying seeing all the things he had told her about that she knew he enjoyed. He had shown her a picture of the truck on his phone. He had rebuilt the engine himself. Wanda, his assistant, was a young girl about Michael's age from Savannah, who had worked for him for three years, and it was obvious how much she admired him and liked him, as she raved about what a terrific person he was all the way to Brentwood. He was obviously good to work for, since the band said that about him too. Wanda chatted easily with Stephanie all the way to the house.

And when they got to Brentwood, she was amazed by the size of his home. It was an enormous, imposing, stately mansion that looked like something out of
Gone
with
the
Wind.
And there were equally large homes and even a few larger ones in the area around him. But his was one of the most beautiful ones there.

“Wow!” Stephanie said, breathless for a moment, as she looked at Wanda. Nothing had prepared her for this.

“It's nice, isn't it?” Wanda said, with a vast understatement about his home.

“It certainly is,” Stephanie said, as she followed her inside, after they left the truck parked out front. It looked incongruous sitting there but somehow seemed perfect with his image. The fabulous house, and the vintage panel truck he had restored. And the moment they stepped inside, she was impressed with how quietly elegant it was. He had beautiful antiques interspersed with more recent pieces, and it all seemed to work. The colors were subdued, and there was something peaceful and welcoming about it. The inside of the house wasn't showy, but it was exquisitely done. And he had some very fine paintings that she liked too. He had obviously put a lot of time and effort into doing his home. Despite his humble beginnings, he had refined taste and the money to indulge it. The house was like him, impressive and discreet.

Wanda led her into an enormous state-of-the-art kitchen, all done in beige and black granite, and from there you could see the beautifully kept gardens behind the house. There was a huge round table in the middle of the kitchen where more than a dozen people could sit comfortably for easy dinners. And they walked through the kitchen into the elaborate high-tech world he had set up behind it, which was the studio where they recorded. He had built it as an addition onto the house. And Stephanie could see Sandy's cottage at the back of the garden, which looked like a little gingerbread house that was perfect for her. Everything about the house and what was in it was great, and infinitely more than she had expected. But she was beginning to know that it was typical of him. Nothing had been done to show off, it had all been designed to live in, comfortably and well, with beautiful things around him, where the people he cared about would be comfortable and feel at ease. It was both casual and impressive all at once. She found him in the studio, talking to the band, while two sound technicians were playing with the mix, and Chase was explaining what he wanted changed. He sounded patient, but looked intent, and totally focused on what he was doing. He didn't even notice for a minute that Stephanie had arrived. Wanda said goodbye and discreetly disappeared. She worked in Chase's office but had nothing to do with his music. And then suddenly he saw Stevie and broke into a grin.

“You're here.” He looked pleased, and she nodded, still slightly overwhelmed by the house and everything she'd seen on the way in.

“This is quite a place,” she said admiringly. It made her realize again just how important a star he was. He made it so easy to forget. He was so normal and human scale, in his dealings with people and in the way he looked, that it was hard to associate his appearance and demeanor with his stature in the world. But even Jean had reminded her that Chase Taylor was a huge celebrity. And the house was in keeping with that, no matter how discreet it was, or how simply and tastefully he had decorated it. The art alone was worth a fortune, as were the antiques. “I love your house,” she said simply, and he looked thrilled.

“I was hoping you would like it,” he said, as an oversize golden retriever came to lick his hand and check her out. “That's Frank. George is asleep upstairs.” She knew that George was an English bulldog he had brought back from Europe after one of his tours. They were his beloved friends. Frank was wagging his tail frantically with a ball in his mouth to get their attention, and she reached out for it. “Don't even start,” Chase warned her. “He'll never leave you alone after that. He's obsessed. He follows me around all day with his ball. And he sings. He howls whenever we play. He can't stay in the studio when we do, or all we'll hear on the tracks is him.” Everyone laughed when he said it, because they all knew it was true. And Stephanie patted Frank's head. She hadn't had a dog since Charlotte left for college. Their Lab had died three years before, and Bill didn't want her to replace him. He said it was too much work and made no sense with the kids gone. But she missed having a dog, particularly now, and she'd been thinking of getting another one. Seeing Frank made it seem like an even better idea. His devotion to Chase was complete.

“When can I meet George?” she inquired, and Chase promised to take her upstairs when they finished work. He shooed Frank out of the room then, and closed the soundproof door of the studio, and pulled up the stool he had gotten for her. It was comfortable and very high, and he placed it so she could see everything going on in the room and watch them work. And it was close enough so he could see her too. He handed her a set of earphones so she could hear the music on the tracks, and listen to the mix. It was an impressive high-tech studio, and she could tell that the equipment had cost a fortune, but this was where they recorded his albums. It was the heart and soul of his life, and his work.

They started a few minutes later, and she made not a sound for the many hours that they worked. They worked for four hours without taking a break, and then at a sign from Chase, they all stopped what they were doing.

“Let's eat,” he said to everyone there. He was satisfied with what they'd done so far, and was finally willing to take a break, although they had several hours left to do. He turned to Stephanie then for the first time, and he looked at her intently. He was very serious about his work. “What did you think?” he asked her, although she knew nothing about his business. But she could tell how skilled and meticulous he was. He paid attention to every detail, and made them go over the same pieces again and again until they all got it right. And he was just as demanding of himself, and a relentless taskmaster with Sandy to teach her her craft. She had performed beautifully on what they'd recorded.

“It sounded fabulous to me,” she said honestly.

“We have a lot more to do,” he explained. “We won't finish it tonight.” He walked into the kitchen and she followed him, and a lavish spread had appeared on the granite counters, of southern fried chicken, barbecued ribs, salads and pasta, sashimi, and cold lobster. It was an incredible meal, and they were all ravenous as they dug in, even Sandy. They had worked hard. And Stephanie heaped food onto her plate along with them. She hadn't realized how hungry she was too until now. And the food looked too good to resist. She helped herself to lobster and sashimi and some ribs.

They talked about what they'd been recording, during dinner, and Chase outlined what he wanted to finish that night. He didn't fool around while he was working, although he chatted with Stephanie while they ate, and made small talk with the others. They all helped themselves to thick slabs of chocolate cake and cheesecake, and an hour after they'd started eating, they went back to the studio and got to work.

It was three in the morning when they finished. Stephanie was surprised to see that they looked exhilarated instead of exhausted. It was obvious that they loved what they were doing, and equally so that they admired and respected Chase. Charlie said that he was a genius. He had an infallible sense for his music.

The members of the band left quickly and promised to be back the next morning. Chase told them he wouldn't join them until the afternoon, and he looked at Stephanie mysteriously as he said it.

“We're going somewhere tomorrow,” he told them, and no one seemed to mind. They had enough to work on, on their own, until he got back. He had given them all assignments and told Sandy to rest her voice. She had worked hard that night, and he didn't want it to show in what they recorded the next day.

And then finally they were alone in the kitchen where he said he spent most of his time.

“Do you want to come upstairs for a minute?” he asked her with a mischievous expression. She had an instant's hesitation, then quickly agreed. She was sure he was only going to show her the house and would never cross any boundaries with her, without her permission. He had always been respectful of her so far, and never took advantage of her or treated her as more than a friend, which was all she was prepared to be for now, in spite of Jean's fantasies about them. She didn't share her friend's point of view, of sleeping with him for the hell of it, because he was handsome and who he was. She wanted more than that if she came to care about him. Stephanie had never been promiscuous even before she married Bill, or when she was in college. Bill was the only man she had ever slept with, and she wasn't ready to move on. She still felt as though Bill was her husband, even though he was gone, and she had said as much to Chase.

He led her straight to his bedroom, down a long hall, with important paintings hanging all along the walls. And his bedroom was an enormous, simply decorated room overlooking the garden. She could hear George before she saw him. He was snoring louder than any man, lying on Chase's bed, with his head on the pillow, his eyes closed, and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. It was the portrait of bliss. He looked at both of them then, opening one eye with acute annoyance, picked up his head briefly, glanced at her, dropped his head back on the pillow with his eyes closed, and snored even louder, as though to admonish them for waking him at all.

“That's George,” Chase said with a fatherly tone. George's face was one only a mother could love, and Stephanie couldn't help laughing.

“He's gorgeous.” Chase could see that she meant it, and was delighted by her response.

“He's got really bad manners. And he's a rotten host. He hates it when I have people over. Frank loves it. George never comes downstairs when anyone's here. I took him to a hotel with me once, and the people in the rooms on either side complained all night because he snored so loud. The hotel never let me bring him back. He sounds like a 747 taking off.” But Chase was crazy about him, and she could see it. “I wanted you to meet him.”

“If this is some kind of test, he doesn't look impressed.”

“No, he doesn't. That's standard behavior for him. If he didn't like you, he'd growl. He's fine. He's just snoring. I have to wake him in the morning, or he'd never get up. He's the laziest dog alive. Frank walks him around the garden on a leash, and George hates it. He'd rather stay in bed. And he eats enough for two men. I worry that he'll get fat.” He already was, but Stephanie didn't say it. They watched the sleeping dog for a few minutes, and then Chase put an arm around her shoulders and walked her out of the room and toward the stairs. “Come on, I'll take you home.” He looked happy to have introduced her to his dog.

“You must be exhausted. I can take a cab.” She felt guilty making his night any longer than it had already been, after their intense work session.

“I'm fine. I'm used to this. And you're not taking a cab anywhere,” he said sternly. He walked into the garage and opened the door to the Corvette for her to get in.

And on the way back to the hotel, he kept another promise. He drove her past the Parthenon in Centennial Park, so she could see it all lit up at night. It was even more beautiful than in the daytime, as he had said. And a few minutes later, they were back at her hotel. He got out to open the car door for her and looked down at her for a minute.

“I loved having you there tonight. Thanks for coming out to the house.” He made it sound like she'd done him a favor, instead of the reverse.

“I loved it too. I wouldn't have missed it.” She knew it was such an important part of his life, as was his music. “And I'm glad I got to meet Frank and George. Particularly George, even if he wasn't impressed.”

“I'll discuss it with him in the morning. He really has to behave better when someone I really care about comes to visit. He hasn't had any experience with that,” he said with a gentle glance into her eyes, as the doorman turned away discreetly. She didn't know what to answer. She was too touched to think of anything to say.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as he put a finger under her chin, and tilted her face up to his. She thought he was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to, but she was scared.

“I meant what I said. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do, Stevie. This is just the beginning. And we have all the time in the world.” She nodded, and her eyes filled with tears at how kind he was. He kissed her on the cheek then and walked her inside. He left her at the elevator, and she hugged him and thanked him again. She wasn't sure what she was thanking him for, dinner, the visit, letting her be in the studio, seeing his home, or the extraordinary human being he was. And as she walked into her room in a daze over everything she had seen and experienced that night, she realized it was everything, the remarkable combination of who he was. When she got into bed in her nightgown a few minutes later, she fell asleep in five minutes with an enormous feeling of peace and well-being. She had never been as comfortable with anyone in her life.