The next few weeks passed without anything major happening, other than the band settling in to their new practice space and me finding myself driving with Jimmy and his group of car guy friends. I still didn’t know why Jimmy called Stephen ‘Zeke’ but soon enough discovered that he was referring to me as ‘Lizzie,’ so I just wrote it off as some sort of private joke.

The guys were pretty good drivers, for the most part. They were also all young, and most were trust fund kids with way too much money. The only exceptions were me and a guy everybody referred to as ‘Teddy Bear’, who was apparently an actor on some show I’d never even heard of, much less seen. I did look him up on IMDB and he did have a surprising number of credits to his name, but nothing I’d seen at all.

Generally we met on Saturday mornings, and took turns leading the route. Of course, since I still didn’t really know more than a few roads, I was content to play follower. For the most part, anyway.

When we stopped for breaks or lunch, the discussion almost inevitably turned to my track car, with several of the guys offering to buy it, even though none of them had seen it in person. Apparently Jimmy had done some searching online and found pictures of me and the car, and sharp analysis of the visible details of the car had confirmed it was in fact a built GT3 race car. Some more digging had gotten him to believe that it had placed third at a 1000km endurance race at Paul Ricard in France, and I never bothered to correct him. Still, the guys were all gaga over the idea that one of their driving group owned an honest-to-god professional racer, which was enough to send them all into a tailspin.

Add that to the fact that it was obvious to everyone in the group that I was one of the fastest in that circle of friends and my star shone brightly in that little clique.

They were fun to drive with, and the weekly (or semi-weekly if I got out on a Wednesday) sessions behind the wheel were really good for blowing off steam.

Emmy had encouraged me to find a beach volleyball scene, and I’d considered it, really I had, but shelved it in favor of more time to do other things. Maybe I was just done with volleyball- it had been a huge focus of my life from middle school all the way through four years of college, so perhaps it was just time to hang it up.

Emmy and I settled into the apartment more and more each day, and it started to feel a bit more like a home than a long-term hotel room after a while. It was still odd to come home to find the place had been cleaned and the fridge restocked while we were out, but the benefits of the building’s housekeeping and concierge services were undeniable.

Still, it wasn’t right for our needs, so I kept looking for a place to buy.

“This is getting really old,” I complained to Randi after another morning of searching. “I somehow thought this would be a lot easier.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” she replied, stirring her soy latte mocha grande something or other. “When you told me what you wanted I thought it should be simple. I mean, this is L.A., right? Finding a space like you want should be no problem.”

“That’s what’s killing me. We’ve seen how many of these dumps that can be converted at stupid amounts of money, but they’re still in areas like this,” I said, waving my arm to indicate the industrial/commercial district we were in. “Seriously- does this look like a place you’d want to live?”

“Well, this area is up-and-coming,” Randi replied. “I mean, there are galleries opening up, and hip little coffee shops like this. There’s a lot of potential,” she said, defending the neighborhood.

“Sure, but there are also sweat shops, furniture factories and brake and wheel alignment shops. What there aren’t are parks, movie theaters, grocery stores- any of the things any real neighborhood should have,” I said.

“You must admit, that place we looked at this morning had some charm,” Randi said. “It could be really cool with some work.”

“Yeah, it did. But it would be a lot of work, and it would still be here in this part of town.”

“Well, you wanted a music studio slash living space, and the Arts District is where we’d find something like that,” Randi said, a touch defensively.

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever find just the right place.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” Randi said, patting my hand. I didn’t tell her I found that sort of thing sort of insulting, but it did add to my feeling that maybe she was just too old-school to really understand what it was that we needed.

Really, given how pessimistic I’d gotten, her call telling me we had to go look at something right now came as a surprise. I followed her car up into the winding little roads of the Hollywood hills to a gated driveway. She keyed in a code on the pad and we drove into a surprisingly large parking lot. One whole side of the lot was fronted by a rambling building that really looked nothing like a house at all.

“I know this place looks a little, well, rough,” Randi said as we stood looking at it from the parking lot. “But it has everything you guys want, and loads and loads of potential.”

She was right- it was nearly perfect. As strange as it sounds, it had been a small film studio built during World War Two, so it had everything- a good-sized sound stage, rehearsal studios, sound rooms, and so on. The offices had been converted years ago into some sort of residential rehab facility, but could be easily remodeled into a spacious home for Emmy and me. Yeah, it was sort of industrial-ugly from the outside, but it could be fixed up. It certainly would be an easier remodel than some of the warehouse buildings Randi and I had looked at.

“Tell the sellers we’ll take it if the price is right,” I said, knowing that I didn’t even need to consult with Emmy. She was going to love the place.

“They’re asking six point eight,” Randi replied, looking at the paperwork.

“Done,” I said. “Call them right now and tell them we’ll take it, and I want the fastest close we can get.”

“It needs a lot of work,” Randi said, looking around with a doubtful expression on her face.

“Yeah, it does, but money can take care of that,” I said, imagining how crazy happy Emmy would get with the place.

I didn’t tell Emmy anything that night other than that I’d seen a place that might work out, but needed to get some more details. This seemed to satisfy Emmy, who went on to complain once again about the rehearsal space. Yes, it was exactly as billed, but the shortcomings were getting more and more pronounced as The Downfall spent more time cooped up in what was essentially a long-term storage locker.

The next morning I got confirmation that the sellers had accepted my offer and were willing to speed the process up as much as possible.

I hired the building inspector from our vendor list at work to go over the place with a fine-toothed comb while I set about finding a designer and architect to work up plans for the conversion to private home and to return the studios to working order.

I was excited to be able to present Emmy with the live/work space of her dreams and wanted it to be a surprise, so I had no intention of telling her anything until I had all the ducks crossed and the rows dotted.

The basic structure of the place was completely utilitarian, but with a little bit of trickery could be at least somewhat pleasant to look at.

Two days later I had my first meeting with the builder, the architect and the interior designer at the site. Emmy was still in the dark, which hopefully wouldn’t last much longer. For now, though, until I had plans and deed in my hand I was keeping it all quiet.

The builder got there first, and he and I walked the property with the inspector’s thorough list in hand, simply assessing the state of the place.

A fair bit of the building had more or less been abandoned, the roof was in sorry shape, the windows were old and the metal casings were rusty, and on and on, but none of it was in any way insurmountable. The builder, a Persian guy named Ned Tavakh, took copious notes as we examined the place and asked a lot of questions about what I wanted with this item, that detail, or the other concern. The more time I spent with him the better I felt about using his services, as he seemed really sharp.

When the architect and designer showed up two hours later, the four of us walked through again. As I talked with the two new guys, Ned kept taking notes of the discussion.

I made it clear that I wanted to keep the work space and the living space separated, so we could have some semblance of personal space and privacy even while the studio was being put to use. I also stipulated that I wanted the design to reflect a Mid-Century Modern aesthetic, with an emphasis on comfort in the living areas and clean, open space in the work areas.

After taking a lot of notes and photos, the designer and architect left to go work on their respective presentations, leaving Ned and me to discuss things a bit more.

We discussed timelines, and how I wanted his full attention on this project. I made it clear I was willing to pay for premium materials and craftsmanship, and wasn’t going to micromanage the project over his shoulder.

Satisfied we were on the same page, Ned and I shook hands and he left. Ned had nothing to do, really, until the architect came back with his sketches, and honestly, neither did I until the sale cleared escrow.

The day after escrow cleared and the place was officially mine, the four of us met once more at the property to look over the ideas that the architect and designer had worked up.

I had a few things I wanted to change, such as enclosing the lower parking area into a real garage and using the fourth floor tower as my home office. The designer wanted a free-form pool up against the hillside behind the left wing, which he’d re-imagined as a sort of entertaining center, not really part of the home but also separate from the work areas. I thought Emmy would love that, so I signed off on those changes, mentioning that there needed to be shade in the pool area.

The sketches the architect had worked up for the redesign of the building’s appearance really knocked it out of the park, and I was happy with the way he’d managed to isolate the living areas from the studio and sound stage. He’d cleverly moved some hallways, staircases and doors around so that the two disparate functions of the building intertwined, but never blended. If you walked in the front door of the house, only one door in the entire ten thousand square feet that made up the private area ever actually opened into any part of the work areas. The TV room, for example, was physically in between the editing room and the film vaults (one of which was to become a wine cellar) but was inaccessible from either.

Of course, this made for a convoluted layout of some parts of the house, but in the studio you wouldn’t necessarily recognize that parts were, in effect, missing.

In love with the architect’s plans and the aesthetics the designer had worked up, I gave both the go ahead to develop detailed blueprints and floor plans and inspiration palettes. From Ned, the builder, I requested a rough work-up of timelines and estimate, with the understanding that much would likely change with the final blueprints.

Meeting adjourned, I called Emmy, who actually answered her phone.

“Leah!” Emmy exclaimed. “I am so happy to hear your voice!”

“Really?” I asked. “More so than usual?”

“It is going very poorly today, and we are not making any progress,” Emmy lamented. “Hearing your voice is a lovely break from the frustrations of the day.”

“You’re there with Jackson and Lee right now?” I asked.

“Yes, we are here at the rehearsal space,” Emmy confirmed. “But we have been talking about taking a break.”

“Well, load them in the car and come to the address I’m gonna text to you.”

“Jen is here. Should I bring her as well?” Emmy asked. “And what is this about?”

“I might have found the perfect house for us, so yeah, bring everybody. I’d like their input, too, since you guys will be making music in the studio here.”

“It has a studio?” Emmy asked, excitement in her voice.

“It needs some work, but yeah, it has an awesome studio space.”

“We will be right there!” Emmy said, all the frustrations of the day forgotten.

About half an hour later Emmy pulled the BMW into the lot, followed by Lee’s Mercedes.

“What is this place?” Emmy asked, puzzled, when she got out of the car.

“C’mon, let me show you,” I said, beckoning for the group to follow me as I walked around the corner to where I’d left the giant warehouse-style door to the sound stage open.

“It was built as a small film production facility in the Forties,” I explained. “It was sold and turned into some sort of rehab facility in the seventies and all the film and recording equipment was all stuffed into storage downstairs in the basement, but it has all of what you guys would need to build out a professional sound studio again, and maybe use the sound stage for rehearsals, or maybe filming videos, or whatever.”

“This is fucking awesome,” Lee said, his eyes wide, taking it all in.

Jackson was a bit more laconic, but I could tell he was imagining the possibilities. “Man, with some work this place could be legendary,” he finally said as we walked through the sound recording areas.

“If it is not too much money, I would very much like to buy this studio,” Emmy said as I led them into what had been the kitchen of the rehab facility.

“Well, it’s too late for that,” I said.

“Is it not for sale?” Emmy asked, a look of anguish on her face from having a toy dangled in front of her face and then taken away.

“Nope. At least, not until we decide to sell it sometime in the future.”

“What do you mean?” Emmy asked, her charcoal-black brow wrinkled.

“I already bought it. As of yesterday, we own this place.”

“You did this? You secretly bought this studio without even telling me?” Emmy asked for clarification.

“Yup,” I said, nodding.

“I did not think it was possible to love you more than I already do, but I was wrong,” Emmy said, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me as tightly as she could.

“You snuck this past Emmy?” Jen demanded. “That is so…”

“So fucking awesome!” Lee said.

“Yeah, that,” Jen agreed.

“Check these out,” I said, laying out the rough plans and sketches the architect and designer had worked up.

“Oh, Leah,” Emmy said, looking through the drawings. “This is so amazing…”

“I’m thinking about calling the guy from New York to design the recording studio,” I said. “But I haven’t called him yet.”

“I am not certain that would be best,” Emmy said, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. “Perhaps we need to find someone here in Los Angeles. That way we could work with local talent who understand what is available or perhaps customary here.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I agreed. “Also, a local might be easier as far as flexibility with plan changes as they come up.”

“Em, you guys- I mean, this is the most awesome thing ever, you two. I can totally see us using this sound stage for rehearsals. This is just so perfect, it blows my mind. Like, even knowing we’ll be here in what, six months maybe? Makes that shitty little place in Silver Lake survivable, know what I mean?” Lee said.

“Lee, man, that was one long, fucked-up run-on sentence, but I think I can say I understood exactly what you meant,” said Jackson with a laugh.

“This will be amazing,” agreed Emmy. “Leah, you have done the impossible and found us a better place than I could have even imagined.”

“No lie. This is going to be epic!” Lee said. “When do the contractors start work?”

“As soon as the architect’s plans are finalized,” I said. “And honestly, it might be six months before the sound stage and studios are ready, even if we do what we can to rush it.”

“No, that’s cool,” Lee replied. “Like I said, just knowing we have this in our future makes it all bearable right now. I mean, I know you bought this place for Em, but I gotta give you my props, too. This will make life so much better for all three of us I can't even. Thanks, Leah. Really, man. Just thanks.”

“Welp, I guess this means I gotta find a place of my own here in LA,” said Jackson with a sigh. “Damn. All those little starlets, the beaches, the great weather. Man, it's gonna suck living here, but I guess I gotta take one for the team, right?”

“That's what we love about you, dude. You're a giver,” said Lee.