Chapter 70
Monday – Early Morning – Brentwood
Judith sipped coffee at the dining table, scrolling through her itinerary while Herb carefully packed his suitcase. Jake, still in his pajama shirt, leaned against the doorframe.
"You sure you two don't want me to tag along?" he asked, deadpan.
Judith shot him a look. "You'd be bored out of your mind. It's a couples' getaway. Wine tastings, hikes, and absolutely no technology."
"Sounds like a horror movie," Jake said, smirking. "Enjoy."
"Be good at your father's. No lawsuits. No headlines."
Jake raised a hand like he was taking an oath. "Scout's honor."
Herb waved awkwardly. "Have fun at the beach."
Jake grinned. "I'll try."
Later That Day – Malibu Beach House
Jake arrived just after lunch. The scent of ocean air hit him instantly—a mix of salt, sunscreen, and the faint aroma of whatever Charlie was drinking before noon.
Alan was already slumped on the couch, barefoot and watching a commercial about reverse mortgages like it was an opera of personal failure.
"Living the dream?" Jake asked as he dropped his bag.
Alan groaned. "Kandi changed the locks."
"Again?"
"No… just… permanently this time."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Wait, didn't you two buy that condo?"
Alan nodded miserably. "With my money. Which means I'm still paying the mortgage… on a place I can't go near."
Charlie wandered in with a cocktail and a look of horror. "And now he's back. Like a divorced boomerang with no dignity."
"Technically, they're not divorced yet," Jake pointed out.
Charlie grumbled. "Even worse. It's limbo with alimony."
Jake smirked and tossed his duffel by the hallway. "This place really is a black hole for ambition."
Tuesday – The Media Tour Begins
Jake's first stop: The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.
Hair styled. Jacket crisp. FacePhone in pocket. FaceWatch on wrist.
Jay opened with a joke:
> "My next guest is thirteen, runs four companies, and may or may not be a time traveler from the future. Please welcome Jake Harper!"
Jake walked on to thunderous applause. Jay gave him a quick handshake and said, "Jake, I gotta ask… when I was your age, I was still trying to build a treehouse. You've built, what, a billion-dollar empire?"
Jake shrugged with a grin. "Same concept. Just fewer splinters."
The audience laughed. The camera loved him.
They talked FacePhone. Netflix. FaceTV. Jake made it look effortless.
Jay leaned in with a smirk. "So… do you have time for girls, or is your idea of a date texting emojis on your own network?"
Jake smiled. "I prefer talking in person. It's more profitable."
The crowd roared.
That Night – Back at the Beach House
Jake sat out on the deck alone, ocean breeze brushing through his hair. No deadlines. No pressure. Just the sound of waves and the distant thump of bass from a neighbor's patio.
Inside, Alan was asleep on the couch, popcorn bowl resting on his chest like a trophy of defeat.
Charlie paced barefoot, shirtless, and on the phone—clearly annoyed.
Jake leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, breathing in the sea air.
It was peaceful.
At least for now.
Wednesday Afternoon – Malibu Beach House
Charlie sat in a lounge chair on his deck, sunglasses on, cocktail in hand, the Pacific breeze brushing over him. For once, life was quiet.
That is, until Steven Tyler's unmistakable wail echoed from next door.
The rock legend was running vocal exercises—loud, theatrical, and relentless.
Charlie groaned. "Great. Steven Tyler's warming up for a world tour. From his balcony."
Jake, nearby with a magazine, looked up. "Want me to build a soundproof dome around your head?"
Charlie stood up and leaned over the railing. "Hey, Steven! Can you keep it down?"
Tyler looked up, gave him a peace sign, and shouted, "Sure, man. Just warming up!"
Charlie grumbled. "You're warming up the tectonic plates."
To his surprise, Steven actually quieted down a few minutes later.
Later That Day – Early Evening
Just as Charlie was about to enjoy another peaceful moment with a refill, a new sound blasted through the air:
Harmonica. Loud. Screeching. Awful.
Charlie's head snapped up.
Jake winced. "Is someone torturing a goat?"
Charlie set his drink down and stormed to the edge of the deck again. "Steven! What the hell is that noise?!"
Steven, mid-harmonica solo, shouted back, "Practice! People pay good money to see me play!"
Charlie snapped, "People pay good money to hear you sing! They tolerate the harmonica!"
Steven froze. "I don't need career advice from some lame-ass jingle writer."
Jake let out a soft "uh oh."
Charlie's face turned red. "That's it!"
He climbed onto the deck railing.
Alan appeared just in time to see Charlie leap off with a shout. "Charlie, no!"
Steven Tyler's Backyard – Two Minutes Later
Charlie landed with surprising grace and charged Steven like an overconfident linebacker.
Steven didn't flinch.
He tossed the harmonica aside and braced himself.
"Let's dance, jingle boy," Steven muttered.
What followed could only be described as a one-sided rock 'n roll beatdown.
Steven ducked the first punch, countered with a jab to the ribs, then a firm smack across the jaw. Charlie staggered. Steven stepped back and delivered a gentle but humiliating kick to Charlie's shin—just enough to trip him into a flower bed.
The party next door had gone silent.
Jake stood frozen at the hedge. "Well. That happened."
Alan winced. "I think he got his ego separated from his spine."
Later That Night – Harper House of Pain
Charlie sat on the couch with a frozen steak over one eye and a towel stuffed in his shirt. He didn't speak.
Jake stood nearby, trying not to laugh. Alan scrolled through his phone.
"You're trending," Alan said cheerfully. "One site looped the fall into the flower bed five times."
Charlie muttered, "Next time I'm taking him down."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Maybe with tranquilizer darts."
Charlie glared at him. "That harmonica sounded like a dying elephant."
"Yeah," Jake said, "but the punches were on key."