by Elle Casey
“Yeah, he’s cute, but he’s also difficult, so . . .” My heart hurts saying that.
“So, what happened next?” Rose asks. “After the swanky jet.”
I relate the details of our plane ride and arrival at the club.
“Wow, that’s kind of romantic, actually,” Em says. “This Ty person picks you up in a helicopter and a jet and takes you to a show he’s playing in without telling you where he’s taking you? Sounds like a romance novel.”
“It sounds a little kidnapper-ish to me,” Rose says.
“It wasn’t that romantic. More like annoying.” I pause, not wanting them to hate Ty without meeting him first. “But not kidnapper-ish. I agreed to go everywhere we went, pretty much. I just didn’t know I was agreeing to Canada.” It sounds so ridiculous telling it like this.
“You never felt unsafe, I hope,” Rose says.
“No, not at all. Other than being scared during the first part of the helicopter ride, I didn’t feel like I was in danger or anything. There were probably five hundred people at the club, and believe me, they were all psyched to be there. Everyone was in a great mood.”
“What were the fans like?” Em asks. “Were they our age or older?”
“It was a mix . . . maybe half and half. Everyone there was a fan of the band, although not all of them were fans of Ty. Some people don’t really like him, I guess.”
“How come?” Rose asks.
“I’m not positive, but I think maybe it’s because he’s so much younger and cute, and he doesn’t fit in with the band visually. But also the band hasn’t done a very good job of welcoming him into their lives in a public way.” I don’t like talking about it, because I feel guilty that I unloaded all my bad feelings on them in that room, stepping into something that’s definitely not my business. Time to change the subject. “That’s not really important. The important part is that I actually met the band and talked to them.”
“Oh, boy. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear this part,” Em says.
“Here, take my hand, sweetie,” Rose says. “We’re ready. Just tell us. We can handle it.”
“Well, they were very nice.” I’m not going to tell them about the cake they bought especially for me. I don’t want them to have the feelings and regrets I’m living with now. “And, like we agreed, I told them that we weren’t interested.”
“And they were cool with that?” Rose asks.
“Yes and no. They didn’t get mad, but they also asked me if I could stay and talk some more . . . but I told them no.” I wait to get their reaction. There’s a long pause before Em speaks.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Oh . . . and . . . the best part—on my way out the door, I tripped and broke the heel off my shoe. I made a very graceful exit, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Rose says, laughing in commiseration. “That must’ve been totally embarrassing.”
“Yeah, definitely. But I’m over it.” Mostly.
“So, what does this mean?” Em asks. “Are you coming home tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. What did you find out for me about a plane ticket?”
“Well, you were right . . . ,” Em says, sighing. “That first plane ticket was not refundable. But we’re going to the travel agent’s office tomorrow morning to get you a new one. I think the earliest we’ll be able to get you out, though, is four o’clock. There aren’t many flights coming up here.”
“That’s fine. I’ve got this hotel room I can stay in. I’ll probably walk over to Central Park and check that out before I leave.” I’m hoping all the greenery will help calm my nerves.
There’s another long pause before Rose speaks. “Okay, well I guess we’d better go to bed and save the minutes on these phones.” She sighs. “I hope you’re going to be okay. I wish we were there to give you a cuddle.”
“Me too, but I’m going to be fine. I’m just really exhausted. This was emotionally draining.”
“I can imagine,” Em says. “Just take care of yourself. You’ll be home soon, and then we’ll give you the biggest group hug you’ve ever had.”
“Sounds perfect.” I can picture it already, embraced in the warmth of my sisters’ love. There’s nothing like it. “Good night, girly-girls. I love you so much.”
“We love you too,” Em says.
“Big hugs. See you tomorrow.” Rose makes a kissing sound before she hangs up the phone.
I put the cell on the dresser and slowly remove my clothing. The dress I wore tonight is so pretty, but I’m not going to keep it. Every time I see it, I’ll think of this night, and it’ll make me sad all over again. I fold it up into a small square and put it in the dresser drawer, intending to leave it there when I depart tomorrow. Maybe the chambermaid will be able to use it.
After removing my underclothes, I climb into bed naked. I don’t even take the time to brush my teeth; I’m too exhausted. The last thing I see in my mind as I fall asleep is the dark expression that Ty was wearing during that meeting. I shouldn’t give a hoot about that man or what he’s going through, but I do. It seems like such a simple problem they could solve so easily. It’s too bad they’re all so clueless. Regardless of how rude he was to me, I hope Ty manages to come out in a good place at the end. I can’t imagine how devastating it would be for him to get kicked out of the band when being with them is his dream come true.
I had a dream once, of leaving the farm and living in a city, being an important businessperson, putting my marketing degree to work. The choice to stay didn’t break me, but after being here and seeing the crowd at the club and all the things happening around me in Toronto and Manhattan, I wonder if my life isn’t a little too tame . . . if I haven’t accepted a life meant for a person winding down instead of a girl just getting started.
If I could do anything in the world, what would it be? The only thing that swirls around in my head is that damn band and Ty’s problems. Their manager really sucks if he can’t see this situation, or if he sees it but doesn’t prioritize resolving it. If I were in charge, things would be different.
I realize all of a sudden that I’m imagining being involved with the band. I shake my head, getting it out of the weird place it has ventured into. Obviously, I’ve had too much champagne to think straight.
I fall asleep and dream of the farm, of New York City streets with their loud blaring horns, and two hot dogs that I can’t seem to finish. The creepy old man from the restaurant is looking at me again, asking me what I’m going to do with my hot dogs, leering at me. In my dream I stand up and slap him across the face and tell him to mind his manners. It feels good sticking up for myself. I wish I could do it more in real life, be bold like that and brave.
My dream then shifts into a hazy place where I can no longer identify people, places, or things . . . just an overwhelming sense of unfinished business that leaves me restless and uncomfortable.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I wake up with a hell of a hangover. All I had were three glasses of champagne, so this situation isn’t one bit fair. I clean my teeth using the toothbrush and toothpaste supplied by the hotel and put on the clothing that I was wearing yesterday, slipping into my real ballet flats—not the hastily constructed ones—as I head to the door.
I need to eat some breakfast. I’m going to put it on my tab here at the hotel and send Lister some money for it when I get home. Screw going out to Central Park. After that terrible night’s sleep, all I want to do is hibernate until it’s time to leave. I’d order in room service if it weren’t so expensive.
The phone on the small table by the door catches my eye because there’s a blinking red light on it. I pick up the handset, pressing the message button. A recorded voice plays.
“Good morning, Amber. This is Red. I hope you don’t mind me contacting you at your hotel. I was just wondering if you might have time for a cup of coffee this morning. I’m going to be down in the lobby waiting. If you want to join me, come find me.
If you don’t, don’t. I’ll understand either way. But I want you to know that I’d really like to see you, and I’d like to talk to you about Ty, also, if you have time. You said some things yesterday that got me and the others thinking, and I’d like to discuss them with you.”
The message stops and the line goes dead. I slowly lower the handset to the cradle. Is this some sort of trick? Does he really want to talk to me about Ty or is this just a way to wrangle another meeting with me? Is he going to try to convince me that he’s a good father and that he never meant to ignore us for twenty-five years? I’m quite sure I don’t want to have that conversation, especially with this damn hangover throbbing in my skull.
I can’t make this decision on my own; I don’t trust myself not to be overly influenced by Red’s use of the name Ty. I open up the little flip phone and call my sisters.
Em answers. “What’s up? We haven’t gone to the travel agent yet. We’re leaving in a half hour.”
“No, that’s not why I’m calling. I just got a message from Red Wylde. He wants to meet me for coffee.”
“Oh,” she says abruptly. “Why?”
“He says he wants to talk to me about Ty, the lead guitarist.”
“Are you going?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling. I wanted to see what you guys thought.”
“Well, I can’t speak for Rose, and she’s not here right now for you to ask her directly, but I would say that I don’t see any harm in having a conversation about Ty, if that’s what you want to do.”
“But I’m not sure that it’s what I want to do,” I whine. “Make the decision for me.” I no longer trust myself where Ty is concerned. His situation tugs at my heartstrings a little too strongly, making me think I’m not being rational when I imagine fixing all his problems.
“I think . . . you should go. It sounds like you had a really short conversation last night and . . . I don’t know . . . maybe you didn’t get a chance to say some of the things you wanted to say.”
She’s hinting at something, but I don’t know what it is exactly. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it sounds like you said a couple little things to the band and then left. Did you get a chance to ask them why they’ve been gone for twenty-five years? Did you tell them how angry we are?”
My heart sinks. Mission failure. “No. I was going to before I got in there, but then when I met them, it didn’t feel right. They seem to be very nice—not great fathers, obviously, but decent enough people in their old age. I just . . . I don’t know. I dropped the ball.” Neither my emotions nor my words are making much sense right now. These men deserve to be called out for what they did, but I let them slide.
“You didn’t drop the ball. We trust your instincts, you know that. If it didn’t feel right, that’s fine. But maybe this morning in a different environment, just one-on-one, things could be different. Maybe it would make you feel better to say some of the things that are going on in your mind.”
“Would it make you feel better?”
“I would be happy with you going in either direction. I promise. You’re the one who took the responsibility of going down there, keeping us from having to deal with all that heavy emotion. You’re taking care of us like you always do. We trust you to do what you think is right.”
“No pressure.”
“Absolutely no pressure,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Seriously. Just go in there and let him have it. Or don’t. Just do what feels right.”
“You do realize that my first instinct is not always the best avenue, right?”
She laughs. “I do know that whatever your first instinct is, it’s usually pretty entertaining. And I think the situation is so heavy, it could use a little bit of that lightness.”
“Fine. I’ll have coffee with the guy. What’s the worst that could happen, right?”
“Right! That’s the spirit. Just call me back and let me know what happened. And I will call you as soon as I know about your airline ticket.”
“It’s a deal. Give Rose a hug for me.”
“I will. She’s busy with another sick animal. I think this time it’s a porcupine. She came back earlier looking for her big gloves.”
“Ugh. Porcupines. I don’t know how she does it.”
“I know, me neither. Love you. Bye-bye.”
“Bye.”
I go back to the bathroom and work at fixing my hair and putting on a bit of makeup. Some of the waves are still there from my curling iron adventure yesterday. My ’do could do with a washing along with the rest of me, but I’ll wait until I get back home and have some fresh underwear.
I’m nervous again, and starting to sweat. I throw on a little extra deodorant from the sample-size bottle I keep in my purse, before I leave the room with my key card. I try to talk myself out of being nervous all the way down to the lobby, but it’s not working.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
At first I don’t see Red. There are several people in the lobby, but I finally find him hiding behind an open newspaper. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, Western boots, and dark glasses, with rings on almost every finger. If he wanted to be incognito, he should have tried harder; he’s easily identifiable from a hundred yards as an aging rocker. But at least his hair is tied back in a ponytail and not teased up to the sky. The lines on his face are deep, and when he stands up to greet me, I can see he’s stiff by the way he moves.
“Good morning, Amber,” he says in a gruff voice. “Don’t you look beautiful.” He reaches toward me and I stiffen, not expecting the warm welcome or the contact. It doesn’t stop him or even slow him down, though. His arms go around my shoulders and he gives me a short hug, patting me on the back. He smells like aftershave. There’s a man who used to stay at the farm who wore the same scent. He looked like Santa Claus and always made us laugh. It’s a point in Red’s favor that he’s conjuring up those warm, happy memories.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, pulling back and reestablishing some comfortable distance between us.
What do I say to that? That I had weird dreams and thought way too much about Ty? No. Of course I’m not going to say that. But the bed was big and the sheets were soft. “Yes, it was fine. The room is nice.”
“Good. I hope they’re taking good care of you here.”
“They are. Almost everybody’s been pretty nice.”
“Almost?” He lifts a brow.
I shake my head. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle.”
He smiles, chuckling to himself. “Good for you.” He looks around and notices a couple people staring at us. “Why don’t we go grab that cup of coffee?”
I turn sideways so he can walk past me. “Sure.”
I follow him through the lobby over to the restaurant, my nerves jangling as my mind races. What will we talk about? What does he want to say to me? Is he going to try to pressure me?
He walks up to the person standing at the front of the restaurant and removes his glasses. I see the recognition dawn on the face of the employee instantly. “Do you have a private area where I can have some coffee with my friend alone?”
“Of course, Mr. Wylde, please follow me.”
We walk behind the man past several occupied tables. He puts us in a far corner of the restaurant, an area that appears to be closed to other guests. Moments after we’ve settled into our seats and put our napkins in our laps, a crew of four waiters comes out with room dividers and closes off our section from prying eyes. It’s impressive, I have to admit. The comparison of this to my Gray’s Papaya experience is laughable.
Red smiles, placing his hat and his sunglasses on the chair next to him. He smooths his hair down with two hands and then rests his forearms on the table. One of his rings is a big silver skull with red ruby eyes. It’s funny to me that he’d wear jewelry like this. Shouldn’t he be more sedate in his old age?
“Would you like to get some breakfast?” He looks around the restaurant. “Seeing as how we’re here in one of the ni
cer places in town.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“All right, then. Good enough.” He raises a hand and signals someone.
A waiter comes over, bowing slightly at our table. “How may I help you?” he asks.
“I’ll have a cup of black coffee, as strong as you can make it.” He looks at me. “And how about you, Amber?”
“I’ll have some herbal tea, please.”
The waiter nods and leaves us alone.
I can’t think of a single thing to say. I examine this strange man, searching for clues on his face, trying to decide if he looks like me or one of my sisters. His eyes are blue, but that’s not helpful because both Rose and I have blue eyes. The problem is that he’s too old; his face has changed a lot from how it looked on his first album cover, and I think the hard living he’s been doing has taken a steep toll on his complexion. He has age spots and more wrinkles than someone his age should. I see no resemblance to any of us.
“So, here we are.” He smiles. I can tell he’s had a lot of expensive dental work. I wonder how much it cost him. I wonder how much good my mothers could have done with that money. I try not to be bitter about all the times we fought city hall on our own because the lawyers were too pricey.
“Yes. Here we are.” I try to smile but my lips are trembling too much to make it work.
“I’m sorry everything was so uncomfortable for you last night.”
“No need to apologize.” I shrug. “There’s no way it could have been comfortable.”
“We should’ve waited to have breakfast with you this morning. It’s just that we were so anxious to meet you, and when the idea came up that we could fly you to Toronto, everybody just jumped right in and agreed with the plan.”
“Whose idea was it?”
“It was Mooch’s, actually.”
“He’s the drummer, right?” I know this already, I’m just trying to participate in the conversation.
“Yes. Since day one.” He chuckles.
“Hasn’t everybody been with the band since day one? . . . Except for Ty, of course.”
