Along for the Ride
Page 2
I’d only just gotten back to school after Christmas break, but while he tried not to be needy, it was just me and him that made up our little family of two, so I got that he missed me while I was at school. I knew he would have preferred me to go to a school in Manhattan, but Rosewood had been the best way for me to get a good education while he was off on tour. That way he didn’t have to worry about me and I didn’t have to live out of a suitcase and get educated by tutors.
Not to mention that I loved Rosewood and had made a lot of friends here, got to ride almost daily, and most importantly? As a boarding school with only girls and limited events with the Westwood boys from down the road, my life was uncomplicated and musician-free. Until now, of course, although that was obviously not going to be an issue.
“Spring break,” I said.
“Great. I should have the band together and rehearsing by then.”
I fought the urge to sigh, sort of hating that he was depending on me to judge the band’s appeal to teen girls—he forgot I was jaded by the industry and wasn’t a typical fangirl. Well, in fairness, he didn’t know the whole story of why I was so jaded, though I wasn’t about to fill him in on any of what he didn’t already know.
Some things you don’t share with your dad.
“Maybe I’ll bring Sandy,” I said, knowing she would love the experience. She wouldn’t have to fake her enthusiasm over watching the band rehearse.
“Sounds good,” Dad said. “Let me know if your friend changes his mind.”
I seriously doubted it, and he was hardly my friend. But I promised I would.
Email
January 25
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: Checking in
Message: Hi Dave, just thought I’d check in to see if you’ve given any more thought to what we talked about at the dance. It would be a great opportunity and my dad would be really open to you contributing your own songs. Have I mentioned how awesome I thought your performance was at the talent show?
Vanessa
January 27
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: Checking in
Message: No thanks.
So not only did it take him two days to respond, but all I got were two words? I suppose I should have felt honored that one of those words was a ‘thanks,’ but no, not really. I probably shouldn’t have written him back, but I was procrastinating doing a history paper and had no one around to talk me out of it.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: Checking in
Message: Seriously? You don’t want to be rich and famous?
At least that got me a response right away.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: Checking in
Message: Nope.
Now we were down to ONE word replies? I tried to push away my frustration, knowing that wouldn’t help at all—getting angry at him wasn’t going to entice him to get on board. Maybe I needed to try a different strategy.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: Checking in
Message: You know, along with fame comes groupies and fangirls. Lots of them.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: NOT INTERESTED
Message:
So that was pretty clear.
No Love Lost
February 13
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: Sorry!
Message: Hi, okay, so it was kind of crazy to chase you at the Valentine’s dance, and I’m sorry for following you into the boys’ bathroom, but you could have listened to me for two seconds! I just wanted to let you know that my dad is still looking for another guitar player for his band. All the other members have signed up and they’re great guys—I know you’d get along really well with them! He’d love to meet you and would be happy to put you up in Manhattan for an all-expenses-paid weekend. FREE weekend in NYC with no obligation! Just think about it.
Vanessa
I didn’t get the response until three days later this time:
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: Sorry!
Message: Still not interested.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: Sorry!
Message: Can’t blame a girl for trying. ;)
Vanessa
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: Sorry!
Message: I grudgingly respect your persistence. I hope your father is paying you well to incessantly badger me.
p.s. In case it’s not clear, I’m still not interested.
For some reason, that made me smile, the part about respecting me, at least.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: Sorry!
Message: He isn’t paying me. If he was, he’d probably demand a refund since I’m obviously failing at my job.
Vanessa
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: Sorry!
Message: Not for lack of trying. You put up a good fight.
p.s. but I will never be interested.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: re: Sorry!
Message: Will you at least tell me why?
Vanessa
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: re: Sorry!
Message: No. It’s personal.
While it stung a little, it’s not like I could argue with that. And if I’d learned anything about him, it was that he was not the kind of guy who could be persuaded into anything, no matter how much begging, nagging, and cajoling I did.
With a sigh, I closed my laptop.
Too Far?
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: Stalking
Message: FYI, while I suppose I have to admire your persistence, getting my roommate to badger me on your behalf is beneath you. Also: ineffective and annoying. Please cease and desist.
Tears sprung to my eyes. Was he joking or was he really mad?
I had known talking to Jared Abramovich—Abe as everyone called him—when I saw him downstairs with Seychelles, was a long shot and probably cheap, but I was getting desperate. Plus Abe had seemed to think Dave would be into the whole music scene. He’d been surprised when I’d told him how many times his roommate had blown me off. Actually, he was really surprised that he’d blown me off at all.
He hadn’t seen Dave’s performance at the talent show after what had happened to Seychelles during his act, but knew firsthand that Dave was an excellent musician. He’d even told me that he’d noticed Dave practicing more lately. Which had given me hope.
False hope, obviously.
I was about to hit reply when another message came in:
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: Stalking
Message: By the way, by cease and desist, I just meant it didn’t work to convince me. I’m not going to send my lawyer after you or anything. Although if you call my parents to get them to work on me, I just might.
Dave
I blew out a loud, relieved breath. Maybe he was frustrated, but he didn’t sound really mad. Still, I didn’t like that I was obviously getting on his nerves. Time to backpedal a bit. Or at least stop nagging.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: Stalking
Message: Deal.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: Stalking
Message: That almost felt too easy. Don’t tell me you’re afraid? Of what? Lawyers? Or me.
Dave
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: Stalking
Message: YOU are terrifying.
But then right on the heels of that message, before he could even think to respond, I sent:
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: Stalking
Message: j/k. My dad needs all the guys ready to start recording in a couple of weeks, so this was my last ditch effort to get you on board. I’ll stop badgering you now. You’re done with me for good.
Vanessa
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: Stalking
Message: FINALLY!
;)
Dave
One Random Night
I was in bed one night in March in the middle of exams when an e-mail came in to my phone. I glanced over at Sandy, but she was asleep, her breathing deep and even. I was thankful my phone hadn’t woken her—she could be a dragon when her sleep got interrupted.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: Do I need a shrink?
Message: I almost miss your nagging
Dave
p.s. Almost.
To which I responded right away.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: Do I need a shrink?
Message:
Obviously.
V.
And he sent back, immediately:
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: Do I need a shrink?
Message:
Right. Thanks.
p.s. Still not interested.
Dave
Sandy let out a very loud, exasperated sigh. “Ugh! Would you stop giggling over there? Who are you even talking to?”
“No one,” I said. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.” I pulled my covers over my head and sent Dave a message back.
To: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
From: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: Do I need a shrink?
Fine, you’re not interested. MESSAGE RECEIVED LOUD AND CLEAR.
V.
To: vanessa.capri@the-rosewood-academy.com
From: willmont.davidson@the-westwood-academy.com
Subject: re: re: re: re: Do I need a shrink?
Message: Good. :P
Dave
In the Studio
Dad was too busy with getting the band together to take me out to our house in the Hamptons. And anyway, it was still too cold, especially by the water. So on the Friday before spring break—a half day—he sent his driver, Gary, to Rosewood to bring me back to New York City. It was a fairly short drive, which meant we were pulling into the city shortly after two in the afternoon.
Instead of going to our penthouse in Chelsea, I asked Gary to take me to the studio, knowing Dad would be there working. Because while I had no intention of getting involved with the band, I couldn’t deny that I was a tiny bit eager to meet them, especially in advance of Sandy’s arrival on Thursday. Her mother was flying her to Sonoma for them to have an extended spa weekend first. But once she arrived, I had a feeling things would be even crazier, so I wanted my first impression of the boys to be as objective and drama-free as possible.
Once I was past the building’s security guard and just inside the studio’s front door, I found myself pulled into a hug by Dad’s assistant and tour manager, Linda Heffernan, who had come out to meet me.
“Nessie!” she exclaimed, almost squeezing the life out of me. I would have laughed if I’d had any air left in my lungs. Before I could protest, though, she pulled away and held me at arm’s length, looking like she hadn’t seen me in years. Which was funny because it had only been a couple of months. “How are you?” she asked, staring at me as she waited for an honest answer.
I smiled, not minding the smothery attention. In fact, I kind of loved it, though I’d never admit it to her or anyone else. I’d known her practically forever—she was like my dad’s work wife and I guess by extension, my work mom, even though as a single lady in her forties, she didn’t have any kids of her own. “I’m great,” I said, pulling my messenger bag over my head and dropping it on the desk. “How’s life?”
She hesitated for a half a second before she smiled and said, “Great, thanks. Everything’s perfect. You’re here to meet the guys, I presume?”
I made a mental note to ask my dad if everything was okay with her but just nodded. “Yeah, Dad’s been going on non-stop about nothing else so I figured I’d come and see for myself.”
Linda chuckled as she nodded toward the door to the studio. “He’s excited. But he has reason to be; he’s put together a good group. These guys are going to go the distance, I think.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear it, but it made me worry a little. My dad was a notorious workaholic and put everything into his career, which also meant he was vulnerable. He’d thankfully been fine the last few years, but there was no guarantee Wiretap would be successful or things would go the way he was hoping. He was putting a lot of eggs in this basket and the last time he’d done that, it had been a disaster. Linda knew it as well as I did. We’d both had to live through it.
She must have seen the concern on my face because before she opened the door, she put an arm across my shoulders and gave me a side-hug. “He’s doing fine, I promise. He has his eyes open.”
I nodded and followed her into the studio. The door opened to the mixing board side where my father and his engineer, Cliff, sat facing the window that overlooked the recording room. My eyes drifted there first, but I let out a breath when I saw it was empty.
“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said as he got up and came over.
“Hi, Dad,” I muttered into his chest as I got my second bear hug of the day.
He pulled back, giving me a chance to say hi to Cliff, another one of Dad’s long-time staffers.
“So,” I said, trying not to sound eager as I nodded to the empty room. Well, empty of people—there were plenty of instruments. “Where are they?”
“They needed a break,” Dad said. “I sent them to the gym to blow off some steam and then back to the condo for a shower and food. Cliff and I are going through the work they did this morning. It’s good, but not there yet. They’ll be back in time to get a couple hours in before dinner.”
Dinner didn’t mean the end of the day, either. Knowing Dad, the guys would be working late into the evening. It was a good sign that they were getting regular meals and breaks in, though. And of course, gym time, though that was all part of what they’d signe
d up for: boy band boot camp. They might be real musicians, but they had to be attractive and fit, too; that was a big part of the formula.
I dropped into one of the chairs at the board. “Have you had lunch?” I asked my father, eyeing the not-so-fresh-looking paper coffee cup beside him.
He followed my gaze and must have realized he hadn’t because he shook his head and pushed up out of his chair. “No, but I could use some air. Let’s go walk to the deli and grab some sandwiches.”
We took orders and left the studio, walking down the block to the deli that knew us both by name and even Dad’s ‘the usual.’ We ordered for everyone and left laden with food: sandwiches, drinks, and even kosher pickles (because you can’t have the deli experience without them, Dad always said).
I’d thought Dad would talk about the band, but he seemed to be more interested in hearing about me: school and how my equestrian training was coming along. Small talk, which was weird, but I didn’t mind.
“I actually missed competing in the last derby thanks to that flu going around,” I said, still getting over the disappointment of the horrible timing of the illness, and how I’d puked the second the bus had pulled into the stable yard.
He gave me a sympathetic look.
I shrugged it off. “I’ll never be a contender,” I told him as we walked out in the sunshine, dodging and weaving around people on the busy sidewalk. “I’m good for my school and maybe even regionals, but not good enough to do it more than as a hobby. But maybe someday I can have a job working at a stables or something to do with horses.” I was aware I needed to start getting serious about my future plans, especially if they included college.