“Dad!” I exclaim, out of breath. “You scared me!”
He comes into my room with my plate of food and lays it on my dresser. “Sorry, Mads. That sounds amazing, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I say, grudgingly. A rock star just told me my music is amazing… then again, he is my dad, so he kind of has to.
Dad’s face falls, and he asks, “Was that about me? Do you think I just want you locked up?”
Wow… awkward. “Well… kinda,” I say, setting my guitar down on the stand.
Dad sits down on my bed and sighs. “You really want to run away?” He’s looking beyond hurt.
I swallow hard and look down at my black dotted-with-skulls socks. “On occasion. Mostly when you yell at me just for trying to help.”
“More like trying to manipulate me,” he says stiffly. “That wasn’t fair, what you did. Putting me in that position.”
“Well, it wasn’t fair of you to keep the truth from me for sixteen years,” I retort.
“Honey… what did I say to you right before we watched the video?”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “You would never purposely hurt me, you love me, blah blah blah,” I say with a hint of a grin.
The corners of his lips turn up. “Well, that’s still valid, you know.”
I start tearing up again. “Dad, I’m just… I’m so sick of being cooped up in here, you know?” My voice is wobbly. “Ana gets to go on vacation all the time, and I haven’t gone anywhere in years. I never see anyone… I barely have any friends…” Tears are falling. “Cass is right. Sometimes, I really feel like busting out of here.” And there’s the truth of the situation. Yes, I want to leave for him, but I want to leave for me, too.
“You need freedom,” he admits, wiping a tear from my left cheek. “You’re not happy here anymore.” I just shrug in response. He hit the nail on the head. “Can you promise to stay out of trouble if we go to California this summer?”
My heart rises into my throat. “Uh-huh.” I’m nodding eagerly.
“No drugs, no booze, no studly boys?”
“Dad,” I giggle. “Have you seen me?” I gesture to my skinny, boy-like body. No LA stud is going to want to hit this.
“Promise me,” Dad says solemnly, and I nod.
“I promise.”
“Well… I guess we’re going out of town this summer then.” He grins at me.
“What?!?!” He nods. “OH MY GOD!” I exclaim happily, throwing my arms around his neck and laugh-crying. “Thank you thank you thank you!!”
We’re going to LA. We’re going to LA!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
April 19, 2015 10:47 PM
I can’t believe how quickly Dad broke down and agreed to let us go to LA. It’s funny how my scheming was not the thing that ended up doing the job… It was just honest, raw feels that got through to him. Aside from being crazy-over-protective and bossy, Dad’s a really good guy. I know he loves me, even if he has an eccentric—who are we kidding, insane—way of showing it sometimes.
Now that Mission #1 is completed and archived, I think I’ve already come up with another one. Ana is my best friend, and I know she would do anything to take me with her if she were in my position. I would just invite her to go along, but the problem is that her parents are insanely conservative, and if they knew Dad was a rock star, they would never let her near us again for fear that she’d OD at the mere sight of us. I definitely can’t tell them who Dad is, and they probably won’t agree to LA even if I bury the truth. I need a scheme that would get a Southern conservative preacher to allow his 16-year-old daughter to go to Beverly Hills with her rocker friends.
I thought about saying we’re going to Bible camp, but that’s just too cliché of a cover-up. Plus, it’s unlikely my father would be accompanying us on that kind of a trip. I need something that sounds super righteous and clean, but not too fake. I’m going to hell for this… I know that for a fact. But I think I’ve come up with the perfect plan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So you see, Pastor and Mrs. Lincourt,” I say, feeling like the devil himself, “I think the mission work we’ll be doing in Los Angeles this summer would be a great opportunity for Ana. We only have room for one more person on our team, so there’s no need to announce this to the church. We’ll be leaving in the beginning of June and coming back in August before school starts. Everything has been paid for, so all we need is your permission and we can start preparations.”
Pastor Lincourt looks over at his wife across the cherry wood dinner table. Ana, her siblings, and I are all clustered into the sides of this table, which clearly was not designed to accommodate this many people at once. “What do you think, dear?” the pastor asks.
Mrs. Lincourt knows a little bit more than she lets on about us. She’s heard some of the things that Ana and I say and do when the pastor isn’t around, but she’s nice enough not to say a word. “I think it’s a great idea,” Mrs. Lincourt says, smiling innocently. “Ana could use a little exposure to different cultures, and Mike and Madison will be right there if she needs anything.”
The pastor nods, and he turns back to me. “I suppose it would be alright,” he says with a smile. Ana and I silently bump fists under the table. “Have you prayed over this, Ana? Are you sure this is what God wants you to do?”
“Oh yes, absolutely,” she says immediately. “I can’t wait to serve all the ‘lost people’ of LA.” I can’t believe Ana and I are lying our asses off to a man of the cloth. Nana would be so pissed if she knew what we were doing right now.
“There are quite a few,” he jokes, and we laugh politely. “Plenty of gays, that’s for sure.”
An odd expression passes over Ana’s face. “Right… of course.”
What a douche, I think to myself. The awkwardness in the room just keeps growing, until finally I say, “Well, I’m stuffed,” and I wipe my mouth and set my napkin to the side. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Lincourt. It was delicious.” I wasn’t lying about that. Everybody knows Mrs. Lincourt has the second-best Southern-style cooking in this part of the state… second to Nana, of course.
Ana and I wait until we’re safely in her room with the door locked to exult over our success. “We did it!” Ana exclaims, laughing. She laughs about everything, but it’s part of her charm.
My arms engulf her in a hug. “I told you we would!”
“I’m going to LA!”
I pull back from her. “Correction, you’re going to Beverly Hills,” I tell her with a grin, “the best part of LA.”
“Beverly Hills,” Ana breathes, shuddering with happiness. “It’s still so surreal.” I sit down on her neon green comforter and I marvel again at how polar opposite my BFF and I turned out. Her room looks like it’s straight out of a teen magazine, and mine is all dark with band posters and black… everything. Somehow, even though she obsesses over pop artists and I obsess over rock bands, we still have enough in common to feel attached at the hip.
I guess it helps that we both love horror movies. Ana flips on her small flatscreen TV and puts on one of our favorites: Never Really Alone starring Jacie Redinger. It’s a little old, but still good. We watch it together one night every six months, religiously.
The TV is on the wall opposite her bed, so Ana and I sit with our backs against fuzzy pillows on the wall. I link arms with her because she can be a little squeamish at the scary parts, and always wants to hold on to me. It’s funny… no matter how many times we watch this movie, it still has the power to make chills run up our spines. I guess it’s just that good, and Jacie is that talented of an actress.
“Do you think we’ll meet JR in Cali?” Ana asks me, reading my mind before I even form the thought. She does that a lot.
“You never know,” I say, and we grin. JR is an A-list actress now, and horror movies are mostly in her past, but she does still act in one on occasion.
Ana squeals under her breath and hugs into me. “You’re the best friend ever, you
know that?”
I laugh a little. “Glad you said things like that before I became a rock star’s kid, or I might not believe you.”
“I mean, you risked eternal damnation for me. That’s true BFF love.”
Now I’m really laughing. “I think I was already there, Ann.” According to Nana, anyway. She really hates the “devil music.”
Moments pass, and then Ana casually mentions, “We need to get you a new wardrobe when we get to Beverly Hills.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “What?”
“You’re probably going to need more than ripped jeans and band Ts in LA. A bikini, at least.”
“Me?? A bikini? Are you out of your mind?”
“Come on, girl, live a little,” she says, nudging me.
“I have nothing to put a bikini over, Ana,” I tell her. “No boobs, no ass, nada. I’m completely screwed in the body department.”
She scoffs. “Not true! You have an amazing ass!”
“Right, okay…”
“No really, you do. I’ve been jealous of it ever since middle school.” Really? Ana, jealous of ME? Maybe I need to take a second look in the mirror in the morning…
“Anyway,” I say, “I don’t need a new wardrobe. I like my clothes.”
“Maaaaads,” Ana whines. “Come on, you never go clothes shopping with me. We could go to Rodeo Drive and visit some real shops, and in return, I’ll put up with any and all music stores you want to go to.”
She caught my attention. “You mean that?”
“Ahh!” she screams, and grabs on to me. It’s at one of the startling parts of the movie.
“Damn, that just never gets old,” I say, looking closely at the graphics and effects. I’ve gotten to the point where TV doesn’t scare me anymore because I know it’s not reality, but Ana gets a little too into it.
“Yeah, I mean it,” she says, giggling breathlessly.
“Well… alright,” I reluctantly agree. “I guess it’s not going to kill me.” At that moment, on the screen, the evil spirits take another victim, and I smile at the irony.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At breakfast the next morning:
“So Dad,” I say around a bite of cheesy scrambled eggs, “how does it feel knowing you had a chance to be on Johnny McIntyre and you threw it away for no reason?”
Dad smirks as he chomps off a bite of a crispy bacon strip. “Who says I threw the chance away?”
My eyebrows go up. “What do you mean?”
“Well,” he says, swallowing, “he said that if I change my mind, all I have to do is call him back.”
I gasp excitedly. “Really??”
“The problem is,” Dad says, “we’d still be exposing ourselves to a media shit storm.”
“Michael Andrew!” Nana yells with a scowl. She hates it when he cusses at the table.
Dad, Cass, and I chuckle. “Sorry, Momma,” Dad says. “Anyway, I haven’t decided yet, but I’ve been considering calling him. I mean, it is Johnny McIntyre.”
I have no time to scheme, so I whip off my black-rimmed, large-lensed modern glasses and resort to begging with my giant, blue, long-lashed puppy eyes. “Please please please please please pleeease??”
A smile grows on his face. We all know Dad can’t resist my puppy eyes. “Maybe,” he says.
“Damn, I’m losing my touch,” I say, putting my glasses back on.
“No swearing at the table,” Nana scolds. Not sure why it’s okay everywhere else, but not at the table.
“I, personally, would love to see you guys on Johnny McIntyre,” Cass says, “but I’m just happy that you agreed to come to LA at all. You guys are going to have a blast.” And we’re getting him back on that stage once and for all, her eyes say with a wink in my direction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
April 25, 2015 12:21 AM
WE’RE GOING ON JOHNNY MCINTYRE!!!!!!!!!!!!
I broke him down. I left my glasses off all day and stalked Dad wherever he went. I followed him out to the fields, the stables… I even stood outside the bathroom down the hall and waited for him there. He was a trooper at first, refusing to make eye contact with me, but finally around 3 PM he accidentally looked at me and snapped. He said:
“UGH… I can’t take it! I’m calling him back now. Stop torturing my soul.”
I am pure evil… I really, really am.
We’re going to Cali, Ana’s coming with, and we’re going on Johnny McIntyre. Now, a new mission begins: Mission W3 Reunion.
I designated this one to Cass. She’s the one who knows how to get in touch with Dad’s other bandmates. We called Johnny right after Dad agreed to be on the show and told him this new plan, and Johnny completely flipped out. W3 is going to reunite on the show, and Dad doesn’t know a thing. If we’re lucky, Dad will agree to perform at least one song with them. I’m hoping the nostalgia trip will be enough to trigger emotions of, “Hey… I really don’t want to be done with this!”
Cass called me a “mastermind” earlier. Coming from her, that’s a big compliment.
I really don’t know how I’m going to get any sleep from now until summer.
Chapter 3
One Month and Nine Days Later
This is the moment… I finally get to see the house I should have grown up in.
Ana and I have our arms linked as we ride with Dad and Cass in her blue ’15 Tesla. We’re driving in from Los Angeles International Airport down some more secluded streets in Beverly Hills, and the houses we’re passing by are nothing short of spectacular. They’re all different styles, but each one looks like it took at least a million dollars to create, whether it be in present times or past. Right before we reach 21 Leighton Way, Dad’s mansion, we pass by an Italian-style villa that makes my jaw drop… and it’s not just because of the mansion itself.
“Holy hell, that is one sexy dude,” I observe, letting my gaze lock onto him as we pass by. He’s about my age, and he matches the house… Italian, sculpted, and beautiful.
Dad gives me a warning look. “Mads…”
“Dad, I’m not dead. I’m gonna at least look.”
“That’s Gio Abate,” Cass tells me with a little grin. “His stepdad, Stephan Lowe, is one of my best friends. You’ll definitely be meeting him.” I gasp in delight, and then I groan. I’m really regretting that promise right about now. Then again, what the hell makes me think that god sent down to earth would ever look my way, anyway?
“Stephan Lowe?!” Ana exclaims with wide green eyes. “The designer??” Stephan Lowe is one of the foremost designers in LA, and Ana is an aspiring model and fashion enthusiast. Her meeting Stephan Lowe would be like me meeting M. Shadows and/or Synyster Gates.
“Yep,” Cass says. “We’ll have to arrange a dinner so you can all meet.” Ana and I look at each other and grin excitedly.
We’re parked in the driveway now, and my chest constricts when I step out of the Tesla and my eyes fall on the house. The sun is setting, and with the outside lights on I really get the entire picture of how beautiful it is. The outer walls are plain white cement, all straight lines. The balconies have steel railings that are also minimalist, and the floodlights shining up on the house cast shadows that add diversity to it. Instead of a porch, there is a white-canopied patio out front with a lot of white-cushioned steel chairs and benches. There are a few red and black pillows on the furniture that give some much-needed pops of color.
Inside, we enter a two-story entry way with a vaulted ceiling and a skylight. The stairs are like white floating platforms with steel railings, and they curve on their way up to the second floor. Once we’re in the living room, I see a gigantic 4K TV on the wall in front of the black leather couch with red throw pillows. This white/black/steel/red theme continues throughout the house, peppered with rock star stuff in random areas and a few stains that I would rather not investigate. This is a true, bona fide multi-millionaire bachelor pad, which is why I’m a little surprised Cass hasn’t changed much abo
ut it in sixteen years.
They take us upstairs to get settled in our rooms, and give Ana and me rooms next to each other. “There’s no point in making you share one,” Dad says, “since there are nine bedrooms in the house.”
“But girls like sharing bedrooms, don’t you know that, Dad?” I tease him. That was always his excuse for shoving Ana and I into a single twin bed back in Kentucky.
“It’s okay,” Ana says. “At least I won’t have to put up with your bony knees in my back all night.” She’s referring to the many sleepovers we’ve had where I accidentally tried to maim her in my sleep. Apparently, I sleep-kick… Tae Kwon Do style.
My king-sized bed has a pretty minimal design—it’s basically just a mattress on top of a black platform. I have a large walk-in closet and my own bathroom, and a few shelves on the walls for displaying things. There’s also a TV in my room that’s about three times bigger than my TV at home. I smile as I lay my carry-on bag on the bed and breathe in the smell of fresh linens.
Cass enters the bedroom with my suitcase, and I ask her, “So, do we have staff, or…?”
“We’re not quite that rich, Mads,” Cass says.
“Darn,” I say, with mock disappointment. “I was hoping Jeeves would be unpacking and putting away my clothes for me.” She laughs at me, shaking her head as she exits the room.
After my things are unloaded into a tall black dresser, I go back down to the first floor and notice the pool through the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the sunroom in the back of the house. “Sick,” I say, and I hurry out to the back patio through the sliding glass doors.
The patio and furniture out back are similar to the ones in front of the house, and then there are stairs on both sides of the back patio leading down to the lit, heated Olympic-sized pool and matching hot tub. Near the water, there is a lot of cast-iron furniture and umbrellas, and there’s also a grill and wet bar.
Diary of a Rocker's Kid (D.O.R.K. Book 1) Page 3
