Brando 2 (10 page)

I
know Wanda’s
right, but something about the way she says it makes me feel like I’m
hearing a secret.

“I
can see where she got her poetic side.”

Wanda
takes my hand in hers and looks at me with mint-blue eyes. It feels
like she can read my mind.

“I
hope she didn’t
inherit my taste in men.”

As
soon as she says it, she drops my hand and steps back into the house,
closing the door. The message is clear: You’re
on your own, buddy. I spin around to face the shed across the lawn,
which seems a thousand miles long now, and start walking.

By
the time I get close to the shed door, my head’s
swirling with so many thoughts, so many emotions, so many memories,
that I can’t
tell if the sound I’m
hearing is real or imagined. It’s
only when I get close enough to put a hand against the deeply-grained
wood that I know it’s
really her. She’s
singing. Low and long, a sad song. She stops every few lines, then
starts back up again, the same way she always does when she’s
writing.

I
listen for a while, taking deep breaths, and then brace myself once
again. I glance back toward the house and see Wanda looking through
the glass pane of the door. She offers me a gentle look of sympathy
before turning away and heading back into the house.

I
knock.

Haley
calls out something that gets muffled through the wall, then gets
back to playing. I knock again. This time I hear her stop, and the
thud of what’s
probably her guitar being put down. I take a step back from the door.

“What
the fuck?”
she
snarls, her face twisting with uncontrolled anger as soon as she sees
me. “No!
Go
away
!”

As
she screams this last word she puts her hand on my chest and shoves
me as violently as she can. I stumble back, and she storms toward me.

“Just
fucking
leave
already! Get out of my life!”
she
screams, her voice breaking up with how loud she’s
screaming. She shoves me again, putting all of her strength into it.

“Don’t
you fucking get it already? I don’t
want anything to do with you!”

This
time I grab her biceps and hold her before she can shove me again.

“Stop
it!” I
shout, my voice so loud it seems to swallow hers, to boom off the
surrounding mountains. “For
fuck’s
sake, Haley! Stop.”

We
glare at each other, chests heaving, jaws clenching. Two animals in a
fight to the death.

“I’ll
never forgive you for what you did,”
Haley
hisses, her voice as sharp as a blade.

“I’ve
done a lot of dumb things, Haley. Made a lot of mistakes. But
that
wasn’t
one of them.”

“Fuck
you!” Haley
says, shrugging my hands off her, rage pouring off her in waves.

Something
in me snaps. “No,
Haley. Fuck
you
!
I didn’t
come here to beg. I didn’t
come here to apologize. I’m
sick of fucking apologizing. This whole tour I’ve
been twisting myself into knots over you. Praying you’d
give me another chance. Wondering how fucking long you were going to
stay mad at me. And then for a whole month before that I didn’t
even leave the house. I felt like I’d
give anything to see you again, and it still wasn’t
enough.”

Haley
glares at me even more fiercely.

“And
for what, Haley? For
what
?
A stupid bet that I didn't care about from the second I realized how
good you really were. A stupid bet that I won, and still feel like I
lost. A stupid bet that I'd make all over again, because it's the
best damn thing that happened ever happened to me - and maybe to you,
too. I'm not the one hung up on the bet, Haley, you are. You keep
treating me like I’m
an asshole –
and
maybe I am, but not for the reasons you think. The only mistake I
made was feeling the way I do about you. But I’m
done. I’m
done being the nice guy. I didn’t
come here to apologize. I didn’t
come here to beg you for another chance. I came here to
tell
you.”

“Tell
me
what?”
Haley
spits, her voice even harder and tighter.

“That
I fucking love you.”

The
words seem to light a fire in her face, her eyes flickering over
mine, her lips opening in an angry scowl, trembling with anger. Her
cheeks go hot red like I just slapped her in the face.

She
leaps at me again, even more aggressively, even more fueled by her
hot-headed temper, even more out of control. Only this time it’s
not to push me. It’s
to kiss me.

Haley

On
the drive back to LA I have to struggle to stop myself from smiling.
I hang my arm out of the window and watch Brando as he focuses on the
road, feeling weird in a happy kind of way. He notices me watching
and laughs.

“You
look pretty happy to return to LA,”
he
says

“I’m
just happy right now. Take the 1.”

“Why?”
he
says, frowning. “It’s
longer.”

“Yeah.
But I like the ocean view.”

I
lean toward the window and let the wind caress my face, stroke my
hair. When I open my eyes I see Brando, notice the lines of his arm
muscles, the Italian nose in profile, the way he looks like he’s
dreaming when his face is at rest.

He
glances over at me and notices me staring again.

“I
feel like I should be charging you when you look at me like that.”

“I
hope I can afford it,”
I
giggle, as I lean over to turn on the radio.

We
listen to the tail end of a half-decent song, both of us only
half-listening, until the two DJs start talking.

“…
an
interesting story. Rex Bentley –
you
like Rex Bentley, Sara?”

“
Who
doesn’t?
‘Put
on your red shoes…’”

“
Well
his daughter, apparently. Haley Grace Cooke: The girl who just
supported Lexi Dark on her tour and is set up to be even bigger.”

“
She’s
his daughter?”

“
That’s
what people are saying.”

“
I
can believe it.”

“
What
do you think? Is this just one of those publicity things? Or you
think she really didn’t
want people to know?”

Brando
presses the off button so hard he nearly breaks it. We drive on in
silence for a few minutes, but the sense of something wrong hangs in
the space between us.

“What
do I do?”
I
finally ask, turning to Brando. “What
do I do about this?”

Brando
focuses on the road, sighing deeply before he speaks.

“Rowland
wants to use this, of course. Play up the connection. Milk the
publicity, really drive home the ‘estranged
daughter of the musical legend is just as talented’
angle.
He’s
already talking feature pieces about how you always knew the music
was in your blood. Me: I want this to go away. Disappear. You can
stand on your own talent, you worked your ass off for this career,
and you’ve
got no reason to want to be associated with a scumbag like him. If it
were up to me, this story would be dead and gone yesterday.”

I
nod. “Me
too. But how? Is that even possible?”

Brando’s
lips press together as he thinks of how best to let me down.

“I
don’t
know. Worst case scenario, this thing catches fire –
more
than it has –
and
the fans turn against you. They find out the truth, you get branded a
wannabe who rode her daddy’s
coattails, and nothing you ever do is judged fairly. If you even get
the chance to make another record.”

“And
what’s
the bad news?”

Brando
smiles.

“Best
case scenario: The story gets buried in all the other garbage people
write about, and in a year or two is nothing but an urban myth. I’ll
be honest, that one’s
unlikely. This is the juiciest thing in the news right now. Unless
the Pope decides to streak at the Cubs game tomorrow.”

I
look out at the view over the rocky cliffs, the ocean below looking a
little more overwhelming than I remember it.

“Do
you have his number?”

Brando
drops me off at my apartment before zooming off to perform damage
control. I check the time and groan when I realize Jenna is still on
her shift and won’t
be back for another four hours. When I get inside, I drop my duffle
bag to the floor, toss my leather jacket to the side, and head
straight for the refrigerator.

I’m
eighty percent of the way toward deciding I should order Chinese when
there’s
a knock at the door.

“Who
is it?” I
shout, as I slam the refrigerator closed and walk over to the door.

The
knock comes again, loud and impatient. I swing it open.

“
Hey
,
babe!”

“
Lexi?
”

“The
one and only,”
she
says as she strides right on past me into the apartment. Impossibly
confident in just a pair of white cut-off jean shorts and a pink tank
top.

“What
are you doing here?”

“Just
checking up on you,”
she
says as she glides around the room, looking around casually as if
she’s
considering buying it. “How’s
your throat?”

I
touch my throat as if remembering it was supposed to hurt suddenly.
Despite the shouting match with Brando, the stress of crying all
night on the plane, and the fact that I’ve
been doing anything but resting since fucking Brando at Lexi’s
show – it
feels way better than it should.

“Fine
…
I
guess?”

Lexi
laughs wildly. “Oh!
What a surprise,”
she
says with open derision. “I
suppose that strange, unnamed, random doctor was wrong.”

I
step toward Lexi, and she moves sideways.

“What
do you mean by that?”
I
ask, making it clear from my tone that I don’t
appreciate hers.

She
grins menacingly as we circle each other around the furniture like
wrestlers before a bout.

“Why
don’t
you take a guess? And show me just
how
gullible you can really be?”

“That
wasn’t
a real doctor? And I wasn’t
sick enough to miss the show?”
Lexi
looks at me with mock-pity as she slow-claps. “You
made me miss the New York show for
nothing?
”

“No.
I never do anything for
nothing.
You missed the show because you were getting in my way.”

I
shake my head in disbelief. Lexi leans back against the kitchen
counter, stretching her long, bare legs out in front of her.

“You’re
…
you’re
a
bitch.”

Lexi
laughs as she picks up an apple from the fruit bowl and plays with it
in her hand.

“That’s
not even the bitchiest thing I did yesterday.”

I
take a couple of steps closer to her, my limbs feeling like coiled
springs.

“What
are you talking about?”

Lexi
takes a loud bite of the apple and looks at me expectantly.

“No,”
I
say, refusing to let the thought take root. “No.
You didn’t.”

“I
probably did.”

“No.
How
could
you? You didn’t
even know.”

Lexi
nonchalantly wipes the corner of her mouth, but her lipstick is still
picture-perfect. “I
know I have a good voice –
but
I have even better ears.”
She
puts on a comical impression of Brando. “
‘Oh
Haley, that night you told me Rex Bentley –
the
legendary singer - was your father, I got such a hard-on. Poor you,
having such famous parents.’
”

I
bury my head in my hands, clawing at my hair.

“I
can’t
believe it. This is too much,”
I
say, looking back at Lexi. “It
doesn’t
make any sense. What do you get by telling the press about that? If
anything it just makes me more famous, gives me more attention –
more
than you. Why would you do that?”

“Because,”
Lexi
says, turning serious as she tosses the apple away and strides slowly
toward me, “I
couldn’t
give two fucks about your career anymore. I don’t
care how many sweaty guitar geeks give your lousy records great
reviews. I couldn’t
be more oblivious to how many shows you sell out. I’ve
realized what I really want.”

She
stands in front of me, inches away, her face so close I can see the
thickness of her lashes.

“I
want Brando back.”

This
time it’s
me who laughs, hysterically, my body reacting with the only response
it can find for something so insane.

“Are
you fucking crazy?”
I
shout, pacing away from her and then turning back. “What?
You thought I’d
assume it was him and then we’d…”
I
stop laughing when I realize she was almost right, that she almost
got exactly what she wanted.

I
step toward her, finger in front of me. “Well
it didn’t
work. And it never will. Brando’s
still
mine
.
You failed. You and all your stupid fucking games.”

Slowly,
Lexi puts her hand around my pointed finger, and pulls it away from
her face.

“It’s
not over yet, babe. Brando’s
still going to choose me.”

“Wow,”
I
say, shaking my head. “You
are one hundred percent, no holds-barred, batshit crazy. How can you
even think that he’d
still go back to you? I almost pity you for being that deluded.”

“I’m
giving Majestic a choice. Either they drop me, or they drop you. Once
you’re
gone, it’ll
be just me and my Brando again –
just
like old times.”

I
turn and take a few steps away from her, unsure of whether to laugh
or to call the men in white coats. I spin back around to look at her,
standing proudly.

“You’re
crazy. The label’s
not going to drop me for a prima donna like you. You might be a star,
Lexi, but you’re
also a huge pain in the ass,”
I
say, stepping back toward her. “And
even if they’re
stupid enough to drop me, Brando’s
not.”