For Love or Money (17 page)

Somehow,
when I land, Henry is waiting at the bottom of the escalator in LAX with a sign
that says ‘I love you, welcome home!’ and a cheesy smile.

I
sigh, exhausted and ecstatic at the same time. “How?”

His
grin grows. “Please, I have been tracking your Visa since I gave it to you.”

“Of
course you were.”

He
wraps his arms around me and sighs like he’s taking a deep breath of me. “Tell
me there is more to this band than you and that old violin case?” He’s
sarcastic, but I can see the tears of joy lingering behind his stare.

I
laugh weakly. “They arrive later. I wanted to see Dad.” His eyes are gleaming
and weird. “What?” I ask.

He
shakes his head and wraps his arm around my shoulders, walking with me to the
baggage claim.

The
small talk isn’t a necessity. He knows all the good, the bad, and the ugly. So
I don’t have to pretend that we’re not awkward. We are, and yet somehow there
is comfort in that awkwardness.

There
is peace in the fact we both have a hundred things to tell the other person,
but we don’t say a word. That is the beautiful part of true love, whether it be
parental, plutonic, or based on something physical and emotional. True love
means that you don’t have to talk about your broken heart. The other person’s
silence acknowledges it, but it tells you they love you so much, they accept
you broken.

I
wake as the car stops, not realizing I was even sleeping. We are outside of the
beach house in Malibu, which seems odd to me. Dad isn’t at his house in the
hills. I climb out of the car, not worrying about Henry getting the door, and
stroll up to the front of the house. Dad answers the door. I can see the smile
before I see anything else. His arms are open and he’s rushing me.

I
almost flinch, not sure what to expect, but he wraps himself around me and
kisses my head. “My darling girl, you came to see me. I had hoped you would.”

I
hug back, closing my eyes and exhaling into him.

“How
was the flight? You must be exhausted.”

I
shake my head, not answering his question but stopping it altogether. “Dad, we
need to talk.”

His
eyes dart to Henry and then me. He is bracing himself, which makes me feel
worse about what I’m about to say, but I have to get it out. “Dad—“ I
close my eyes and blurt, “I don’t want to be a music exec. I just want to play
my music and be a starving artist and a failure, and I know you probably are
disappointed in me but—“

He
pulls me back, and instead of rage or judgment, there is a smile I have not
seen in a very long time. He starts to cry, maintaining the smile that is
alarming.

He
hugs me again, kissing my head and trembling. When I think he’s done, I look up
and see the strangest expression on his face. I don’t even know what it is, but
I have to assume it’s bliss.

He
wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me back into the house. “You had me
scared, kid.” He pulls me to the kitchen, where he’s cooking.

What
the shit?

He’s
a great cook but he never does it.

I
look around, trying to figure out what kind of hell I’ve walked into—or
worse what kind of midlife crisis. “Where’s Rach?”

He
nods at the sea. “She went yachting with the Jensons.”

“Why
didn’t you go?”

A
smile crosses his lips. “I wanted to make something special.”

My
nose catches it as he says it. “Mom’s tacos?”

He
smiles wider and pours me a glass of lemonade, like I’m seven all over again.

I
look back at Henry and wonder if he’s been here all along. How would Dad know I
was coming and that I’m better if he hasn’t even been calling me? “Did
you—have you been spying on me?”

“You
caught us!” My dad’s face cracks. “Nicholas doesn’t just play the keyboard.”

My
jaw drops. “You sent him there to spy on me? You knew I was forming a band
before I even knew?”

He
nods. “I knew.” His eyes dart to the violin case in my hands. “I knew something
important had found its way back to you.”

I’m
not even angry—I don’t think I am anyway.

He
gives me a look. “You understand, I just needed to know you were trying, right?
I needed to know you were taking this all seriously.”

“Yeah.
I know you don’t trust me.”

He
looks hurt, but I make myself see the pain on his face is my doing. He has a
thousand faces that look similar to this one. So many times he’s bailed me out
while making this face. Germany last summer was the worst, but there have been
others. Too many to count, and if I think of them fast they blur and become the
expression he has now.

I
reach my hand across the marble island. “Dad, I broke your trust and I screwed
up everything. I want you to know, I know it was me and I’m sorry.”

He
clenches his jaw. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He
serves us both up a plate of spicy chicken tacos with homemade guacamole and
salsa. The secret to the recipe is the chipotle coleslaw she always put on
them. We load up and start to eat.

“So
how good are you guys?”

I
shake my head. “It’s stupid. Like we’ve played our whole lives together.”

His
eyes gleam but that makes me uncomfortable. Like my success might not be my
own. “Did you set up everything?”

He
scowls, but I can see the smile he’s hiding and the fact he doesn’t answer is a
bad sign.

It
makes my stomach ache. “Did you set up James and me? More than just giving him
my old violin?”

He
takes a big bite and nods. When he’s swallowed it, he chuckles. “I have stayed
in contact with James, always inquiring why he hadn’t tried to get to know you
yet. I tried not to pressure him.”

My
stomach turns completely.

Oh
God.

“I
knew if anyone could help you to remember how much you loved music, it would be
someone like him. Someone who was passionate about music and naturally
talented.”

I
swallow the last of the food in my mouth and process how to ask what I want to
ask. “So you didn’t try to set us up, like together?”

He
cocks an eyebrow and looks more like my calm and peaceful dad again. “Set you
up?”

“Just,
we’ve kind of hit it off. We get along.”

Dad
sits at the stool and leans across the counter. “You’ve had some hard years,
Lana. When your mom died you went so deep into your music, it was scary. People
actually thought it was me, pushing you too hard, but I just tried to be
supportive and love you, no matter what you wanted to do. Then when you broke
and it stopped being fun, I felt like I had lost you. You pulled away and you
rebelled, and it’s been a long haul of that.” He sips his lemonade and clears
his throat. “I just think maybe—not that I’m telling you what to do
because I know how well that goes for me—but maybe you should consider
taking things very slowly with Mr. Holland.”

It
dawns on me what this is and I laugh. “I know how he paid his tuition.”

He
sighs. “Oh, okay. I don’t think that makes his being a gigolo any better in my
mind. No father wants his daughter to date that guy. You have to see it my
way.”

I
shake my head. “Jeeze, Dad, what don’t you know?”

“I
didn’t know you two were seeing each other. I sort of thought you’d never
escape Andrew Saint Clare’s grasp.” He smiles again. “As much as James is a
nice kid, he’s troubled. It’s like you went from the fire of Andrew to the
boiling pot of James. You might want to take it very easy. Two sticks of
dynamite tend to rub each other the wrong way. Artistic people have tumultuous
relationships, and rarely are they able to be happy about the other person’s
success.”

It
makes me laugh and brings my appetite back. It had been temporarily lost when
he’d mentioned the set up. I want to believe James and I might one day be James
and I because we like each other. Not because my dad paid him to date me.
“Well, we aren’t dating. We’re just very friendly and we get along.” It’s not
exactly how I would say it, but I don’t want him stressing out too hard.

“Then
I won’t worry until there’s something to worry about.” He swallows his bite and
looks out at the ocean I have missed so much. “Want to take a walk after
dinner?”

“Sure.”

He
seems so much lighter than he used to be. We seem lighter. Like we were when my
mom was alive.

We
finish dinner and walk down the back steps to the beach. I peel away layers of
Bostonian clothing and leave it on the stairs. It’s all dark, like the color
insulates or just made me blend in on the East Coast.

Here
the light colors and airy fabrics are more popular. It’s sunny and fresh
feeling. The warm wind off the sea is a blessing.

Dad
slips his hand in mine, he hasn’t done it in ages. I don’t remember the last
time.

“You
know, Lana, when I was twenty-one years old, my dad gave me my inheritance in a
lump sum. He told me he was making a one-time investment in my future. I used
it to start Webber Records and became a music exec. Not because I had any
natural talent.” He turns and grins. “You got that all from your mom. But what
I had was an ear for the right sound and a strong business background, thanks
to my banker dad. So when I made my first million, I went to see my father, to
tell him I had made a million dollars. He was dying, he’d gotten cancer. It was
why he’d given us our inheritance early. It was then that I learned he’d cut my
youngest brother off. He’d given him nothing. So I hunted my brother down on
the streets in LA. He was a bum and a junky and starving so I gave him money. I
paid someone to watch over him and be his caretaker. It didn’t help. No amount
of money could save him, because he didn’t want to save himself. My brother
died of AIDS in the early eighties. He was a junky and God knows what else. I
blamed my parents a little for his death.”

I
have never heard this story before. My mind is racing and my hand is sweating,
but he ignores it and stares out at the beach.

“When
your mother died and we got lost, both of us, I was terrified you would end up
like my younger brother. I didn’t see it until it was too late, and I realized
how easy it was to love your child so much you miss the bad things until
they’re all that’s left. I panicked when I realized how far you’d come. So I
did the thing I wished my parents had done for him—given him one chance
to turn his life around.”

My
insides are like a vice around my heart.

He
looks at me, nodding. “You really proved yourself this last month and a bit.
But the true test of success in life comes in the form of a path. For you it is
a path into the unknown, as far as music is concerned. I never imagined you
would be a very good music executive, but I did imagine you would be part of my
label. I imagined your future was with me, making music. The true test is going
to be during this contest, to see if you can live up to the pressure of being
in the career you love. If you can cope with the highs and lows without
resorting to your old habits.”

I
wince. “Dad, I’m clean. I swear. No drugs and no random acts of insanity.”

“I
know. We couldn’t control your extracurricular activities, but Henry had
replaced your pills about six months ago. You’ve been off of your
antidepressants and your antianxiety pills. And he put a natural sleep aid in
your sleeping pill bottles. So whatever you were taking were either from the
health food store or placebos. Unless you managed to get more on your own.”

I
gasp. “What?”

No
wonder I never had withdrawals. I’d been withdrawing from them all winter,
unbeknownst to me.

He
nods. “Yes. He was very particular about weaning you from them before we
started the show.”

I
stop walking. “You knew about the show before I got attacked and Weaver
overdosed on cocaine?”

“Of
course. Now, the deal stands. If your band wins, Leo will get the position at
my label and I will sign your band.”

I
cover my eyes with my hands. “Dude, what don’t you know?”

“The
meaning of life has evaded me for some time.” His eyes soften. “But I am
starting to see it now.”

I
hug him. “I love you, Dad. You’re a peculiar man and a snoopy snooper-ton, but
I love you.”

He
kisses the top of my head. “Me too, kid. And I’m proud of you. I’m proud you
took a chance on yourself.”

I
don’t have a response. We continue our walk down the beach, holding hands and
talking like I’m still seven. And the best part is, I feel seven. I feel clean
and free and loved.

I
feel like I am enough—good enough.

When
we get back to the house I head for bed. It’s bright and sunny but I’m dying of
jet lag. I turn my phone on quick, seeing a message on my voicemail.

Who
calls anyone anymore?

I
listen to the message. It’s from my doctor, but it’s too late to call him so I
set my alarm for six in the morning and fall into a deep sleep.