Snapshot (28 page)

“Hi, Mom,” Peter said. He pushed Adam’s legs off the couch so he could sit.

“Can’t a guy sleep?” Adam groaned, and opened one eye. Peter looked too damn happy.

“You can sleep when you’re dead,” Garrett said. He texted on his phone from one of the comfortable side chairs.

“If I don’t get any sleep, I will be dead,” Adam answered.

“It’s always hard the first day after a red-eye,” his mother said. “You’ll be fine. Do you want something caffeinated to drink?” She offered up a couple of pre-ordered sodas.

“A Dew. Please,” he added, to keep her happy.

“Okay boys, here we go.” Wally, middle-aged and balding, pulled up a chair from the dining table to their seating area. Dad took the chair next to Garrett’s, and Mom sat on the arm of the sofa near Peter.

“We have a lot of catching up to do because of our two weeks off. The schedule is packed.”

“Thanks for that, Pete,” Garrett shot across the room.

“You’re welcome!” He smiled.

Adam could see Peter was still riding high from his two weeks with Libby and setting up his new digs in Boston. Peter had the promise of seeing Libby often. Whereas, Adam had no idea when he’d get to see Marti. Longing tugged at his heart. Damn he missed her, and that was such a new feeling for him.

Wally continued. “This afternoon we’ve got a production meeting on the video shoot from one to three p.m. At three-thirty, we’ve squeezed in fittings for all your appearances this week. Dinner will be with a publisher and his team. They will be pitching ideas for the book. Then, at ten p.m., you’ve got a photo shoot.”

“Starting at ten? Are you serious?” Adam saw his possibilities for sleep disappearing. He wished he could sneak back to camp and crawl in his bunk.

“We’re showcasing the band in the exciting New York night life. We’ll start in Times Square, so it will be a bit of a press when the theatres let out.”

“Then tomorrow is another hectic day, starting off with a magazine interview at eight.”

He and Peter groaned. Adam knew he’d be lucky if he got four hours of sleep, and considering he didn’t get any last night, he’d be dragging big time. He covered his head with a throw pillow and slunk down on the couch.
 

The schedule only got worse as Wally outlined the video shoot, rehearsals, and more interviews.
 

Why was he doing this again? Oh yeah, love of his art. And the fact that his family wouldn’t let him out of it even if he wanted. Heck, his dad had his broken arm recast so he could still play guitar.

Nope. No choices. This was his life for the foreseeable future. Marti and camp seemed like a million years ago.

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Later that afternoon, when Marti could avoid her hunger pangs no longer, she ventured down to the kitchen. She was paranoid that she might run into Courtney, but instead was startled to find her dad in the kitchen, leaning over a bowl of Fruit Loops.

“Oh, hi,” she said, awkwardly. What would it take to feel comfortable around him again?

“Want some?” He offered the box.

“No thanks.” She opened the fridge in hopes of finding leftovers from last night’s buffet or something more edible than processed food. On the top shelf, with a note that read, “Welcome home” taped to it was a covered plate of sandwiches and a container of pasta salad. She pulled the items out and placed them on the counter. “Look what Rosa left.”

“She always liked you.” Her dad smiled and a drop of milk rolled down his unshaven chin. He swiped it away. “She wouldn’t speak to me for a month after you left.”

The sparkle of his blue eyes gave Marti hope that deep down he really did care. She watched his calloused hands as he took another mouthful of cereal, remembering him playing guitar when she was small. Marti put a sandwich and some salad on a plate.

“Want some?” she offered.

“You bet,” he said and watched Marti fix him a plate. “You know, I’d do just about anything rather than go to a funeral or talk about death, but I want you to know that I’m sorry about your grandma. She was a nice lady and always treated me well. Even when I didn’t deserve it.” He looked uncomfortable and then lifted his bowl and drank the remaining milk.

Marti took a bite of her sandwich and chewed on his words. “Thanks,” she said, unsure what else to say.

They sat in awkward silence.

“You want to hear my new music?” he asked.

Marti’s head popped up. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

“Come on, bring your plate. Just don’t tell Rosa.” He winked and the feeling of acceptance cheered her up.
 

“Where’s Courtney?” She looked around, fearful of being caught by the pint-size witch.

“She’s off shopping with her brother, Nigel. She wants new clothes for the show.”

They carried their plates to the music room where Marti curled up in a comfortable chair while her dad selected a guitar and pulled a straight back chair closer.
 

He tuned the guitar using his perfect pitch, plucking each string and adjusting the tuning pegs. Satisfied, he began to play. Marti watched his gifted hands strum and dance over the strings, creating a masterpiece. He tossed his hair back.

“What do you think?” His expression open, he seemed to really want her opinion.

“I like it.” She smiled. “I really do. What’s it called?”

“Evolution,” he answered and began the next tune.
 

Marti placed her empty plate on the side table and tucked her feet beneath her as intricate rifts and melodies sounded from the guitar. He played song after song for her. The pure sounds of his vocals rang out in the room. She enjoyed this rare, private concert from her dad, the famous Steven Hunter. She could see why he was considered such an icon. When he looked up and smiled, it accentuated the crows’ feet on his weathered face.

 
“Is the band is really going to tour?” she asked.

“That’s the plan. We’re having a party here tomorrow night and starting rehearsals next week. Then we’ll hit the studio to record the new tracks. The tour starts in late October. I think this might the perfect time to put the band back up on top.” His eyes lit as he talked about all the plans.
 

Marti liked hearing the excitement in his voice. It had been years since the band had done anything, and she wanted to see her dad happy, versus destructive. His happiness reminded her of Adam, and a pang of emptiness thumped in her stomach.
 

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over. Nigel and I just got back from shopping. I wanted to show you everything I bought. What are you doing in here?” Courtney strutted in wearing skinny jeans so tight her feet turned pink. Nigel appeared. Marti recognized his stringy dark hair from the night before. His eyes looked drugged out and his shoulders sagged as he lingered in the doorway.
 

“Playing Marti some of the new material. Did you have fun shopping?”

“Of course. But why are you playing it for her? You never play for me.” Courtney pouted and sidled up to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and slipping her other hand down the neck of his t-shirt.

“Because you can never sit through more than one song. Martini is a wonderful listener.” Marti let her dad’s compliment soak in. It had been so long since either of her parents said nice things to her.

“I’ll listen any time you want, baby.” She leaned closer and rubbed her ample breasts against his shoulder.
 

Marti took the cue to leave. “Thanks for letting me hear your songs, Dad.” She liked being able to say his name without feeling angry. She picked up her plate and left, but as she passed Nigel, she felt his eyes follow her down the hall. She made a mental note to keep her distance.

Marti texted Adam about hearing her dad’s new material. He was in some meeting, but texted back how jealous he was that she got a private concert of new Steven Hunter music. She knew Adam meant it. He idolized her dad the same way teenage girls idolized him.
 

She spent the afternoon unpacking her four large suitcases. The rest of her stuff was left behind for her mother to paw through and get rid of. She did leave a box of keepsakes with Kristi until she could have them shipped, and she left a box of important papers and old family photos that Ruth promised to keep safe until Marti was older. Marti didn’t trust that her stuff was safe here either. Too many people came and went and did what they wanted. Having her cameras and laptop here was bad enough.

Kahlua seemed to like one of the suitcases so much that Marti decided to let her use it as a permanent bed.

The afternoon sun warmed her room, and the cool breeze reminded her of camp. Unfortunately, as the afternoon turned into early evening, voices traveled up to her room. She glanced out the window to find a scene similar to the one from the day before.

People milled around the pool, the alcohol flowed and as the voices intensified, so did the music. She spotted Courtney laughing with her brother and saw her dad holding court with his bong. Marti rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to go downstairs, but the scent of something grilling caught her attention, and it had been a while since lunch.

She snuck downstairs and was able to successfully snag a plate of kabobs along with grilled mango from one of the caterers. As she balanced her plate and soda while opening her door, Kahlua snuck out.

“Aw crap. Kahlua!” She set the food on her dresser and went off to catch Kahlua before she got too far.

The little shit trotted down the steps and into the great room. Marti found her pawing at the corner of the sofa. Marti snuck up from behind and scooped her up. Kahlua meowed loudly.

“Naughty cat,” Marti scolded. She turned to find Courtney and Nigel watching.
 

Nigel took a slurp of his half-finished beer. “Well lookie here. Someone’s keeping secrets.”

Courtney glared, her collagen-filled lips forming an ugly sneer.

Nigel approached, swaying on his feet. Marti wished he’d fall on his face.

He reached out to pet the cat. “What a nice pussy you have,” he slurred.

Marti hugged Kahlua tighter and recoiled a step back. His odious breath turned her stomach sour.

Courtney laughed with wicked satisfaction. “Nigel, you are so bad!”

“What? I just want to pet her pussy.” He raised an eyebrow.
 

Kahlua meowed loudly from Marti squeezing her too tight. Without another word, Marti ran up the steps and back to her room.
 

She tossed the cat on the bed and slammed the door shut and locked it. Her pulse raced. She braced herself against the door and looked around the room; her eyes settled on the dresser. She pushed it over until it blocked the door.
 

Out of breath, Marti sank onto the bed. She grabbed Kahlua and held her close. Marti pressed her face against the cat’s soft fur and tried to calm down, although she doubted she could. She couldn’t believe what Nigel said. His words kept repeating in her head, causing her to want to run further away. She eyed the TV. Maybe a good show would distract her. She snapped it on and flipped through channels until she found a movie about earthquakes and tidal waves. Yep, the end of the world would certainly be a nice solution to her problems.
 

Later she heard the sound of yelling and swearing from below. She peeked out the window and saw a brawl taking place on the terrace. She couldn’t tell who was doing the fighting. Most of the partiers ignored it; others laughed and cheered the drunken idiots on.

Marti pulled back in shock as one guy punched another in the gut. She couldn’t watch the violence. She texted Adam to see if, by any chance, he was still awake. It would be two in the morning in New York. She didn’t want to bother him, and apparently she hadn’t, since he called her right back.

“Hi! I thought you’d be sleeping. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. We just got in. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, not much. I couldn’t sleep.” She looked at her dresser blocking the door and the curtains blocking out the violence by the pool. She didn’t mention either to Adam. Instead they talked about his crazy day and her dad’s impromptu concert. They talked for nearly an hour when Adam yawned for the umpteenth time.

“Adam, you have to get some sleep. We have to hang up.”

“I know, but I love hearing your voice. It makes me think you’re nearby and not 3,000 miles away.”

Marti snuggled under her covers, wishing he was beside her. “In that case, let’s talk all night. No, I’m kidding. What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“Horrible. We have interviews and start the video shoot, so I won’t have my phone for most of the day.” He sounded exhausted and she felt bad for keeping him up.

“That’s okay. I’ll talk to you when you can.”

“Sounds good. Goodnight,” he whispered softly.
 

His words sounded like a love caress, and she felt so much better. “Nite.”
 

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