“Even if I was screwing every girl here, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to be with you and you said no. If my actions bother you so fucking much, you’re the reason why I do what I do!”
Sunny put her hands on her hips and glared at me.
“I’m the reason you’re a whore? Don’t give me that shit, Aiden.”
“Fuck you, Sunny!” I said, lowering my voice a bit. “You just want to be friends, right? That’s what you said in New Orleans. You didn’t give a fuck about my feelings then. Why should I give a damn about yours now?”
“You’re an asshole, you know that,” she said, matching my tone. “If you think for one second, you and I would be good together, you are sadly mistaken. I don’t regret anything that happened in New Orleans, including telling you the truth about how I felt.”
“The truth, my ass! If you didn’t feel something towards me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. If you didn’t feel anything for me, you wouldn’t be jealous of anyone I might be sleeping with. You can deny that shit all you want, but I know the truth, Sunny. You gave it up too easily for you not to feel something.”
I touched the tattoo on her hip.
“That’s me,” I said. “That’s nothing but me, permanently branded on your body. Be a chicken shit and keep denying how you feel. I’m going to keep doing what the fuck I want to and I don’t care how the fuck you feel about it.”
“You’re such a fucking prick!”
“And you’re a liar,” I fired back.
I walked away but she stopped me.
“You want the truth, Aiden?”
“Yes.”
“The truth is, in New Orleans, I wanted you, but not the way you thought. I needed someone to comfort me and make me feel wanted. You did that. But truthfully, I could have gotten that from anyone. You were just there.”
Her words stung...even through the haze of weed and liquor, they stung.
“When I thought I was in love with you and wanted to take our relationship to another level, you made it clear that wasn’t what you wanted from me so I moved on. Maybe your childish immature ass needs to do the same. Grow the fuck up, Aiden. Get sober and grow up. You’re about to be thirty. You’re too old for this shit.”
Sunny walked into the house. For a second I watched her walk away. Fuck her and her noncommittal ass. She’s lying to herself. No matter what she says, I’m the one who heard her whispers in the night while I held her in my arms.
“I love you, Aiden.”
The only person her denial is hurting is herself. I’m okay. I’m not doing anything wrong.
I’m fine.
Chapter 54
“Aiden!” Erica’s voice blared through the speaker phone as I pulled out of my driveway.
“Why are you yelling?” I groaned. The sun was blaring in my eyes, making my hangover ten times worse.
Last night was definitely a huge mistake...a fun one...but definitely a mistake.
Partying with Liam and Cody is always a bad idea, especially if we go out. That's why we decided to stay in and party at my house. What was supposed to be a small gathering of people quickly turned into a full blown party with girls I've never even seen before...all thanks to Liam.
When I woke up, there were half naked, intoxicated people sleeping anywhere and everywhere in my house. I'm not even sure where Liam and Cody were. I didn't stay around long enough to find out. When I woke up I was already thirty minutes late for a meeting with Joey and Roxy. I'm sure they're pissed.
“You haven't heard?” Erica screeched. “We're nominated for two Grammys!”
“What?”
“Yes! Best collaboration and Best Jazz album!”
Even through my massive headache I managed to smile. I've been nominated and won Grammys before but Erica hasn't. This is huge for her.
“That's awesome, babe,” I admitted.
“Oh my God, Aiden, you don't even understand how happy I am! This is crazy! Thank you so much! This is really a dream come true!”
I've never heard Erica so happy and excited about anything since I've known her. I'm glad I could be a part of something that could make her happy.
“You've gotta come out here so we can celebrate,” I told her.
“Let's get the crew together and go somewhere else and celebrate. We always party in L.A, Atlanta, or New York. We should do something else, somewhere else.”
“You make the arrangements and call Delilah to get the credit card. I'm game.”
“Are you for real?”
“Yes, this is your show,” I told her.
Erica squealed in my ear. I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. Even in the middle of the day, the paparazzi was out, snapping pictures and harassing every celebrity that walked in or past the place.
“Erica, you know how to party. I'm sure you'll put together something good, but I have to go. Joey and Roxy are waiting for me.”
“Alright. Call me back later.”
I got out the car and strolled past the countless cameras.
Aiden, who you having lunch with?
Is it true you’re seeing Adriana?
Congratulations on your Grammy nominations!
I ignored them all and kept walking into the Water Grill. Joey and Roxy looked like old pals when I approached the table.
“Hungover?” Roxy acknowledged my dark Ray Bans and bed hair.
“Had a party last night,” I admitted. “It kind of got out of hand.”
“Don't all your parties get out of hand?”
I tried to laugh but my head hurt too bad. I sat down instead and ordered a glass of water.
“What's up?” I asked. “What did I do this time?
“Do you mean this week or this month?” Roxy asked.
“I haven’t done anything this month,” I protested. “I’ve been staying in mostly.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Roxy uttered. “Tracy is going crazy trying to keep up with your antics.”
“I’m just having a little fun,” I protested.
Parties, models, alcohol, more partying, hanging out with my friends...this is just the break I’ve been needing. I’m tired of hearing about my alleged bad behavior. I’m an adult.
“You’ve been having fun for long enough,” Roxy stated. “It’s time to get back to business.”
I shook my head. “I’m not doing another album yet,” I told her.
“No, but you have other obligations and opportunities. I’m getting phone calls from television shows, movie producers and casting directors, plus other artists who want to work with you...the whole lot, Aiden. Delilah and I have been holding these people off for long enough,” Roxy said.
“You’ve conquered music. Everyone knows you can make a damn good album whenever you choose to. We need to decide what other venues you want to explore, if you want to keep making money.”
“I say no to TV and no to movies,” I answered. “I want to be in the background for awhile. I want to produce.” I looked at Joey.
“And I want to be a partner.”
“A partner in what?” he asked.
“In the label,” I answered. “Come on, I just gave CMG two Grammy winning albums, maybe three. Plus, Erica is nominated for a Grammy for the song I wrote. You can’t deny that I know what the hell I’m doing.”
“You don’t know anything about running a label,” Joey replied. “You have to find talent and sign talent. You have to put your own ego aside and I don’t know if you can do that.”
“I can do it,” I replied. “I convinced Erica to sign, didn’t I?”
“Did you sleep with her?” Joey came straight out with the question most people have been wondering.
“No! That was just skill and the power of my persuasion,” I smiled. “I swear, I didn’t sleep with her.”
“I’m impressed,” Roxy said. “That’s a new level of maturity for you.”
“My God,” I said, exasperated. Why do these people think that the only thing
I do is think and act with my dick?
“Anyway,” Roxy ignored my outburst and was back to business. “We have the Grammys in two months. Are you performing?”
“Just found out I was nominated today, Roxy. I’ll let you know. If they want me, I’ll do it.”
“Where do we stand on making me a partner?” I asked Joey.
That’s the only thing that’s important to me right now. I’m on his label for a reason. We both want the label to grow and we’ve talked about his vision for CMG. I share the same passion.
“I’ll think about it,” was his answer.
We talked business for a couple more hours. I have to admit, it was one of the most productive meetings we’ve had in a long time. Before we left, Roxy had to bring up the one subject that I have no interest in discussing with anyone.
“Do you want me to get with Sunny so she can get started on your wardrobe for Grammy weekend or are you going to call her?”
I grimaced and last night’s vodka threatened to come back up.
“I’m not working with Sunny anymore,” I told her. “Find me a new stylist.”
“Don’t tell me that you two aren’t speaking again,” Roxy groaned. “I swear, the two of you fight like an old divorced couple. What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing,” I lied, not wanting to come clean about anything that happened a few months ago.
“She’s busy with her own stuff. There are plenty of stylists here. I don’t mind working with someone new.”
“Sunny always styles you for award shows, Aiden. She knows your style better than anyone. Whatever the problem is, this time, work it out. We don’t have time to find someone new.”
“Then I’ll be the only one at the show in jeans,” I replied defiantly. “Don’t worry about it, Roxy. Delilah can do it. She’s into shit like that.”
“Fine.”
Oh how I wish she really meant that. Nothing is ever “fine” with Roxy. However, the best way to keep her quiet about my personal life is to stay busy working, which is exactly what I plan on doing. The last person I need in my business is my manager. Roxy already knows way too much.
****
I heard her before I saw her and grinned. I love when Kat comes to L.A. No matter how many times she’s been out here to visit me, she always acts like it’s her first visit. I hopped off the couch and jogged into the foyer to meet her.
“There’s my boy!” she yelled, like she hadn’t seen me in years. It’s only been a few months.
“Look at you,” I laughed and hugged her. Kat was all diamonds and gold and dressed in a symphony of colors.
“You know I’m gon tone it down tomorrow night,” Kat said. “Sunny made me a beautiful red carpet dress. It’s black, strapless, and gorgeous.”
Tomorrow is going to be the second time Kat has walked the red carpet at the Grammys with me. I can’t think of anyone who I’d rather have with me, especially since she loves it so much.
“What you got good to eat?” Kat said, heading to my kitchen like she owned it. Some things never change.
“I have to talk to you,” Delilah stage whispered to me. “Help me take her stuff to the guestroom.”
I took the two suitcases and Delilah carried Kat’s garment bag into the guestroom and shut the door.
“What?”
“Don’t be pissed at me,” she pleaded, “but Mom and Dad are here. They’re staying with me and Paulie. They want to go to the show tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so,” I answered sharply. “What the hell are they doing here?”
“I don’t know, Aiden,” my sister said.
The expression she wore told me she was telling the truth.
“All I know is that they flew in yesterday and surprised us. Dad said he needed to see you play, at least once, before it’s too late.”
“Bullshit!” I practically yelled.
It’s been over a year since I’ve seen or talked to my father, and I haven’t considered talking to him once during all this time. Now he just shows up in Los Angeles? What the fuck?
“I know, but you have to see him, Aiden. Something doesn’t look right with him. He’s lost so much weight and when we were talking last night, he seemed really upset over what happened between you two. You need to talk to him.”
“Hell no! Out of the question, Dee-Lee,” I replied. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“Can they at least go to the show? Paulie and I will give up our seats. Please, Aiden,” Delilah begged. “I don’t ask you for much.”
“You’re killin’ me, sis,” I said. I hate when she begs.
“Please. Consider it my wedding gift since you didn’t get me anything.”
“I paid for the wedding!”
“Well, you have two choices,” Delilah said with her hands on her hips. “Either Mom and Dad go or you look stupid at the Grammys with two empty seats beside you. Take your pick.”
I don’t like being backed in a corner, especially since I know Tracy will go bonkers if the camera gets a shot of those empty chairs. Rumors will explode within minutes.
“Mom sits next to Kat,” I relented. “Dad sits as far away from me as possible.”
“Thank you,” my smug little sister smiled.
All night and half of the next day, I’ve never dreaded seeing my parents more. This is worse than when they showed up in Atlanta and tried to make me go back to Mt. Vernon. I thought I had made it clear to my mother and sister, that I didn’t want them coming to my house, but sure enough, I could hear my mother and Kat laughing downstairs while I got dressed.
“What the hell?” I muttered so angrily that my stylist looked alarmed.
“What’s wrong? The suit fits perfectly.”
“I don’t care about this damn suit,” I said. “My parents are here.”
I walked over to the intercom and pushed the TALK button.
“Delilah!” I yelled. “Get your ass up here!”
A few minutes later, my door opened.
“I’m going to kick your ass-” I started but stopped short. It wasn’t Delilah coming into my room. It was my father.
Although he looked nice in his tuxedo, something about my father made me stop talking. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look apologetic. He just looked sad. There was a cloud of sadness surrounding him. His eyes were the worst. They were dull. Guilt will do that to you.
“Can you excuse us for a minute?” Dad asked my stylist who scurried out of the room like a bug.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said. “What do you want?”
My father ignored my question and slumped into one of the chairs in the room. He sat a familiar white box on the floor next to him.
“Are you excited about tonight?” he asked.
“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t act like you give a shit about this. What are you doing here?”
“Son-”
“Son?” I chuckled, but it wasn’t funny. “So, it’s ‘son’ now? Why are you here? What makes you want to see your drunk, half-assed musician of a son now?
“I need to talk to you,” was his quiet answer.
“No, you don’t.”
“Sit down, Aiden,” Doug ordered firmly.
For a minute I considered telling him to fuck off but his tone stopped me. I sat on the bed.
“Last year...last year was a huge mistake,” he started. “I apologize for that. I was out of line.”
“Out of line? Is that what you were, Dad?”
“Aiden, this is hard enough. I don’t need your sarcasm.”
“Just say what you want,” I replied. “We have to leave in an hour.”
“I came up here to apologize for what happened last year...and all the years before that,” my father said slowly.
“Why?”
“Because I’m your father and it’s the right thing to do. Because I’m a man who can admit when he’s done wrong and I’ve done wrong by you for a long time.”
I stared at my father, not kno
wing exactly how to respond to his statement. He’s right, but where is this coming from? Why now?
“I shouldn’t have blamed you for always doing what you wanted to do or what you’re good at doing,” he continued. “I should have been the proudest father on the planet, but I was caught up in my own resentment and jealousy to be proud of you.”
“What?” was all I could muster.
“I raised you to always stand up for yourself, to look after and protect your sisters, and to make smart choices. And you have, for the most part. My dream was for you to play football and you weren’t even that good at it. But that was my dream because I couldn’t do it. You had another dream and stuck to it. And look where it’s got you. You’re successful, respected, and rich.”
“But it’s not what you wanted so you can’t be happy for me?” I asked.
“I was too jealous to be happy for you,” my father admitted. “You have balls, Aiden. You didn’t let anything or anyone stop you, including me. I let someone else dictate to me what I should do with my life. Even though I tried, you never let me do that to you. I resented you for that. I haven’t been a good father to you.”
My father’s eyes filled with tears. In my thirty years, I’ve never seen this man get choked up over anything and here he is, sitting in my room, crying over what a fucked up father he’s been to me.
“I’m not asking you to forgive and forget,” he said. “I’m asking you to understand that I was wrong. I’m asking that you try to accept the fact that I love you because you are my son. I’m asking that you to try to accept that, despite what’s happened between us over the years, I’m proud of you.”
“You are?” I was flabbergasted beyond belief.
“I know,” he chuckled. “I have a horrible way of showing it. You’ve had your ups and downs, but I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”
He slid the box across the floor. I noticed his hands were shaking when he did it.
“This doesn’t make up for fifteen years of me being a jackass,” he said. “But I figured it’s a start.”
Opening the box took me back fifteen years to the moment when I opened the exact same type of box and got a look at the first guitar I’d ever seen. I’ve seen hundreds of guitars since then, but the Stratocaster, nestled in the cotton batting, was the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. I picked it up gingerly.
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