Kay, maybe not golden toilets…but really…why?
I know she came back for me, but that doesn’t change what she did. I keep wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Something must have been terribly wrong for her to give up the child of a rock star, right? There has to be a reason, because if not, I think I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.
My relationship with Dad is shattered now. I don’t know if I’m ever going to trust him to tell me the truth again. I’m afraid to even be in the same house with him. Even my last name was a lie. I was born Madison Daley, not Madison Landers. For all I know, even that could be a fake name. I can’t even imagine going back to “normal” living after this. I mean…I could have grown up in a mansion.
He said my mother was a psychopath, but I don’t know what to believe right now. If he lied about all these other things, how can I trust him to tell me the truth about that? There’s no way I’m going to be able toface Dad tomorrow when all I want to do is crumple into a fetal position on the floor. What happened tonight changed everything. It turned everything I believed about myself on its head.
I have a sickening feeling in my gut that the worst is yet to come.
Ttyl,
Mads…or whoever the fuck I am…
***
Lying motionless in my bed, I stare at the white popcorn ceiling as the sun comes up and wonder what it must be like to be an inanimate object. It’s gotta be nice not to have any parents or feelings to worry about. If I could transform into one of those bumps on the ceiling right now, I would. I want to go numb and forget about everything that ever happened to me.
After a long time, I hear someone coming down the hall toward my door with a suitcase, so I throw a hoodie on over my American Idiot tee and open my door. As the door moves out of the way, I see Cass passing by in a T-shirt and sweats with her luggage.
“Where are you going?” I croak. My voice is an octave lower from the crying and lack of sleep.
“I don’t think Mike is going to want me here anymore after yesterday.” Her face is dragged down by that morning exhaustion that comes after a night full of tears. I guess they must have had a huge fight before they went to bed.
“He may not, but I do.” I cross the hall to hug her, and she lets go of her luggage and holds me tight. “Thank you for making him tell me the truth,” I say with a sniff. Damn teenage hormones…I’m crying again.
“Oh, sweetie…are you okay?” Cass asks with a sympathetic squeeze.
“I don’t know,” I sob. “Am I supposed to be okay?”
“No…no, you can be as sad as you want.” Cass soothes some of my tension with a back rub. She lets me cry it out for a while, and then she says, “I’m so sorry for doing this to you. I didn’t think, I just spoke—”
“No, please don’t apologize.” I detach myself from her to wipe my eyes. “I needed to know the truth.”
“He was going to tell you when you turned eighteen, but…honestly, I think he should have told you a lot sooner. It wasn’t my place, though, and for that, I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad someone around here has common sense enough to realize I should be told,” I say, and her pretty red lips pull up in a half smile. “By the way, did you change your name too?”
“I agreed to go by a different one whenever I was around you.” Cass rolls her eyes with a ‘whatever’ smirk. “Your dad talked me into it. He said it would seem less suspicious.”
“He put a lot of thought into hiding this from me, didn’t he?” Last night I remembered Dad was the one that steered me away from older bands. He said I should focus on playing more ‘current’ rock. Now I know exactly why he did that.
“Oh, you have no idea,” Cass says, and then we hear a doorknob twist and clatter open and fall dead silent.
Dad trudges out of his room into the hall, groaning and rubbing the back of his neck. He looks like a dad cliché in a plaid robe and big black slippers. “Too early for all this noise,” he growls. Dad is a zombie in the morning if he hasn’t gotten much sleep. He probably didn’t hear what we were talking about, just our voices.
Cass turns around with the fear of losing him evident in her eyes. “Please forgive me,” she begs.
“We’ll talk later,” Dad says, and then he turns to me. “Where were you last night?”
“Just out in the loft…you know, getting a time out from this house of lies.” My gaze is steady with accusation.
Dad’s shoulders droop, and he glances back in the direction of his bedroom. “I think I should have stayed in there.”
My voice is broken and whisper-soft. “Please don’t hide from me anymore. Please.”
Pain registers in his eyes, and then he turns to Cass. “Can I talk to her privately?” he asks. Cass nods and quickly tiptoes down the stairs.
Dad takes my hand, leads me to my room, and shuts the door behind us. He settles in front of me with the same steady gaze he held with me last night, and I pull my hand away to fold my arms. “Look…I know what I did sounds completely crazy. I know it’s gonna be a while before you understand—”
“I don’t think I’m ever going to understand this.” I try to be strong and not break down in tears again. “I feel like I lost my whole life. Seventeen and a half years, just…gone. I don’t even know who either of us is right now.”
“Baby girl, I’m so sorry I had to lie to you. She was gonna take you away. I couldn’t let that happen. I know it seems like what I did was terrible, but…maybe I can explain.”
“Please do.”
Dad takes me to my bed, and we sit down side by side as he continues his story. “Well, I found out after the kidnappin’ that because of my past with drugs, your mother could easily prove I was an unfit parent in court.”
My jaw drops a little. “You have a past with drugs?”
“Yeah.” He nods with a guilty expression. “I mean, I haven’t taken any drugs at all since the night she dropped you off, and I tried to stop drinkin’ and smokin’ too. I’ve never gone back except for the occasional drinkin’ session with Cass. You know that’s the truth.”
I nod slowly. He’s right. He’s been clean as a whistle.
“But…because my drug problem was so severe before that, she had an easy case. Courts tend to rule in favor of the mother, and I was just…I was terrified I was gonna lose you forever.” Dad starts to choke up. “I couldn’t let that happen. Your mother is not a good person. She’s…she’s ruthless. She’s connivin’ and evil, and she’ll do anythin’ to get what she wants. I couldn’t let her raise you like that. I couldn’t let her ruin my little girl.”
“Is she really that bad?” I ask in horror and disbelief.
“She seems nice when you meet her, but you quickly find out she’s a real snake in the grass. She’s a celebrity now, and she’s done some horrible things to get where she is today. I felt you’d be better off not knowin’ her, and I was right. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.”
“Whoa…two celeb parents?”
“Yes.”
“What does she do that’s so bad?”
“Besides lying in court and kidnappin’?” I nod, and Dad continues, “Well, she blackmails people, trades secrets for projects, sabotages other celebrities…you name it, she’s probably done it at one time or another.”
“Wow…” She sounds scary as hell. I can’t help but wonder which celebrity it is. “Who is she?”
“I don’t wanna tell you her name. I don’t want you gettin’ any ideas about tryin’ to go and find her.”
“Wait…you’re still not gonna tell me who my mother is?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re eighteen,” Dad says, and for the first time in my life, I have trouble believing him.
“You promise?”
“I swear on my life, sugar.” I see the sincerity and intensity in Dad’s eyes, and I try to convince myself he’s telling the truth.
“Well…okay,” I say with a shuddering sigh. She does sound like she’s trouble, s
o I guess I can understand. I wish I could at least know her name, though. It’s going to bother me until I find out. Normally I’d be badgering him about it, but right now, I think I’ve had enough life-altering information for one twelve-hour period.
Dad brings a big tanned paw up to my shoulder and turns me to look square in my eyes. “I know I’ve hurt you bad, but I did what I did to protect you. I hope you understand someday.”
I just shrug in response. I’m still not sure what to think of him.
“Is there anything I can do to make this up to you?”
My gaze darts to the floor as I turn my head away from him. Dad used to be my best friend. I trusted him with my life before. Now I feel a cavern of distance opening up between us, and it scares the living hell out of me. My gaze returns to meet his. “Can you let me have a normal life?”
He shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid such a thing doesn’t exist for us, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I wish I could. We still need to keep our identities private around here, at least until you’re eighteen. I don’t want her comin’ to find you.”
“So…I’m supposed to lie about who I am? Just pretend to be nothing but a backwoods farm girl for the next six months?”
Dad shrugs. “Basically…yes. I hate to ask you to lie, but Cass just ensured I have no choice in the matter.”
I shake my head, trying to clear space for rational thought. A chuckle squeezes its way out of my tight chest. “This is so unbelievable.”
“Well, I could prove it to you if you want,” Dad offers, and that gets my attention.
“What?”
“I’ll prove I’m the Grim Weeper by performin’ a W3 song for you. Then your doubts will start to fade away.”
In spite of myself, my lips pull up in a half smile. “Well…okay.” Who could turn down an offer like that?
Before Dad sings, he shows me the corresponding W3 music video on my laptop. When the video’s done, Dad says the song would sound better with a guitar, so I fetch him my Gibson off its stand and hand it to him. Dad takes it from me and expertly flings the strap up and around his neck and shoulder. I hand him a pick from the top of my tall, black dresser and plug in the guitar for him, and he takes a deep breath. He seems a little nervous, and his emotions are matched by my thundering heart. If everything I just heard over the last twelve hours is true, and not a dream, a famous rock star is about to give me a private concert in my bedroom.
Dad dives into the intro of the song, and as I watch him, a tsunami of tears rises in my eyes. It’s undoubtedly the same voice I just heard in the video: smooth as honey, yet powerful with a bit of a growl in it. To top it all off, he’s playing the lead guitar part instead of his own. It’s not everyone who can pull off the lead guitar part while singing simultaneously, especially when it wasn’t their part to begin with. The lyrics could use a little work…clearly they were not the reason he had a legion of fans in the nineties. It’s just…him. He’s oozing with star quality, and I never even saw it. Dad plays through the entire song, just to prove his point, and when he’s done, I whisper in awe, “You really are him.”
He takes off the guitar and sets it back on the stand, and then he opens his right arm to me. I cross the room to him and break down in tears again. “I’m so sorry, sugar,” Dad says as he wraps me in a tender embrace. I lean weakly against him and sob my eyes out, feeling like my world just ended and began all at once.
***
Later that afternoon, I take Maggie out to a far corner of the property and tie her reins to a tree a few hundred yards from where I’m going to be. My shotgun-toting Southern Daddy made sure I knew how to shoot a gun at fourteen years of age. I have a rifle strapped to my back and several rounds in my hands as I approach our target-practice area. I need a nonviolent way to express all these feelings of anger, heartbreak, and betrayal, and I figured shooting a gong target would be a more satisfying outlet than video games right now.
I take the gun off my back and load it, taking extra care since I’m by myself. Then I pull earplugs out of my pocket and twist them, feeling the fullness when I insert them in my ears and they expand. Once the gun is cocked and ready, I pull it up to my shoulder, narrow my eyes to focus on the target, and pull the trigger. Sure enough, the thrust of the gun recoiling against me and the ping, ping, ping of bullets striking the gong sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through me. I brought plenty of bullets, so I keep on shooting and reloading for a good half hour until they’re all gone. When I run out of bullets, I lay the gun against a tree and wipe the sweat from my brow, smirking at the gong. I hit it almost every time. I might have some issues with Dad right now, but I have to give it to him—he raised a badass.
I take my earplugs out and hear whinnies in the distance, and then I turn around to see Dad and Cass riding out to meet me. My high from shooting fades a little bit, but I swing the rifle onto my back and walk out to meet them. They both stay mounted as they approach Maggie, and I meet them over by her tree.
“Hey, come with us. I wanna show you somethin’,” Dad says.
My entire body tenses up. That sentence sounds like the tagline of a horror movie to me now. “No more surprises, please,” I beg.
“No, this time it’s something you’re really going to like,” Cass says with a smile, and I relax. She’s the one person I trust around here.
The two of them take me on a ride to the other end of the property, and we stop at a rusty old shed which, up to this point, I was never allowed in. When Dad opens the padlock with a key and pulls the door open, we all step inside, and I choke in a gasp. It’s a legit, movie-quality shrine to his glory days, complete with records and other rock star paraphernalia. Magazine articles and posters from each of their albums and tours line the walls. In the corner, three crazy-expensive guitars rest on metal stands, still in perfect condition.
“This is amazing,” I breathe.
Glancing at the posters, photos, and articles on the wall, I can’t help but feel a little bit of fame fever. Dad’s shows, especially the ones in his ‘hometown’ of Los Angeles, look like a dream come true. The smoke, the lights, and the sea of fans in the stadium…I would give up both my legs and ten years of my life to have that kind of fame and success. It’s all I’ve wanted since Dad bought my Gibson for my tenth birthday.
Then I come across a photo of Dad’s mansion. It’s the epitome of modern architecture and prowess, and it spreads out over several acres of land. I run my fingers over the picture as if I’m expecting them to magically bring it to life. Looking at the home I should have had, I feel like some kind of rocker Cinderella, except my fairy godmother didn’t quite get me to the ball. Instead, my mother wrecked it. She screwed up everything…my life, Dad’s life, W3…
“Do you have any more of this stuff in Beverly Hills?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Yeah, I have a lot of things stored there, including your basket,” Dad says.
My basket. It’s still there. I feel like a hammer just swung down and hit me in the chest. “You kept that all this time?”
“Well, unless you’ve thrown it all out by now,” Dad says, glancing over at Cass.
Cass says, “No, everything’s just as you left it.”
“Really?” He smiles. “I knew I could count on you.”
A fresh set of tears builds up in my eyes, but I quickly brush them away. I hate crying…it makes my head hurt, and I’ve already done too much of it today. Just thinking about that basket brings all the emotions of last night crashing down on me again. It’s the portal between me and my mother…the only thing still in our possession that might hold some of her DNA, besides me.
I turn to face him and ask, “Did she leave anything with the basket besides me?”
“Actually, yes. She left a note.”
My heart races. “What did the note say?”
“It said, ‘She’s yours. Take good care of her.’”
A moment of silence follows. “That’s it?”
“I’m
afraid so,” Dad says.
That response was not at all what I was hoping for. “Oh…okay.”
Dad notices my disappointment and comes to give me a hug, but I step back, shaking my head. I let him comfort me earlier, but my feelings toward him are still a twisted mess. Dad lowers his arms and nods, turning away, and I feel a twinge of guilt. It sucks putting this distance between us, but it’s not my fault. None of this is.
Chapter 4
April 21, 2015
Sinking In
It’s 2:00 a.m., and I should be asleep, but honestly, I’m not sure who sleeps after receiving this kind of news. Seeing that mansion today and hearing Dad play his music in my bedroom made me realize, “Okay, yeah, this is real.” Dad’s a rock star, my mother is a celebrity, and I’m the Basket Baby…a.k.a. the unluckiest girl alive.
Because of Mother Dearest, I have a label I’m never going to shake. Seriously, the “Basket Baby?” What kind of claim to fame is that? I’ve done some more research online, and it looks like nobody even bothered to use my real name in articles because they wanted to hype up my story to see if my mother would ’fess up. I was used as a pawn to sell magazines. The writers pretended to know my mother’s identity so people would buy their shit, and then they were like, “Just kidding! Nobody actually came forward to claim her. But here are some nice makeup ads for you.”
Now if I want a music career someday, I’m never going to live that down. I might as well just use it as my stage name. Maybe I should go on living as Madison Landers just to avoid that nickname and the horrible stigma that comes with it. If I went to school and people found out who I was, I’d probably get made fun of daily for it. Being the Basket Baby makes me the ultimate reject. Combine that with being a farm girl with glasses and braces and…well, you might say I’m the ultimate dork.
Diary of a Rocker's Kid (D.O.R.K Book 1) Page 3