I slowed my pace as we approached a Piercing Pagoda in the center of the mall and Jill asked if I wanted to get my ears double pierced. My mother had forbidden me from ever doing such a thing, and on this low-key afternoon an invitation from Jill to walk on the wild side seemed irresistible.
"I spent a whole summer doing this," Jill reminisced, watching the teenage girl who was a few years older than me clean off my ears with alcohol and mark the future puncture spot with pen. Kelsey was too fascinated to ask questions.
"Getting your ears pierced?" I asked like an idiot.
"No, working at an ear-piercing stand at the mall," Jill corrected me with a smile. "At the Scotch Plains Mall in New Jersey."
I couldn't imagine Jill ever being a teenager and having a crappy job at a mall. "I cannot picture that," I told her.
"Oh, sure," Jill said. "I wasn't pretty enough to get a job at the Foxmoor. All the pretty girls from my high school had retail jobs there. And I wasn't squeamish at all about blood, so the Piercing Palace was a perfect fit for me."
The piercing gun squeezed and I gripped the arm rests of the seat. A brand new tiny diamond stud was in my right earlobe. "You? Not pretty? Now that I definitely don't believe," I said. Jill looked like she was born beautiful and had never had an ugly day in her whole life. It had been my assumption that Jill had been Homecoming Queen, captain of the cheerleading team, editor of the yearbook and everything else that the most popular girl at a typical high school would be.
"Oh god," Jill rolled her eyes. "I was a complete mess in high school. Acne, knobby knees, buckteeth, the works. My mother was so embarrassed about my appearance she had braces put on my teeth my freshman year of high school and made me wash my face with medicated soap that she sent away for through a medical supply catalog. Everyone in high school called me Gridlock Cunningham because of those stupid braces. I've never forgiven her."
"Mommy, what's going in Taylor's ears?" Kelsey finally asked.
"New earrings," Jill told her patiently. "The girl is using a special machine to put a tiny little hole in Taylor's ear for earrings."
"I want it, too," Kelsey whined.
"Only when you're a big girl like Taylor."
We bought Kelsey two six-pack bundles of white socks with lace trim, and Jill found a cashmere sweater on sale at Sears that she was convinced her mother would love. I couldn't get over the oddity of seeing posh Jill in a regular old mall. We were so far on the map away from Beverly Hills that I doubted anyone passing us in the mall even recognized her high heeled sandals as Jimmy Choo's.
"My mother doesn't give two hoots about designer names," she explained to me as she paid for the sweater at the cash register. "The only things that matter to her are whether or not a garment was made in America – that's mandatory – and if it's easy to wash. She doesn't understand dry cleaning and thinks it's only for Europeans."
This made me laugh. How did Jill – with her velour running suits and expensive hand bags - ever come from such a practical family?
"Did you and your mom go shopping together a lot?" she asked quietly as we sat at the food court.
I thought about it. Honestly even before I went off to Treadwell there weren't many things we did together. "Not really," I admitted. "Sometimes we went for long walks at Runyon Canyon. Watched movies at home. She liked to make popcorn the old-fashioned way, on the stovetop."
"It sounds like you and your mom were pretty good friends. I have to admit, Taylor, I was pretty intimidated by you last month when I met you. You seemed like a pretty cool girl. It's been a while since I've felt so insecure," Jill admitted.
"That's crazy," I responded, uncomfortable. "I'm only fifteen and you're like, a celebrity. How could I make you feel insecure?"
"Come on, you're totally independent, you go to boarding school, you grew up in L.A. and had a super bad ass mom," Jill said. "A girl like you would have thought a girl like me when I was fifteen was a total loser. I'm really happy you're with us this summer. It gets very lonely for me when Chase is touring and I really enjoy hanging out with you. And Kelsey just adores you. I can't tell you what it means to me for her to have such a great sister."
Jill was in a serious mood, and fiddled with the straw in her bottle of water before continuing. "You know, your dad often wished he could have been a bigger part of your life. He was always worried about whether or not you were being taken care of, if you were enjoying your life."
What had brought on this weird pep talk about my dad's concern for me? Even though he and I were avoiding conversation I didn't think anyone else might have noticed that we were on the outs. I wasn't about to let Jill talk me into agreeing with her that he was a great guy when I knew the ugly truth about my dad and perhaps she didn't.
"Well, he could have been there," I said smugly. "He knew where to find me."
"Sometimes things that appear really simple and straightforward aren't," Jill told me. "You're really important to your dad. More than you know. I think he may have been led to believe that it was in your best interest for him to keep himself at a distance. And I'm not sure it was the worst thing; our lives are really disruptive and that might not have been good for you."
I wanted her to stop talking. It was making me angry that she was defending him, wanting so badly for me to believe what a stand-up guy he was, when I knew that he was cheating on her. I kept my mouth shut. We were having a relaxing day and I was grateful to Jill for rescuing me from having to tour a baseball bat museum with a bunch of old guys. The secret about my father and Karina was on the tip of my tongue, but I suppressed it with all my might.
"I'm getting the sense that you and Chase are going through a disagreement," Jill said cautiously. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," I said.
"Parents make mistakes, Taylor," Jill said, making me wonder if she actually knew the reason why I was angry at my dad, and if so, what was wrong with her that she hadn't choked him to death already. "My own parents were heavy social drinkers. Well, at least that's what they called it back in their day, but by today's standards they were both alcoholics. I wonder all the time if their bad habits contributed to Kelsey's health problems. I feel very guilty all the time for not considering that risk factor before having her. I fear that there's going to come a day when she confronts me about it and I'm not going to know what to say."
I was baffled. Was Jill talking about me and my father, or my father's emerging drinking problem, or was she making a comparison between my father's infidelity and her parents' alcoholism? As much as I liked to consider myself mature, I was having an impossible time keeping up with Jill's conversation. Either it was loaded with hidden meanings and metaphors, or it wasn't at all, and she was clueless. I realized in that food pavilion that I actually really did need to find someone to whom I could talk about all of this stuff. I was starting to wonder if I could trust my own thoughts.
"I think," I began, "I might like to see someone when we get back to New Jersey. You know, just to talk about stuff."
"Not a problem," Jill said, thankfully not making a big deal out of it. "If you need to talk to someone sooner, just say the word."
After indulging in a terrible PG-rated movie, during which Kelsey fell asleep, we stopped at a regular old-fashioned grocery store to buy anti-bacterial wipes and some fruit. In the check-out aisle, I was zoning out until my eyes came to rest on the cover of Expose Magazine. There, beneath a bright orange headline, was a picture of my dad in profile, wearing sunglasses. To my horror, when I took the time to read the headline, it said My Amazing Night with Chase Atwood.
A smaller photo was set below the headline, of a blond woman. With disgust, it registered in my head that I recognized the woman as the concierge at our hotel in Huntsville, Alabama. Her photo, unlike the paparazzi shot of my father, was posed. My heart skipped a beat. Surely my father wouldn't have been stupid enough to mess around with a concierge at our hotel! But in the pit of my stomach I feared he was stupid enough to do just that.
"Oh, Taylor, you can't believe everything you read," Jill scolded me when she noticed my eyes affixed to the magazine. "If you read even half of it and believe even just a fraction, you'll go mad."
But her eyes, lingered, too. She had recognized the concierge, as well. There was hurriedness in her actions with the check-out girl. Our rush back to the rental car in the parking lot suggested to me that Jill was more troubled by the magazine cover than she wanted to let on.
We rode back to the hotel in silence. I was fuming. Despite my best efforts not to let Jill's kindness permeate the wall I was trying to build up against her, she had started to win me over. Every time I had decided I was through with her for being controlling and mean, she made a great effort to show me that she wanted me to be comfortable as a new member of the family. I was disgusted with my dad for doing anything at all that could possibly hurt her. Didn't he realize he was lucky to have her? Couldn't he see that he could lose Jill and Kelsey in a heartbeat if he didn't clean up his act?
And if that were to happen, what about me?
Our time in Louisville was brief. The next morning we were all back on the tour bus, this time headed to Chicago for three nights of shows at the United Center. I was kind of excited to go to Chicago. My father announced on the tour bus in his party voice that there was a big surprise waiting for all of us when we arrived. Foolishly on an impulse I hoped it would be a tour of the city with stops at the John Hancock Building and Art Institute.
Our hotel in downtown Chicago was located on the Miracle Mile, directly across the street from the famed limestone Water Tower that had survived the Great Chicago Fire and the enormous shopping mall that had been built kitty-corner from it. The city was hazy in its extreme July humidity. From the window of the room that I shared with Kelsey I could see shoppers carrying large bags, laughing and joking. Beyond the stores of Michigan Avenue I could see waves of Lake Michigan, dark blue and unmoving beneath the low summer sun. Without even straining my eyes I could see the full showcase of Coach handbags on display in the picture windows of the boutique across the street.
The surprise in Chicago turned out to be that my father and Dusty, who was a self-proclaimed roller coaster nut, had arranged in advance to shut down a Six Flags theme park just for the band and ill children from a well-known charity to attend on our fourth day in the city. I wanted to get excited about this, but am simply just not a roller coaster kind of girl. A very hot day walking around blacktop and sweating nonstop at the end of our time in Chicago was not much to look forward to, in my opinion. I could only hope that Jake might be present on that outing, but that was a far-fetched hope.
Roadies were not typically included in photo opportunities, and as much as my dad pitched the special day as a family day to me and Jill, it was very much first and foremost an event planned to gain some good press.
Possibly, and probably, to combat some of the gossip website chatter about my father and the concierge in Huntsville. I had yet to hear Jill confront him about that, but maybe magazine covers of this nature were so commonplace that she didn't plan to pick a fight.
Our hotel in this city was unique in that it actually had soundproof offices that could be rented, and Tanya arranged for me to have one for two days to work on my violin piece. After so many weeks of not practicing, it was rough getting back into the swing of reading music. My attention span is somewhat short when I'm struggling to play, and I took many, many breaks to collect my thoughts and refocus my energy.
During one of these breaks, I got to thinking about home and my old summer job at Robek's. It had been at least ten days since the last time I had called Allison. That was a record for our friendship, even during the school year when we had a three-hour time difference working against us. I knew I was delaying calling her because I was afraid of new developments in the Todd and Nicole department. But, I figured, jealousy was a really dumb reason to throw away a life-long friendship.
I dialed her cell number.
"What's up?" Allison asked. "Where are you?"
"Chicago," I answered unenthusiastically. "More specifically, a hotel in Chicago that I am forbidden to leave because I am grounded."
Allison shrieked, "Grounded! You've never been grounded before. What'd you do, Miss Goody Two Shoes, forget to put the cap back on the toothpaste tube?"
"Eh," I began, a little embarrassed about the entire incident in Virginia Beach. "I went out with Bijoux and Betsey Norfleet and got into some trouble."
There was a moment of silence before Allison replied, "Oh, yeah. I saw pictures of you on a beach with them on the Hollywoodland website. I didn't even believe it was you. I've never seen you wear a bikini before."
Luckily I was alone, and therefore no one saw my cheeks turn red. "Yeah, it was me. And I did something stupid and my dad grilled me for it. I'm grounded until practically the end of the summer."
"Lame. What's up with your boy?" Allison asked. "Did your dad put the brakes on that, too?"
I had no exciting news on the Jake front. It had been eight miserable days since the last time I saw him. Nearly two weeks since we had last kissed.
"Kind of," I admitted. "I'm hoping I'll see him when we go to Detroit but between now and then, I don't know. It's kind of complicated getting time alone with him."
"Well," Allison said smugly, "I'm sure there are tons of other boys in Chicago. It's not like you have to wait around."
She really had no idea. I had no exposure to anyone else my own age at all. There was the kiddy table packed with toddlers at group dinners and the members of Sigma, nearly drinking age, but no one other than me in their mid-teens. It wasn't like I was attending a new school and had thirty new classmates to befriend.
"It's not like that," I insisted. "Really. I don't meet anyone. I'm just stuck in a hotel room all the time, unless I have to go to these functions with the band. It's kind of lonely. On Friday we have to go to Six Flags all day as a big group and pretend to be a happy family for the paparazzi."
The brief silence that followed informed me that I had said something that had pushed one of Allison's buttons.
"God, Taylor, are you even listening to yourself?" Allison accused. "Oh, poor you, someone's shutting down an entire theme park so that you can ride all the rides by yourself in all your fancy new clothes. Oh, poor Taylor, stuck all by herself in a five-star hotel. Seriously, you need to check your head because no one is going to feel sorry for you. You're living the life everyone dreams of. So get over yourself."
The line going dead stunned me. She had actually just hung up on me.
Was I overdue for a reality check? Was this – seeing the country through hotel windows with no one to talk to – really what everyone else dreamed of? I tried my hardest to think back to a time before my mom died to remember how I had imagined my dad's life. I guess I had assumed it was all excitement and luxury. Carefree and fun. I had assumed incorrectly.
I didn't dare call Allison back. I had a sour, sickening feeling that our friendship had been severed. As much as I thought there was a possibility that she was right – that maybe I was indeed turning into an inconsiderate spoiled brat – I really didn't think that was the case. I hadn't taken advantage of any of the perks my father and his entourage of assistants had offered. I didn't make messes in my hotel rooms, expecting that someone else clean them. I didn't demand special treatment.
In fact, I realized, most of the time since I had joined the tour, I was consciously trying my hardest to be as little trouble as possible. As invisible as I could be. I felt like a stowaway on this tour and unworthy of spending my father's money as if it were my own.
Then I had a revelation; if my reluctance to indulge in a lifestyle of opportunity had gone unnoticed, then maybe it was time to indulge. Clearly people already assumed I was acting like a spoiled brat. What could be the harm in allowing myself to try behaving like one?
That afternoon I went to the hotel spa by myself and ordered a French manicure. I told myself as the
technician was painting my nails that I would be snooty and not thank her or tip, but I was incapable of that kind of snobbery. I signed a slip billing the charges back to the room and, having no idea what was considered an adequate tip, I added half of the total bill as gratuity and signed my name.
"Are you Chase Atwood's daughter?" an excited middle-aged woman getting a pedicure asked me. She looked like she was on her lunch break from an office job downtown.
"Yes," I said with a yawn.
"I just love Pound," the woman gushed. "They've been my favorite band since high school."
"Honestly I think they kind of suck," I said, channeling Bijoux Norfleet.
Back upstairs in my room while Kelsey was at her French lesson, I blew on my nails even though they were dry. I was so unaccustomed to making extraordinary selfish requests that I actually had to concentrate on what I would demand next.
"Tanya," I murmured, stepping into the suite's living room where Tanya was typing in overdrive on her laptop keyboard, "Have you seen those blue Coach handbags across the street?"
Tanya looked up, surprised. It occurred to me that I was interrupting something of importance and I almost backed away from my mission.
"No, I'm sorry. I haven't been outside since we landed," she confessed. "I'm dealing with kind of a crisis at the moment."
I wondered sinisterly if that crisis had anything to do with a blond concierge. "I'd really like one if someone has time to run across the street and pick it up for me. The one with the big silver buckle."
"No problem, Taylor. I'll have one of the PA's over there this afternoon," Tanya responded without the slightest hesitation.
At dinner time, a production assistant named Randy stopped by the room to let me know that Jill was dining with the band, and to tell me I should order room service for myself and Kelsey.
I wrinkled my nose. "We're in Chicago," I whined. "One of the greatest culinary destinations in the country. Couldn't we like, order from a real restaurant? Maybe, real Chicago-style pizza? Don't you want pizza, Kelsey?"
The Rock Star's Daughter (The Treadwell Academy Novels) Page 13