Page 76 of Shattered Chords

“I prefer to call it thinking big.”

“She’s fifteen years old. You better not feed her any ideas.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having goals.”

“They should be realistic.”

“You’re sharing a table with a two-time Grammy winner, darlin’.”

“Okay.” She rolled her eyes. “You win.”

“I wasn’t trying.”

“You were just trying to prove a point.”

“No, I was trying to tell you that, eventually, I’d like to take you out and you should agree to my invitation and that we can start getting to know each other better by having you and Ally come over to my house next Sunday.” I paused, then added, “I have a pool and a puppy. Ally will have fun.” My hand slipped to the pocket of the shirt I wore over my tank and I pulled out a lollipop. The conversation was making me strangely anxious and my mind needed a distraction.

“Why such interest in my daughter?”

“She’s very talented, but you already know that.”

“I do.”

I dragged my gaze away from Camille’s face and stared at the illuminated stretch of her tiny back yard. Something compelled me to speak only the truth when she was around. “She reminds me a little of myself when I was her age. I had no one to tell me what to do, no one to explain to me the danger of certain things like booze or drugs. My life was just one never-ending party from the moment I drank my first shot and snorted my first line. It was easier that way. The music industry is going to tempt your Ally. A lot. And you’re just gonna have to trust her to choose right. The decision is hers and hers alone. But I know people who won’t take advantage of her. People she’ll be safe with. It’s not much, but it’s something I can offer to help you ease your worry.”

Camille didn’t respond right away. She took a few seconds to process the information I’d just sprung on her. “So why are you really inviting us?” she finally asked, as if she could see through my bullshit.

“It’s my birthday.”

Hard silence ensued. I waited patiently, and my fingers tortured the edge of the candy wrapper.

“How many people are going to be there?” Camille inquired, her eyes deep and shiny like emeralds, settled on me, on my face.

“Four.”

That surprised her. “Four?”

“You, Ally, myself, and my friend Malik. He’s staying with me for a few months. We met in rehab.”

She listened intently.

“I lied,” I corrected myself. “Snowflake too. So...five.”

“Can I discuss this with Ally?”

“Absolutely.”

12 Camille

As I expected, the discussion with Ally was very short. She pretty much threatened to disown me by emancipating herself if I didn’t accept Dante’s invitation. There was also the matter of his famed guitar collection that she wanted to see.

What kind of mother would rob her child of that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?

A bad one, of course.

And that was how a week later, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, I ended up in front of the gated property right off Mulholland Highway.

“How much do you think these houses are worth?” Ally asked, entranced by the sight of the mansions dotting the green hill we were on.

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