Page 10 of Shattered Chords

“Don’t expect to get rid of me that fast.”

“Absolutely not. We should meet next week. Melanie Dworski fromPeoplemagazine reached out to me the other day about an interview.”

“Let me think about it.” No way in hell was I doing a fucking interview.

“There’s a lot of interest, Dante,” Eden urged. “Your fans want to know how you’re doing.”

“How the fuck do you think I’m doing?” I barked out a bitter laugh. “I’m eating broccoli five times a week.”

“Broccoli is good for you.”

I steered the conversation in a different direction and got to the point of my call. “Who’s handling my social media?”

“We are.”

“Can you send me my Instagram login info?”

2 Camille

“Did you at least get his phone number?” Ally inquired from the passenger seat.

Hands on the steering wheel, I was still buzzing from my strange encounter with the brooding rock star I’d apparently never heard of. Or maybe I had. I just wasn’t like my daughter, who spent hours in front of her computer googling bands and their members. For someone as musically challenged as myself, it seemed like such a waste of time. I couldn’t carry a tune to save my life, nor could I play an instrument. I had no idea who Ally took after, but it definitely wasn’t anyone on my side of the family.

“Mom?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“Because he has a lot of connections. Duh.”

I caught a hint of irritation in Ally’s voice.Totally normal, I reminded myself. She was a teenager. A little rebel without a cause.

“I still can’t believe I let you two talk me into this,” I muttered. My eyes remained on the road, but my mind had drifted back to the man in the guitar shop who’d just bought my daughter a six-thousand-dollar guitar.

Calabasas attracted plenty of famous people. Basketball players, actors, entrepreneurs, pop sensations. The city offered stunning mountain views and the Pacific Ocean was just a short drive away. At Dream Bride, I dealt with my fair share of high-end clients, but real-life rock stars were hard to come by. When not on tour, they hid in the privacy of their hillside mansions, away from the racket of shopping centers and restaurants. Seeing one of them at the plaza where I’d been getting my nails done for over ten years was like seeing a unicorn. Seeing one of them talking to my daughter was like seeing a defective unicorn.

Yet, he was sublime.

A true dark horse. Tall and very lean but finely cut. With olive skin and calloused fingers. His thick, black shoulder-length hair looked like a deliberate mess, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Never mind that it was the middle of the afternoon. He wore expensive designer clothes that were only meant to look tattered and most likely came with an outrageous price tag. He was a man who’d obviously seen and done it all.

And I was pretty sure my daughter had his poster up on her wall.

Ally’s obsession with older men, even if it was purely professional, drove me nuts. Her room was a horror palace, a mini metal-goth-emo museum with glossy photos that showcased all sorts of male bodies in outfits from coats to spandex. There were women too. Dressed in black, in corsets, and ripped jeans. But men prevailed.

It’s just a phase,my own mother said to me a few years back when Ally put up her first poster.

No, it wasn’t a phase. My daughter desired to pursue a career in music. She’d always wanted to sing, but her dream of being the next Lady Gaga was crushed during her first lesson with a vocal coach I hired to work with her seven years ago.

I’m sorry, but she just doesn’t have it in her, the mean woman had said.Have you considered piano or guitar lessons? She has perfect hands.

I didn’t sleep for a week after that conversation. Telling my eight-year-old daughter she had no singing voice was the hardest thing I’d had to do in my entire life. Not counting the decision to keep her when I was a green college freshman.

“I think I should teach you some basics,” Ally announced, staring out the window with the guitar case settled between her legs. She’d refused to put it in the trunk and held on to the instrument as if it were her lifeline.

“Teach me?” I laughed.

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