Page 3 of Sangria

“Okay,” I say after he pauses.

“Do you know Iris Austin?”

The sound of my ex-wife’s name has me relaxing a bit. I’m not surprised that she’s been arrested or picked up for something stupid. When we got divorced, she was adamant that she be allowed some freedom since I had that every time I went on tour, and she was home raising the girls. I agreed. I was happy that the girls were going to live with me while their mother “found” herself in Los Angeles.

That was until Iris started talking to Stormy about all the amazing dance companies in L.A. and how she should move out there to pursue her dream of becoming a dancer. Stormy’s dream, of course, is to perform for hip-hop artists when they tour. As much as it pained me to let her go, I did but also didn’t like the fact that Willow would be left without a sister so both my girls went to live with their mama. It’s not what I wanted, but I didn’t want to short-change Stormy on her dream and didn’t want Willow growing up without her sister.

Iris is an amazing mother when she wants to be. But she also loves the nightlife in Hollywood, and that sometimes gets in the way of her parenting. I suppose when you’re pregnant by seventeen and married at eighteen, you start to miss your twenties and need to relive them in your thirties.

“I do,” I tell the officer with an exaggerated sigh as I wait for him to tell me how much her bail money is.

“This is never easy to say. Iris Austin was killed in a car accident earlier this evening on the interstate.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” There is no way I heard him correctly.

He clears his throat and repeats his words verbatim as if he’s reading from a script. I let them sink in, only to realize he hasn’t said anything about my girls.

“My daughters? Were they with her?”

“No, the other passenger was a male.”

“Do my children know?” I ask.

“You were listed as Ms. Austin’s emergency contact.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Please don’t notify them or the media. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The officer gives me his number and tells me to call as soon as I’m in town. As soon as I hang up, I call Barbara, knowing that she sleeps with her phone on so she can tend to her needy clients like myself.

“It’s after three in the morning, Levi. You better be dying.”

My stomach heaves at Barbara’s statement, causing me to reach for the trash can that sits next to the table where the phone is. I barely tell her to hang on before I lose the contents of dinner.

“You’re sick? You called so I could hear you puking your guts out? A text would’ve sufficed, Levi.”

“Barb,” I say in between gagging episodes. “I need a chartered flight to L.A. immediately.”

“What’s wrong?” her tone changes immediately. I need to get to the bathroom to rinse my mouth and am mentally kicking my ass for not calling her from my cell phone.

“It’s Iris. There was an accident, and she didn’t make it.”

Barbara gasps and mutters “Oh God” before saying, “The babies? Are they okay?”

Since the girls were born, that is how she’s referred to them. It doesn’t matter that Stormy is about to be fifteen or that Willow is ten. To her, they’re her babies. Always have been.

“They weren’t with her, but I gotta get to L.A.”

“I’ll meet you at the airport. There will be a plane ready when you get there.”

This is why I keep Barbara around. She’s been with me since I signed my first deal, taking me under her wings and guiding me through the trials and tribulations of stardom. Barbara has been my rock and a mother figure to me.

After we hang up, I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and make myself look presentable. Right now I’m going through a myriad of emotions and can’t pinpoint which one is making me feel worse.

Iris was my high school sweetheart, and even though we were no longer married, I hadn’t stopped loving her. I always expected that we’d find our way back to each other once she got this “thing” out of her system. Every time she called, I was there for her and never questioned when she was going to start acting her age.

Tears find me quickly as I pack my travel bag. My eyes land on a picture of Iris and the girls. Stormy must’ve been about eight and Willow three. They were on the tire swing together, and the sun was shining perfectly on them. I snapped the photo without them knowing and had it printed. Even when she left me, I kept the picture on my bedside table.

I don’t pack much. Just enough to change my clothes when I get there because Barbara will make sure that I have everything I need when I arrive in Los Angeles. I don’t care if that means a whole new wardrobe. I have to get to my girls. Before leaving I jot down a quick note to my housekeeper, apologizing for the mess I left in the trash can.

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