Tuesday, July 2, 1991
Vic turned off the TV. Someone in that band got arrested. Again. It was getting so that it was hardly news. Still, it was the only way he knew his sister was alive. He turned it back on to see if he could get a glimpse of her, but the announcer had moved on to other celebrity news. Some real estate mogul from New York proposing to an actress Vic had never heard of—Marla something-or-other.
He went out to check the porch. Sure enough, Dad had fallen asleep in his wheelchair again. He spent most of his time lately staring down the long driveway. Three days' worth of stubble graced his chin.
Vic wheeled his father to his room, careful not to wake him as he parked the chair and covered him with an afghan. Sometime in the middle of the night, Dad would wake enough to pull himself into bed. Probably.
At least it gives me another day until I have to tell him how shaky the business has become. With the wages Dad insisted he pay Greg and the two new employees he'd had to hire to fill the void Dani left, Vic doubted he could keep it afloat much longer. Dad knew everything there was to know about restoring cars, but he had no idea how big a hit it would cause when he gave half of the company—the liquid half—to that ungrateful brat.
Vic was afraid to ask, but part of him still believed Dad had only intended to call Dani's bluff on the whole music thing. He'd figured—and he thought Dad did, too—that Dani would be back in the shop, a few dollars poorer and a lot wiser, in a matter of days, weeks at most.
Dumb idea even if it had worked.
Sitting in his own bed, Vic reached for his Bible on the nightstand and opened to Galatians. Two verses in, he set it back down. Too tired. I'll read extra tomorrow.
***
Dani flopped on the couch in the penthouse flat she and Jon shared, her mind racing, head throbbing. The latest Pioneer 100-CD changer played some thrash band Jon liked on repeat. Where the remote disappeared to was anyone's guess.
The sleeping pills weren't working anymore.
When she'd insisted they find a real apartment after two days of living in Jon's trailer, she didn't have dropping out of school and moving to LA in mind. She didn't have sharing the three-bedroom flat with the rest of the band in mind. She definitely didn't have the $3,900 per month rent in mind. She'd spent the first couple weeks expecting her father to come looking for her.
Her life had become a blur. Nights playing the Sunset Strip ran into days hanging out fliers up and down Sunset Boulevard and Rodeo Drive. Twice, she'd stayed out past dark hanging the advertisements. Both times she'd been mistaken for a prostitute and propositioned.
She took another pill from the unmarked bottle. Basil said these things would knock me out. Basil's an idiot.
She thought about picking things up. The squalor was almost as bad as it had been in the trailer, though Jon had filled the place with pricier toys. A plasma screen TV the size of a small zip code, KISS and Rolling Stones pinball machines, box on top of box of electronic gadgets Jon hadn't even bothered to open after bringing them home in his new Corvette.
Dani had no idea how much money she had left, especially after dropping $60,000 on the new video for "Hit the Door Runnin'." Basil had wanted the band to do the video on "Mind in the Gutter" or "Fornication Station," but Dani refused to do the things the producers wanted for the video concepts. When Jon dug in his heels and insisted the first video release should feature the lead vocalist singing, Dani backed him, and Basil quit fighting about it.
The video was seeing airplay and, on the strength of exposure on MTV, the song hovered just outside the Billboard Hot 200.
This place needs a dog. Hope Teddy Bear's all right.
The door opened, Jon backing in.
"Where you been?" She slurred.
Ignoring her, Jon called over his shoulder, "Clear a spot in the corner for it." Pulling the remote from his pocket, he turned the stereo volume down.
"What did that cost?" Dani said as a pair of uniformed delivery men grunted through the door. They carried an E-Mu Systems Emulator III, according to the box.
"Fourteen."
"Hundred?!"
"Thousand. You should see what this thing will do."
While the delivery men set the keyboard up on an accompanying rack system in the corner, Jon repeated what the salesman must have told him about all its bells and whistles.
"You don't even play keys," Dani said.