Chapter 10

An exclusive setting, the showcase took over the ballroom of the Beverly Hills mansion owned by the CEO of the corporate distributor of Sin Drone, an old fan. Mostly Clair called and sent invites to the event. I helped a little. I called my son Henry and my wife and a couple prospects for Randy.

In order to set up and sound check, we arrived early. The sound check became a brief rehearsal as we worked through a couple transitions that hadn't ironed out comfortably the night before.

People trickled in gradually, some while we set up. The first of the prospects I chose for Randy and a good friend arrived early. At 5'5" with a smooth, pretty, Chinese face, Lee looked much younger than his actual late twenties. Hidden beneath his sharp gray suit and red shirt and black tie was a dancer's body. He choreographed videos for my old band. Watching him watch us with his electric smile and his subtle body movement as if his mind choreographed the music made me smile. As soon as we finished the sound check, I introduced him to the band and especially Randy. They hit it off immediately.

Those few who had come early and heard Melinda sing knew her remarkable quality. The majority had no clue that this young woman looking as if she stepped off Sunset Boulevard from her gang of goth punks deserved to be heard. Therefore walking to the entrance arm in arm with my love and greeting the guests proved to be disastrous. Except for Doris, my brilliant agent accompanied by her latest pretty teenage girlfriend, embracing Melinda like a long lost friend in her tall and deceptively skinny warmth, coldness prevailed. People I thought I knew seemed to view Melinda as some sort of chippie, not even glamorous but odd, and I had gone mad choosing her as my escort. The leers and withering looks muffled by etiquette and propriety managed to stab through.

Overwhelmed by the rich folk and not a few stars, Melinda began the greetings shyly holding me tight. But soon she seethed. Finally she ran back to the stage. My wife didn't bother hiding her mocking attitude, creating the final straw. I wanted to smack that smug smile off her face, the first time I ever felt that close to hitting her. And I wanted to run to Melinda and comfort her.

Instead I grabbed my wife's arm and led her upstairs away from the crowd. "Follow us, Henry," I grumbled.

My handsome, intelligent son had chosen the rebellious path. In his case, opposing me meant no music, no writing, no artistic creativity whatsoever. He endeavored to become a CPA. Accounting would keep him at home and not gallivanting around the world like me. A nice suburban home. 2.5 kids. A conservative woman to bear them. A couple secret mistresses on the side. Whether he knew I tended towards monogamy, having had only three love affairs in my life, one lasting over twenty years and the other ending when high school ended, his constant flow of girlfriends might suggest another way of rebelling. A beautiful blonde he brought as his date that night had no problem wandering through the crowd of familiar faces--rock and movie and cultural stars--when he abandoned her.

Hidden in some guest bedroom, Henry closing the door, my wife Mary began. "You've got to be kidding Joe. She's younger than Cheryl..."

"Actually they're about the same age."

"Whatever. You're losing it. Mr. Mature Rock Star finally succumbed to his childish fantasies."

"Yeah, Dad. At least you could get a hot chick."

"Henry!" both his mother and I exclaimed.

"Hey, you invited me."

"She's Claude Bellen's daughter," I explained.

"Oh," said Mary. "Your mentor." Mary never liked Claude. She found him rude and abrupt. She loved Cassandra though. Everybody did.

"I guess I'm her mentor now."

"Is Claude and Cassandra... ?"

I shook my head sadly. "They're dead. Cassandra didn't survive giving birth. And Claude ... killed himself."

"Poor girl," said Mary, sitting on the bed.

"She's a remarkable woman, Mary." I didn't need to go beyond that.

Mary stared into my eyes. 'You love her."

I nodded. "Couldn't help it."

"What am I doing here?" asked Henry uncomfortably.

"I want you to hear this, son. How many times have I fallen in love, Mary?"

"Jeez, Dad, you've been on the road since I was born! How could Mom..."

"This makes three, hunh?" said Mary, interrupting with quiet command.

"That's bullshit," said Henry.

"It's true, we haven't always been faithful..." Mary began.

"No shit."

"But your dad wears his heart on his sleeve. I knew everytime he fucked up. And then he'd confess. I guess I'm better at hiding it though."

"I never wanted to hear," I sighed.

"Did I?" She chuckled. "We had some hot sex from your kinky little affairs."

"Too much information," said Henry.

"You're right, Mary. You hid it well. Did any of them share your heart with me?"

"Sometimes when I got lonely I'd pretend he played my heart strings. But then you'd be there on the phone or I'd get a letter or you'd come home and make love to me and I realized none held a candle."

"Frank?"

My wife shook her head sadly, but smiled. "He's what I need though. He's a good friend and he's around."

"Yeah."

"Frank?" asked Henry, stiffening up.

"Frank Carter, Laura's dad," Mary explained. "He asked me to marry him."

"And?" I inquired.

She showed me the 1 carat diamond solitaire on her right ring finger. I nodded.

She didn't ask and I wasn't sure what my answer would be. That would change soon.

"Again I'm not sure of the point of me being here," said Henry.

"Aren't you going to congratulate your mom?" I asked him.

'This is too weird. Congratulations Mom. Mr. Carter's a good man."

"Thanks Henry. The reason your dad brought you up here is to make you understand that, even though she's Cheryl's age and looks like a derelict from Sunset, your dad never takes love lightly. To him she's the real deal. I just hope she doesn't break your heart."

"Me too," I said.

"Me three," said Henry.

I lifted Mary off the bed and into my arms for a hug, whispering, "I love you." She replied in kind.

I did the same with my son and got the same reply. Remarkably, discomfort didn't appear in his hug.

I hugged the two of them together. "I love you guys."

"We love you," they responded in near unison.

As we exited the room I said to Henry, "Your lady friend's a beauty. What's her name?"

"Uhm ... Lindsay." Both his mother and I chuckled and shook our heads. "What?"

The music downstairs pissed me off: my old band from our big third album. Amplified sound from the stage disrupted it which made me happy. The music surprised me too. It was a soft, lilting jazz, with Melinda's amazing voice singing long wordless tones. "Come on, honey. Let me introduce you to the band." I kept my hand in Mary's hand and guided her to the stage.

Melinda sat on a chair onstage, her head bowed, her fingers strumming and picking her Ovation. "Hey," I said.

She looked up, saw Mary, cringed, but recovered having noticed the smirk had been replaced by a look of guilt. She smiled with her cute half smile. She moved the mic away which had been lowered, probably by Mindy, so it could pick up her voice. "Hey."

"This is my soon to be ex-wife, Mary."

"I'm sorry," they both said and chuckled.

"I didn't understand," said Mary.

"Why should you? He's your husband."

"That ended my dear. He's yours if you want him. I just ask that you handle him with care."

"Of course."

"May I?" I asked Melinda, moving the mic to my mouth. "Excuse me," I said as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the sweet music. "Could someone please turn that shit off?"

Laughter greeted my self deprecation. Little did they know how much I didn't want to hear that music.

My old band's music ended. I introduced my wife to the band. "She's hot," whispered Mindy when I passed.

I interrupted a continuing conversation between Lee and Randy, Randy playing his drums simulaneously. Lee took me aside. "He's a remarkable young man," he said.

"With all those dancers..." I began.

"I'm sick of those fucking prima ballerinas. I'm working up a percussion dance piece for my jazz class. Randy's showing me his chops."

I laughed when Randy illustrated. "Reggae!" he announced to his band and they shifted effortlessly, the guitar part pausing until Melinda put on her Gibson. A perfect fit for Melinda's expressive voice, she sang Peter Tosh's angry classic, "Stepping Razor," giving a hint of things to come.

"She's great," said Mary. I nodded and smiled proudly.

"Join us, old man," said Melinda. I did, playing keyboard and backing Melinda's singing.

We followed with "Could It Be Love?" and then shifted to country and my favorite George Jones ballad, "He Stopped Loving Her Today," a real weeper that I sang. I had played it for Melinda to illustrate the need for simplicity to express intense feelings and the beauty of white trash blues. Unlike the reggae which surprised me, we had actually rehearsed the song.

Then we jammed for awhile on a country beat. After the earlier disaster, I loved seeing Melinda smiling and having fun. I couldn't help myself. I kissed her. She kissed back. "Get a room," smiled Mindy.

"Only if you come too," said Melinda. We both enjoyed the blush on Mindy's face.