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.