The Shadow Prince
Page 18
He presses the thick frames onto his face and makes a strangled noise as he surveys the mess around him. He turns a wide, toothy grin on me. “Fancy helping a poor bloke clean up a bit?”
“Not on your life.”
“Come on, Daph, no love for your poor old dad?” He wiggles his eyebrows above the rims of his glasses, that cheeky smile on his face. “Quality daddy-daughter time,” he croons.
“You are not my dad.” He isn’t going to let me forget that I called him that back at Paradise Plants, is he? “And cleaning up after your drunken binge doesn’t make for quality lushy-louse–daughter time.”
My anger shows in my voice too much, but at the moment I don’t care. Joe didn’t say a word to me on the entire trip from Ellis to here, and he’d disappeared the second I arrived at my new house, and the only reason that he’s even paying attention to me now is because he doesn’t want to clean up his own mess. I have no idea why he wanted custody of me if he’s just going to ignore me as much here as he did when I lived a thousand miles away.
Joe places his hand against his chest and gives me an expression that almost looks genuinely crestfallen. But from the smell of stale whiskey and pizza that wafts off him, he is probably just trying to stifle a burp.
“I’m leaving to go find someplace to rehearse. My audition for the music program is today. That’s the whole reason you wanted to bring me here, isn’t it?” I pick up my guitar off the postmodern lounge chair, which clashes with the ancient Greece–inspired architecture of Joe’s mansion. I use my fingernail to press down the peeling edges of a sticker of the Parthenon on my guitar case. The whole thing is covered in stickers of places I plan to visit someday. The Colosseum, Taj Mahal, Eiffel Tower, the pyramids of Giza.
Joe’s eyes look huge and bloodshot as he blinks at me from behind his thick lenses. He doesn’t answer my question, just looks at his wrist again as if trying to read his missing watch. “What day is it?” he asks. “The twentieth?”
“It’s the twenty-first.”
“Already?” Joe jumps up from the couch, and then catches himself against the armrest, like he’s dizzy from standing up too fast. He’s probably trying not to puke.
I grab my tote bag and hitch my soft guitar case over my shoulder. “Marta gave me a map. I’m going to find my way to that grove we passed last night. I need a good place to rehearse,” I say, and head for the grand foyer.
I’d allowed myself exactly three minutes last night to freak out about the audition—a trick I learned from CeCe, who had trained to be an actress before she ended up in Ellis—and then set to work. I’d used my new Mac to peruse my iTunes account until I’d made a list of possible songs to add to my audition piece. I’d spent most of the morning running through the lyrics, but now that Joe is up, I feel the need to get out of the house. I could hear the grove’s soothing song through my open window most of the night, and since Marta claimed that nobody ever went there, it seemed like a place worth scouting out as a practice spot. I’ve always preferred rehearsing in nature. When I was little, my mom used to claim that the flowers in the greenhouse grew twice as big because I sang to them.
“You can rehearse in my studio,” Joe calls after me.
“Your studio smells like Cheez Whiz.”
“Right. That it does.” Joe stumbles into the foyer behind me. “I know, how about I buy you a new guitar? That’s quality daddy-daughter time, right?” He reaches behind him and pulls out his wallet—where he fit a wallet in those pants, I don’t want to know—and opens the billfold. “A few thousand ought to do it.… Huh. I seem to have misplaced all my cash.…”
“I think you donated it to the local liquor store.” I open the front door. I don’t have time for his attempts at pretending to be a good parent.
“Wait. My AmEx is upstairs.… Wait here.”
“You’ve got an interview, and I need to rehearse.” I pat my guitar. “I like Gibby anyway.”
Doesn’t he remember how I got her?
“But I don’t want you rehearsing outside. Not today. What if it gets dark before you get back? How will I know where you’ll be?”
“It’s one in the afternoon, remember? And you’ve never known where I was at any given point in time for the last seventeen years. Today shouldn’t be any different.”
“Just wait,” he says. “If you don’t want a new guitar, let’s get you a new amp. A nice Fender? I’ll tell that reporter to come back tomorrow, and I’ll make sure I get you to the school with enough time to run through your audition piece a few times in one of their practice rooms.”
I pause. I could really use a new amp.…
I sigh, wondering how much I’ll regret the decision I’m about to make. “Okay, but only if we’re quick. And I get to drive.”
There is one benefit to Joe’s constant need for a designated driver—I am going to rack up the remaining hours behind the wheel I need to get my license in no time.
“Brilliant!” Joe waves his hand at me in a wait-here motion. “I’ll be right back with my card. I’ll help you rehearse when we get to the school.” He tries to bound up the stairs two at a time, but either his pants or his hangover slows him down. He whistles the melody from one of his songs as he disappears out of my sight.
I wait for a few minutes. The large clock in the foyer sounds like a countdown timer, the time I have left to rehearse ticking away. I realize I can’t hear his whistle anymore.
“Joe?” I call up the stairs. “Did you get lost?”
This house is so big, I might not put it past him.
Joe doesn’t answer. I wonder if I should wait here longer or go looking for him. My guitar grows heavy against my back. My shoulders ache. I suddenly feel like I’m ten years old again, waiting at the window—with a hefty telescope in my arms—for Joe to come pick me up so we can go stargazing. I’d waited until almost midnight that night, until my mother had insisted I go to bed. I’m sorry, honey. I just don’t think he’s coming.…
Standing here in his cavernous foyer, I hate that one small promise of a shopping trip can make me feel like that little girl all over again. Why am I putting myself in this position? Why am I letting Joe back in again just so I can be disappointed?
“Not on your life.”
“Come on, Daph, no love for your poor old dad?” He wiggles his eyebrows above the rims of his glasses, that cheeky smile on his face. “Quality daddy-daughter time,” he croons.
“You are not my dad.” He isn’t going to let me forget that I called him that back at Paradise Plants, is he? “And cleaning up after your drunken binge doesn’t make for quality lushy-louse–daughter time.”
My anger shows in my voice too much, but at the moment I don’t care. Joe didn’t say a word to me on the entire trip from Ellis to here, and he’d disappeared the second I arrived at my new house, and the only reason that he’s even paying attention to me now is because he doesn’t want to clean up his own mess. I have no idea why he wanted custody of me if he’s just going to ignore me as much here as he did when I lived a thousand miles away.
Joe places his hand against his chest and gives me an expression that almost looks genuinely crestfallen. But from the smell of stale whiskey and pizza that wafts off him, he is probably just trying to stifle a burp.
“I’m leaving to go find someplace to rehearse. My audition for the music program is today. That’s the whole reason you wanted to bring me here, isn’t it?” I pick up my guitar off the postmodern lounge chair, which clashes with the ancient Greece–inspired architecture of Joe’s mansion. I use my fingernail to press down the peeling edges of a sticker of the Parthenon on my guitar case. The whole thing is covered in stickers of places I plan to visit someday. The Colosseum, Taj Mahal, Eiffel Tower, the pyramids of Giza.
Joe’s eyes look huge and bloodshot as he blinks at me from behind his thick lenses. He doesn’t answer my question, just looks at his wrist again as if trying to read his missing watch. “What day is it?” he asks. “The twentieth?”
“It’s the twenty-first.”
“Already?” Joe jumps up from the couch, and then catches himself against the armrest, like he’s dizzy from standing up too fast. He’s probably trying not to puke.
I grab my tote bag and hitch my soft guitar case over my shoulder. “Marta gave me a map. I’m going to find my way to that grove we passed last night. I need a good place to rehearse,” I say, and head for the grand foyer.
I’d allowed myself exactly three minutes last night to freak out about the audition—a trick I learned from CeCe, who had trained to be an actress before she ended up in Ellis—and then set to work. I’d used my new Mac to peruse my iTunes account until I’d made a list of possible songs to add to my audition piece. I’d spent most of the morning running through the lyrics, but now that Joe is up, I feel the need to get out of the house. I could hear the grove’s soothing song through my open window most of the night, and since Marta claimed that nobody ever went there, it seemed like a place worth scouting out as a practice spot. I’ve always preferred rehearsing in nature. When I was little, my mom used to claim that the flowers in the greenhouse grew twice as big because I sang to them.
“You can rehearse in my studio,” Joe calls after me.
“Your studio smells like Cheez Whiz.”
“Right. That it does.” Joe stumbles into the foyer behind me. “I know, how about I buy you a new guitar? That’s quality daddy-daughter time, right?” He reaches behind him and pulls out his wallet—where he fit a wallet in those pants, I don’t want to know—and opens the billfold. “A few thousand ought to do it.… Huh. I seem to have misplaced all my cash.…”
“I think you donated it to the local liquor store.” I open the front door. I don’t have time for his attempts at pretending to be a good parent.
“Wait. My AmEx is upstairs.… Wait here.”
“You’ve got an interview, and I need to rehearse.” I pat my guitar. “I like Gibby anyway.”
Doesn’t he remember how I got her?
“But I don’t want you rehearsing outside. Not today. What if it gets dark before you get back? How will I know where you’ll be?”
“It’s one in the afternoon, remember? And you’ve never known where I was at any given point in time for the last seventeen years. Today shouldn’t be any different.”
“Just wait,” he says. “If you don’t want a new guitar, let’s get you a new amp. A nice Fender? I’ll tell that reporter to come back tomorrow, and I’ll make sure I get you to the school with enough time to run through your audition piece a few times in one of their practice rooms.”
I pause. I could really use a new amp.…
I sigh, wondering how much I’ll regret the decision I’m about to make. “Okay, but only if we’re quick. And I get to drive.”
There is one benefit to Joe’s constant need for a designated driver—I am going to rack up the remaining hours behind the wheel I need to get my license in no time.
“Brilliant!” Joe waves his hand at me in a wait-here motion. “I’ll be right back with my card. I’ll help you rehearse when we get to the school.” He tries to bound up the stairs two at a time, but either his pants or his hangover slows him down. He whistles the melody from one of his songs as he disappears out of my sight.
I wait for a few minutes. The large clock in the foyer sounds like a countdown timer, the time I have left to rehearse ticking away. I realize I can’t hear his whistle anymore.
“Joe?” I call up the stairs. “Did you get lost?”
This house is so big, I might not put it past him.
Joe doesn’t answer. I wonder if I should wait here longer or go looking for him. My guitar grows heavy against my back. My shoulders ache. I suddenly feel like I’m ten years old again, waiting at the window—with a hefty telescope in my arms—for Joe to come pick me up so we can go stargazing. I’d waited until almost midnight that night, until my mother had insisted I go to bed. I’m sorry, honey. I just don’t think he’s coming.…
Standing here in his cavernous foyer, I hate that one small promise of a shopping trip can make me feel like that little girl all over again. Why am I putting myself in this position? Why am I letting Joe back in again just so I can be disappointed?
