Link
“No, son, that’s not how it went, you have to pick up the tempo on the third bar. You know that. What’s gotten in to you today?” Lionel Senior stared hard into Link’s eyes, waiting for an answer.
“Sorry, sir, I’m just distracted today. How about next time I come visit I play you the whole opera?” he offered, shutting the cover on the piano.
“Junior, if you don’t keep up the practice and push yourself to keep getting better, you’ll never stay on top. There are a million other talented musicians out there, and you have got to stay ahead of them. We are winning this because you work hard at it, and you keep your name and your image fresh in the public eye. Don’t lose that edge, or it’s over. You hear me?” His father knocked on the piano cover to make his point.
“Yes, sir, I got it—practice and publicity.” Link got up from the bench and cracked his knuckles. His phone chirped in his pocket, and he fished it out, grateful for the distraction. Madison wanted to see him. Finally. He’d been trying to get her to move in with him for weeks now, and she kept stalling. He’d tried every argument he could think of, from saying he worried about the security in her neighborhood to claiming he was becoming an insomniac without her around. He’d spent some nights with her at her apartment, but things there were tight; especially with her roommate going hot and heavy with the singer from Zombie Punch. That and the lack of decent air conditioning were making him batty. Her place had one small a/c unit in the living room, and the July heat wave made the place humid and miserable. His place had plenty of room and central air, but she was being skittish about living beyond her means. The real problem was that there was no way he wanted his future wife and child living at what Madison’s earnings could cover. Not when he made the equivalent of five years of her salary with one hour on stage. It was ludicrous not to let him handle the money end. What a mess. He loved his brownstone, but maybe it was time to sell and find something else.
“Junior. Hey, look at me. What is with you today? It’s like you’re not even here.” Lionel Senior waved his hand in Link’s face.
“There’s something I need to tell you. I was going to wait another week but…” He shifted his weight to his other foot and put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been seeing this girl for a while and, well, she’s going to have my baby. She’s due next February. I’m hoping to get her to agree to marry me.” Damn, he sounded like a scared teenager talking to his dad. This was ridiculous; he was a hugely successful star with all kinds of money. Fuck, he was thirty, not seventeen, certainly old enough to settle down and raise a family.
“Are you nuts? You want to marry this girl? Are you even sure it’s yours?”
Link clenched his hands into fists and narrowed his eyes. He’d never disrespected his father, but right now he needed to bring his temper under control. He turned away, looking out the bay window at the manicured greens of the golf course. Some sailboats bobbed on the lake in the distance. He wanted to get away from his father, get away from the constant push to succeed musically, to be the superstar his parents wanted. “I’m sure, and I love her. She’s not a groupie or an illusion; she’s a real person with real talent and not all this artifice.” He swung his hand around to indicate the gilded cage his father called a home. All bought with Link’s money.
“You’ll be throwing away a lot of your appeal if you marry this girl. Your fans want the fantasy you give them: rock star with a different woman every night, parties all the time. Look, son, I know that’s not really you, but it’s what sells, and this business is all about image. A family man with a house on a cul-de-sac running kids to soccer matches isn’t very marketable.” Lionel Senior put his arm on Link’s shoulder. It was the most affection he’d shown Link since he was a boy. His eyes widened in sympathy as he patted his weathered hand on Link’s back.
“Dad, I don’t care about the marketing anymore. Let someone else be the bad boy of Becket. I want a life of my own. In fact, I can’t think of anything better than running my kid to soccer practice and living in the suburbs.” Link smiled wistfully at his dad and was rewarded when the old man let out a chuckle.
“Okay, son. I guess it’s about time I stopped trying to live vicariously through you and thought about bouncing a grandbaby on my knee. I can’t wait to meet this girl that’s landed you; she must be something else.”
“That she is, Dad, that she is.”