This woman is getting on my nerves. Since when does writing songs entail beaded bikinis and tanning oil? I swear you’d think that when we bought this house, Faith Adams came with it.
“Desert, honey, could you bring me a bottle of water, please? It’s ridiculous hot out here!” Ridiculous hot. She can’t even speak properly. She fans herself with her hand, like that’ll help. Half an inch more and she’d be slapping herself in the face. Maybe if I just shoved her elbow…
“I was looking for my dad.” Not coming to take your order. “Have you seen him?”
“He’s in the studio, pup.”
Pup? What the hell is that? I know this doesn’t require a response. My die-Faith-die look should be enough. I walk past her and kick the pool water, pretending to be testing it. Some of it splashes on her pretty little feet.
She retracts her legs against her surgically enhanced body. “Hey! Careful there!”
“Woops, sorry.”
No, I’m not. I rule!
“Desert,” she calls out, “don’t forget my water, please!”
Me Desert. Me no have water. You melt out here, Miss Silicon. “Be right back,” I answer. I’ve got no intention of returning whatsoever.
Can someone please explain why this is necessary? Why is it that whenever someone is working closely with my dad on a project, it’s imperative they move in, forcing me to act all nice, like it’s a pleasure having them around the whole time? Shouldn’t they be the ones kissing my dad’s butt, not the other way around?
It’s only been two weeks since school started, and already, we have a day off. It’s a Teachers’ Planning Day. Or maybe it’s Rosh Hashanah. Whatever. Marie and Mom went out for lunch, leaving me home with this tart. I didn’t even know they were going anywhere. Otherwise I would’ve begged them to let me come along. Now I’m stuck.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” I prop open the studio door and watch the spectacle inside. Dad’s mad at paper. He’s kicking sheets around, the rubber sole of his sneakers creasing and grinding them into the floor.
“Nothing,” he mumbles.
“Yes, I can see that. Absolutely nothing is going on in here.”
“Is your mother gone?”
“Yep. Lunch with Marie.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Nope. But Faith is here!”
“Is she working on it?”
On what, her tan? Yeah, she’s working on it all right. “Um…not sure what you’re talking about, Dad. She’s outside on the deck. Are you gonna be working for a while?”
“I’m not going anywhere until we get at least one good tune. J. C.’s on his way.” Ah, yes. J. C.’s coming over. This means they’ll be working until 6 A.M. without any sleep. He’ll be in the zone for a while, and that means…The Jag awaits.
“Becca?” I switch my cell to the other ear, the wind whipping my ponytail in my face.
“Hey, Desert! What’s up? I hardly slept last night. Couldn’t stop thinking about your dad!”
“Right, whatever. Hey, wanna go to the Grove?”
“What do you mean? We live in the Grove.”
“No, I mean, do you want to cruise around? I’ve got the car! Woo hoo!”
“The what? Car?”
“I’ll be there in two minutes.” Beep.
Becca’s standing outside her house, looking like a mess. She waves at me like a goofball as I pull to a stop. I toss a scrunchie her way. Certainly one cannot cruise without one’s proper cruising attire.
“You are too cool!” she cries, jumping in, and we take off flying, until the next speed bump anyway.
“Where do you want to go? I’ll take you anywhere, baby!” She’s staring at me like I’m the best thing ever.
“Like I care! This weekend’s changed everything. We could go to Kmart, and that’d be fine. Just drive!”
What are we doing? I don’t really know. Yes, I’m completely aware of the fact I have only a restricted license, a California one at that, and my dad has no idea I’ve hijacked his wheels. Let’s just say Becca and I have this overwhelming need to get away today.
We drive to Miami Beach on this gorgeous Monday afternoon, checking out the cruise ships along the way. As we fly on McArthur Causeway to Watson Island, I catch Becca smiling blissfully, and I’m all too aware she’s living out some kind of dream right here.
After an hour of sightseeing South Beach bodies, Art Deco buildings, and door after door of restaurants and clubs, we see a car leaving, so we snag its parking space. Trudging through the sand to find a nice spot on the beach, Becca unleashes the personal questions.
“So, what’s it like? Being the daughter of the most famous rock god on the face of the earth?”
Oh, brother, here we go. “First of all, he’s not the most famous rock god on the face of the earth. Second, he’s not a god at all…. This is a good spot.” We plop down.
“That’s debatable.” She laughs.
“Becca, take it from me. I admire my dad, but he’s no god.” Did I just say I admire my dad? “Anyway, to answer your question, it’s mostly okay. Sometimes, though, I’m dying to know how other people live. Just normal, everyday people.”
Becca does her little sniff-laugh, drawing a happy face in the sand, minus the smile. “Why? There’s nothing interesting about the way other people live. They don’t write E! True Hollywood Stories about people like me. You’re the one with the cool life.”
Sheesh, she doesn’t get it. “It’s not always cool. Take touring. It has its good and bad parts, but basically, I’m on the road half my life! I don’t get to make friends the way you do. My friends are the people I see a few months at a time at school who do whatever they can to get backstage passes. See what I mean?”
Becca looks like she’s going to ask for a backstage pass just to be funny, but I stop her with a pointed finger to her nose. “You can’t get any more backstage than this, so don’t even think about it, missy!”
“Okay!” she cries. “But you get to go places, see things, meet interesting people all the time, right?”
“Sometimes. I’ll admit that’s a plus. But then there’s the press, the questions, the cameras, the lies being printed. It’s not always peachy.”
Becca leans back, hands burrowing into the sand. “I can’t imagine. I just can’t imagine what I’d do with your life.”
“Ask for yours back. That’s what you’d do. What about you? What’s your story?” I ask, although Liam’s already told me a good amount.
She stares out at the waves, the kids toting their sand castle kits, the joggers trampling by. “I know Liam’s told you. Better him than me, since I don’t like to talk about it. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandmother and everything, but it’s not the same. I have no life. Sometimes, it sucks to the point where…I’ve even thought of ending it, you know?” She looks at me, shielding the glare from her eyes.
No. No, I don’t know. “What do you mean? Why would you even think that?”
She sighs and gazes ahead. “Do you know what it’s like to be invisible? You could disappear for a couple of days and no one would even care.”
I think about this but don’t respond. That’s some serious moping going on right there.
“Look, I don’t expect you to understand,” she says, looking away. “It’s complicated.”
“Oh, sure, someone like me wouldn’t understand, thanks!”
“No,” she says, rethinking her comment. “What I mean is, most people don’t understand it—not having anything to live for. I know this sounds crazy, but Crossfire’s music is the only thing that keeps me going sometimes.”
Wow. I’ve heard of people who find solace in music, live for it even, but didn’t know they really existed. Kind of like fairies or something. Crossfire saving Becca from obliterating herself? Fine, I’ll accept it. My dad’s written some pretty great songs. Still, it’s just music. I mean, come on.
I check my watch. Mom should be getting back soon, if she’s not home already, raising hell about the missing kid and car. “It’s not crazy, Becca. Believe me, I get it. We gotta head back. Keep talking, though, I’m listening.”
“Becca!” I shout, because one must shout to be heard in a moving convertible.
There’s that smile again. That sorry, pained smile.
“What’s the matter? Didn’t you have a good time? I picked you up hoping we’d have fun!”
“Yeah, I did! This was awesome! I can’t believe we did this!” She had fun, but not enough to wipe that look of self-pity off her face.
We come off the I-95 ramp onto US-1 and slow down at the first red light. One may stop screaming now. I turn to Becca. “Oye, meng. Que pasa?” I’ve learned much Spanglish in the cafeteria.
“I’m fine. I just know that my life won’t ever be this way. That was a glimpse of your life.”
“A what? A glimpse of my life? Um…hello, we just took a drive, that’s all. What’re you talking about?”
“Desert, c’mon. Nobody lives like this.”
“Like what? We cruised around. Doesn’t everyone our age cruise around for fun?”
“Yeah, but not in Jaguar convertibles, being stared at.”
“So?” Geez, can you say party pooper?
“Nothing. It’s just a painful reminder of where you’ll still be dropping me off—my street, my crappy house, my crappy room, while you go off to—”
“Okay, enough already!” Next time I’ll pick up Liam instead. He doesn’t bitch nearly as much. Uh-oh. I forgot I said I’d call him this weekend.
“Sorry.” She pulls off my scrunchie then rings it around the stick shift. “Desert, I just want you to know I won’t be a leech to you, I promise.”
Well, that’s something nobody’s ever said to me. “I never thought you would be, Becca. If I did, I never would’ve talked to you, or gone to your house, or picked you up. I did all those things ’cause I thought we were friends, not leeches. So stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself already!” I smile, and her face has a hint of genuine happiness in it for once.
We pull up to her house. “Now get out, you leech!”
She laughs, steps out, and closes the door. Then she leans into the car. “Thanks. This has been one hell of a weekend. I’m glad we’re friends. Not ’cause of your dad, even though that’s a major bonus, but because I always have a blast with you.”
Looking depressed half the time is having a blast? “Same here, Beck. Oh, look, we’re down to one-syllable names, see? That really means we’re friends.”
“That’s right. Des,” she says, with that face of hers. I guess that’s just Becca for you, all mopey, all the time. “Later.” She flashes me a peace sign.
On the drive home, I wonder about her. I wonder if maybe I didn’t just get myself into something I shouldn’t have. This is how it starts, you know, by telling people your secrets. Then your life’s no longer your own. I hope she’s right; I hope she’s not a leech and I can trust her.
Pulling into the garage, I can see that Mom’s not back yet, but J. C.’s car is here. I put the top back up and make sure everything’s just as it was before I left. This little joyride was way too easy. Dad must really be absorbed by this album!
The garage entrance leads into the kitchen. Inside, I open the fridge and grab a diet Coke. I make it two. Dad never refuses ’em, and J. C. doesn’t drink anything without the proper alcohol content. And Faith…well, who cares?
When I get to the studio door, I can hear jamming from inside. J. C.’s onto something with that funky riff. Dad’s accompanying him on bass. It’s making a lot of sense, except for the nasty voice as the third layer. I don’t want to intrude, but with as much as they’re into this, they probably won’t even notice me, so I walk in.
You know how they say the devil takes many forms? Well, there’s Faith, crooning some God-awful crap, but no, even better, she’s singing in her freakin’ bikini! Bouncing up and down, beads are flying, like she’s really into the jam, but I’m sorry…any woman anywhere can see what she’s doing.
I wait until they come to a break before announcing my arrival with, “Nice! I didn’t know you guys already started working on the stage act.”
Faith looks at me like she’d smack me with a flyswatter if she could. “We’re not working on the stage act,” she flat-out imitates me. “By the way, thanks for my water, Desert.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I forget?”
On his stool, J. C. snickers behind his guitar. Dad greets me with a smile. “Is that for me, girly?”
I’m still holding the cold soda cans. “Yeah.” I toss one over to him. “Sorry, J. C., I would’ve gotten you one. Didn’t know you were here.”
He smiles, cigarette dangling from his lip, and holds up his glass of vodka on the rocks for me to behold.
“Ah. Gotcha.” I look over at Freak, Faith I mean, and make it a point to stare at her body for like, five whole seconds. That’s what she wants, isn’t it? For everyone to gawk at her boobs? I’ll gawk.
“Yes?” she asks, like I didn’t pay the twenty bucks for this peep show.
“Yes, what?”
You’re in my house, supposedly working on a serious project, with two grown men giggling like four-year-olds at your Barbie-doll self, while my mother isn’t home to watch over you, and all you can say to me is “Yes?” Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw your sorry ass out the door!
God! How I’d love to actually say all that!
I don’t have to. Faith looks over at Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, rolls her eyes like the child here just doesn’t get it, and pulls a full-length sundress out from her straw bag. She slips it on, with a sarcastic smile, and does a ta-da with her arms. “Happy?”
I won’t waste words on her. I walk out and slam the door.
Great. How’d she do that? She’s managed to make me feel like an ice princess. I’ve never been a prude, but still, is there any good reason for that ridiculous display? It’s not as if Dad and J. C. are gonna ask her to cover up. I hate this! Feeling like a patrol guard, keeping the so-called adults in line. I’m sick of it! What would’ve happened if I hadn’t interrupted? Free lap dances for everyone?
Heading upstairs, my stomach hurts. I slam the door shut and yank out a sheet of paper from my notebook. I throw myself onto the bed.
Intruder alert, who can this be?
New member of the family?
I swear to God, if she does stay
It’s me that will be going away
I cannot take it; I can’t ignore
The desert just inside the door
I want out now, please let me go
To places where the waters flow.
Look, I ain’t going for a Nobel Prize, all right? Whatever….