The Rock Star's Daughter (18 page)

"I think," I began, "I might like to see
someone when we get back to New Jersey. You know, just to talk
about stuff."

"Not a problem," Jill said, thankfully not
making a big deal out of it. "If you need to talk to someone
sooner, just say the word."

After indulging in a terrible PG-rated movie,
during which Kelsey fell asleep, we stopped at a regular
old-fashioned grocery store to buy anti-bacterial wipes and some
fruit. In the check-out aisle, I was zoning out until my eyes came
to rest on the cover of
Expose Magazine
. There, beneath a
bright orange headline, was a picture of my dad in profile, wearing
sunglasses. To my horror, when I took the time to read the
headline, it said My Amazing Night with Chase Atwood.

A smaller photo was set below the headline,
of a blond woman. With disgust, it registered in my head that I
recognized the woman as the concierge at our hotel in Huntsville,
Alabama. Her photo, unlike the paparazzi shot of my father, was
posed. My heart skipped a beat. Surely my father wouldn't have been
stupid enough to mess around with a concierge at our hotel! But in
the pit of my stomach I feared he was stupid enough to do just
that.

"Oh, Taylor, you can't believe everything you
read," Jill scolded me when she noticed my eyes affixed to the
magazine. "If you read even half of it and believe even just a
fraction, you'll go mad."

But her eyes, lingered, too. She had
recognized the concierge, as well. There was hurriedness in her
actions with the check-out girl. Our rush back to the rental car in
the parking lot suggested to me that Jill was more troubled by the
magazine cover than she wanted to let on.

We rode back to the hotel in silence. I was
fuming. Despite my best efforts not to let Jill's kindness permeate
the wall I was trying to build up against her, she had started to
win me over. Every time I had decided I was through with her for
being controlling and mean, she made a great effort to show me that
she wanted me to be comfortable as a new member of the family. I
was disgusted with my dad for doing anything at all that could
possibly hurt her. Didn't he realize he was lucky to have her?
Couldn't he see that he could lose Jill and Kelsey in a heartbeat
if he didn't clean up his act?

And if that were to happen, what about
me?

Our time in Louisville was brief. The next
morning we were all back on the tour bus, this time headed to
Chicago for three nights of shows at the United Center. I was kind
of excited to go to Chicago. My father announced on the tour bus in
his party voice that there was a big surprise waiting for all of us
when we arrived. Foolishly on an impulse I hoped it would be a tour
of the city with stops at the John Hancock Building and Art
Institute.

Our hotel in downtown Chicago was located on
the Miracle Mile, directly across the street from the famed
limestone Water Tower that had survived the Great Chicago Fire and
the enormous shopping mall that had been built kitty-corner from
it. The city was hazy in its extreme July humidity. From the window
of the room that I shared with Kelsey I could see shoppers carrying
large bags, laughing and joking. Beyond the stores of Michigan
Avenue I could see waves of Lake Michigan, dark blue and unmoving
beneath the low summer sun. Without even straining my eyes I could
see the full showcase of Coach handbags on display in the picture
windows of the boutique across the street.

The surprise in Chicago turned out to be that
my father and Dusty, who was a self-proclaimed roller coaster nut,
had arranged in advance to shut down a Six Flags theme park just
for the band and ill children from a well-known charity to attend
on our fourth day in the city. I wanted to get excited about this,
but am simply just not a roller coaster kind of girl. A very hot
day walking around blacktop and sweating nonstop at the end of our
time in Chicago was not much to look forward to, in my opinion. I
could only hope that Jake might be present on that outing, but that
was a far-fetched hope.

Roadies were not typically included in photo
opportunities, and as much as my dad pitched the special day as a
family day to me and Jill, it was very much first and foremost an
event planned to gain some good press.

Possibly, and probably, to combat some of the
gossip website chatter about my father and the concierge in
Huntsville. I had yet to hear Jill confront him about that, but
maybe magazine covers of this nature were so commonplace that she
didn't plan to pick a fight.

Our hotel in this city was unique in that it
actually had soundproof offices that could be rented, and Tanya
arranged for me to have one for two days to work on my violin
piece. After so many weeks of not practicing, it was rough getting
back into the swing of reading music. My attention span is somewhat
short when I'm struggling to play, and I took many, many breaks to
collect my thoughts and refocus my energy.

During one of these breaks, I got to thinking
about home and my old summer job at Robek's. It had been at least
ten days since the last time I had called Allison. That was a
record for our friendship, even during the school year when we had
a three-hour time difference working against us. I knew I was
delaying calling her because I was afraid of new developments in
the Todd and Nicole department. But, I figured, jealousy was a
really dumb reason to throw away a life-long friendship.

I dialed her cell number.

"What's up?" Allison asked. "Where are
you?"

"Chicago," I answered unenthusiastically.
"More specifically, a hotel in Chicago that I am forbidden to leave
because I am grounded."

Allison shrieked, "Grounded! You've never
been grounded before. What'd you do, Miss Goody Two Shoes, forget
to put the cap back on the toothpaste tube?"

"Eh," I began, a little embarrassed about the
entire incident in Virginia Beach. "I went out with Bijoux and
Betsey Norfleet and got into some trouble."

There was a moment of silence before Allison
replied, "Oh, yeah. I saw pictures of you on a beach with them on
the Hollywoodland website. I didn't even believe it was you. I've
never seen you wear a bikini before."

Luckily I was alone, and therefore no one saw
my cheeks turn red. "Yeah, it was me. And I did something stupid
and my dad grilled me for it. I'm grounded until practically the
end of the summer."

"Lame. What's up with your boy?" Allison
asked. "Did your dad put the brakes on that, too?"

I had no exciting news on the Jake front. It
had been eight miserable days since the last time I saw him. Nearly
two weeks since we had last kissed.

"Kind of," I admitted. "I'm hoping I'll see
him when we go to Detroit but between now and then, I don't know.
It's kind of complicated getting time alone with him."

"Well," Allison said smugly, "I'm sure there
are tons of other boys in Chicago. It's not like you have to wait
around."

She really had no idea. I had no exposure to
anyone else my own age at all. There was the kiddy table packed
with toddlers at group dinners and the members of Sigma, nearly
drinking age, but no one other than me in their mid-teens. It
wasn't like I was attending a new school and had thirty new
classmates to befriend.

"It's not like that," I insisted. "Really. I
don't meet anyone. I'm just stuck in a hotel room all the time,
unless I have to go to these functions with the band. It's kind of
lonely. On Friday we have to go to Six Flags all day as a big group
and pretend to be a happy family for the paparazzi."

The brief silence that followed informed me
that I had said something that had pushed one of Allison's
buttons.

"God, Taylor, are you even listening to
yourself?" Allison accused. "Oh, poor you, someone's shutting down
an entire theme park so that you can ride all the rides by yourself
in all your fancy new clothes. Oh, poor Taylor, stuck all by
herself in a five-star hotel. Seriously, you need to check your
head because no one is going to feel sorry for you. You're living
the life everyone dreams of. So get over yourself."

The line going dead stunned me. She had
actually just hung up on me.

Was I overdue for a reality check? Was this –
seeing the country through hotel windows with no one to talk to –
really what everyone else dreamed of? I tried my hardest to think
back to a time before my mom died to remember how I had imagined my
dad's life. I guess I had assumed it was all excitement and luxury.
Carefree and fun. I had assumed incorrectly.

I didn't dare call Allison back. I had a
sour, sickening feeling that our friendship had been severed. As
much as I thought there was a possibility that she was right – that
maybe I was indeed turning into an inconsiderate spoiled brat – I
really didn't think that was the case. I hadn't taken advantage of
any of the perks my father and his entourage of assistants had
offered. I didn't make messes in my hotel rooms, expecting that
someone else clean them. I didn't demand special treatment.

In fact, I realized, most of the time since I
had joined the tour, I was consciously trying my hardest to be as
little trouble as possible. As invisible as I could be. I felt like
a stowaway on this tour and unworthy of spending my father's money
as if it were my own.

Then I had a revelation; if my reluctance to
indulge in a lifestyle of opportunity had gone unnoticed, then
maybe it was time to indulge. Clearly people already assumed I was
acting like a spoiled brat. What could be the harm in allowing
myself to try behaving like one?

That afternoon I went to the hotel spa by
myself and ordered a French manicure. I told myself as the
technician was painting my nails that I would be snooty and not
thank her or tip, but I was incapable of that kind of snobbery. I
signed a slip billing the charges back to the room and, having no
idea what was considered an adequate tip, I added half of the total
bill as gratuity and signed my name.

"Are you Chase Atwood's daughter?" an excited
middle-aged woman getting a pedicure asked me. She looked like she
was on her lunch break from an office job downtown.

"Yes," I said with a yawn.

"I just love Pound," the woman gushed.
"They've been my favorite band since high school."

"Honestly I think they kind of suck," I said,
channeling Bijoux Norfleet.

Back upstairs in my room while Kelsey was at
her French lesson, I blew on my nails even though they were dry. I
was so unaccustomed to making extraordinary selfish requests that I
actually had to concentrate on what I would demand next.

"Tanya," I murmured, stepping into the
suite's living room where Tanya was typing in overdrive on her
laptop keyboard, "Have you seen those blue Coach handbags across
the street?"

Tanya looked up, surprised. It occurred to me
that I was interrupting something of importance and I almost backed
away from my mission.

"No, I'm sorry. I haven't been outside since
we landed," she confessed. "I'm dealing with kind of a crisis at
the moment."

I wondered sinisterly if that crisis had
anything to do with a blond concierge. "I'd really like one if
someone has time to run across the street and pick it up for me.
The one with the big silver buckle."

"No problem, Taylor. I'll have one of the
PA's over there this afternoon," Tanya responded without the
slightest hesitation.

At dinner time, a production assistant named
Randy stopped by the room to let me know that Jill was dining with
the band, and to tell me I should order room service for myself and
Kelsey.

I wrinkled my nose. "We're in Chicago," I
whined. "One of the greatest culinary destinations in the country.
Couldn't we like, order from a real restaurant? Maybe, real
Chicago-style pizza? Don't you want pizza, Kelsey?"

I was sure Kelsey had never had pizza before
in her life, but at my mention of it, she jumped up and down on the
sofa yelling, "Pizza! Pizza!"

Randy, who was in his late twenties and had a
huge pot belly, shrugged. "Sure, just tell me what you want and
we'll send someone to go get it."

I perused the thick yellow phone book in the
suite's desk and decided on a deep-dish pie from Uno's Pizzeria.
Salad pizza, however, without cheese. I wasn't feeling snobbish
enough to risk Kelsey getting sick again.

While Kelsey and I were wolfing down our
slices of pizza in front of the hotel suite's large-screen TV,
another one of the production assistants entered the suite with a
large white shopping bag just for me.

"You can place that in my room," I commanded
him.

After dinner, I ran my fingers over the
gorgeous Coach royal blue fabric and could hardly believe the bag
was mine.

What was most amazing to me as I drifted off
to sleep that night was that I probably could have been pampering
myself and buying stuff left and right from the moment the tour
started, and no one would have ever stopped me. The funny thing
was, however, that the only things I really wanted couldn't be
bought with money. I wanted Jake to be my boyfriend. I wanted my
father to be a better man. I wanted Allison to remain my best
friend and not hate me. I wanted Todd to break up with Nicole
Farley. I wanted my mom back.

None of those things were for sale in the
window of the store across the street. Allison's words hung heavily
in my head in the dark bedroom and I didn't bother wiping the tears
away as they rolled down the sides of my face and onto my
pillow.

CHAPTER
11

On our fourth day in Chicago it was becoming
evident to me that something was up between Jill and my father. She
stayed at the hotel on the night of the third show rather than hang
out backstage during the performance, and she went to bed at eleven
PM even though Dad wasn't back from the arena yet. Jill refused to
make eye contact with him during breakfast before we piled on the
tour bus to go to Six Flags, even when he tried repeatedly to joke
with her.