The High Notes: A Novel(39)

“Maybe,” Pattie said, and didn’t sound convinced. The world outside her small life in Biloxi seemed like a distant dream to her now. She was going to try to come to New York for a weekend when her mother was feeling better and could take care of Jimmy again, or she said maybe she could leave him with a friend for two days. She was desperate to get away from the drudgery she was living now, although she loved being with her son. But a weekend off, away, sounded like heaven to her. Iris didn’t envy her that kind of responsibility at her age. She was thirty-four years old with a child and a sick mother. All Iris had to worry about was herself.



* * *



—

Clay took her to lunch a couple of times, despite his heavy schedule of meetings with his artists. The paparazzi were lying in wait at the hotel every time he took Iris out. They dodged the press by going out the service entrance. When he took her to dinner again, always with the excuse of cheering her up, the paparazzi were outside the restaurant again when they left.

They were becoming an item, while people tried to guess if they were dating or not. Iris always denied it. Clay didn’t comment. And Boy insisted to Iris that they were.

Iris had just come back from lunch with him, when the doorbell of her suite rang, and the security hadn’t stopped them, so she assumed it was the maid. She opened the door, and found herself staring up at her father. He had gotten past security after he found out her room number from a hotel operator, by claiming it was his own room. It had been more than four years since Iris had seen him, nearly five, and she just stood there and stared and didn’t know what to say.

“Aren’t you going to invite me into your fancy digs? You got a hug for your old dad?” The dad who hadn’t sent her so much as a postcard in nearly five years.

She hesitated and then stood aside so he could come in. She knew Boy was in his suite but the door was closed between them, so he hadn’t heard Iris come in. And she thought he might be taking a nap. He still slept in the afternoon, but he was feeling better too.

She noticed that her father looked even seedier than the last time she’d seen him, and his limp was more pronounced. He needed a haircut, and a shave, he was wearing an old Levi’s jacket, jeans, and his beaten-up cowboy boots he’d had since his rodeo days. She wondered if he had pawned everything else.

He sat down on the couch, and looked around, as she sat across from him in a chair. It was still hard for her to get off the couch with her bruised ribs.

“To what do I owe the honor?” she said coolly. It was hard to be enthusiastic about seeing him, when he had stayed out of touch for so long. She wondered if he’d ever thought about her, or worried about how she was, or cared. But he was still her father, and she had to fight any kind of expectations about him. He never failed to disappoint.

“I’ve been seeing a lot of you in the tabloids, with some old guy, and with another one with long hair. You seem to have plenty of men in your life these days. I was in New York, and I thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing. Looks like you got yourself a contract for an album. Hendrix let you out of your touring contract?”

“No, my manager got me out of it. The contract wasn’t legal, and he treated us all like dirt.”

“That’s what I’ve heard about him,” Chip said, making himself comfortable on the couch. She didn’t offer him a drink. She didn’t want him to hang around long enough to get drunk.

“Funny, you never mentioned that to me before I signed with him.”

“I heard it later.” He had an answer to everything. “You were already on tour. You got a beer?” The question was inevitable. She got up, got one out of the minibar, and handed it to him.

“So what brings you to New York, Dad?” she asked him. It seemed odd to call him that after he had escaped being one for four years. It didn’t surprise her, but it had hurt her feelings anyway.

“I had some business, and I wanted to see you,” he said innocently.

“Why now? I wrote to you a few times, the letters always came back.”

“I moved around for a while. With you gone, there was nowhere I had to be.” He never had to be anywhere for her either. He did whatever he wanted and always had.

“Where are you living now?” She was curious.

“Back in Vegas,” he said. “It’s good to be back there. I’m staying with a friend,” a woman most likely. He was shameless about living off women for free rent and the use of their car. His standard M.O. It was all so familiar. Nothing had changed. She could guess what would come next. She was the business he had in New York. She was sure of it. He looked around the luxurious hotel suite again, and she knew he was impressed, even if he didn’t show it. He tried to look as though he took it all in stride, but she knew him better than that. “Looks like you’re making some big money these days. That’s nice for you,” he said, and she waited.

“I don’t pay for the hotel, if that’s what you mean. My manager does.”

“Clay Maddox? Hell, he can afford to. How’d you wind up with him managing you?” As though she didn’t have the talent, and wasn’t worthy of her good breaks. “I told you to keep hitting those high notes. Looks like it paid off.” She didn’t answer at first.

“I was lucky to meet him. And I worked my ass off for nine years on tour. That counts for something.” He nodded. She could sense that he was looking for a way in. He grinned, and she noticed that he’d lost some teeth. It was sad to see him actually. He was only fifty-nine, but he looked ten or fifteen years older. Like fifty years of bad road. She should have had happy memories, or tender ones, of him, but she didn’t. He dragged her around to bars, and made her sing for money since she was twelve, and then he took and spent it on booze and women. Stealing from a child. It was hard to feel anything looking at him. She looked at her watch, he’d been there for half an hour. She felt trapped with him as the bad memories came flooding back, the nights she went to bed hungry, or slept in the truck while he slept at some woman’s house and left her out in the cold, or in the dead heat. All the times he was never there for her, and acted like she didn’t exist and didn’t matter, not speaking to her for four years because she wouldn’t let him steal her money. He was starting to look as uncomfortable as she felt, as though he could hear her thoughts.