The High Notes: A Novel(40)

“I know you’re busy, Iris, I should get going, I’ve got some things to do too. I’m going back to Vegas tonight.” She doubted that he could afford plane fare, and guessed he was going by bus. He stood up and looked her squarely in the eyes. She hadn’t greeted him warmly but his eyes were cold. “I was wondering if you could float me a loan, just to tide me over for a while.”

“What did you have in mind?” She was curious to find out just how far he’d go. He had probably come just to see if he could milk her again. He’d seen the tabloids and figured she was good for it.

“I was thinking twenty, twenty-five thousand, maybe fifty. That’s probably a drop in the bucket for you. You’ll make a fortune on your album,” he encouraged her, all for his own gain.

“It’s not out yet,” she reminded him.

“Maddox must have given you an advance.” She didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to lie to him. It was none of his business. She might have given him five, although she wasn’t sure. But twenty, twenty-five, or fifty, just to play her and disappear for another four years, until he wanted more. He’d burn through it quickly on booze and beer, and the blackjack table. She knew why the women he slept with threw him out. They got tired of giving him money, and she was too.

“Sorry, I can’t help you, Dad. You always figure it out somehow. You got the last of my money when you spent everything I earned working for Billy Weston. I decided then that was the end of it. I guess that’s why I haven’t heard from you for four years.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He didn’t deny it. He had no regrets and no remorse about any of it. She could see he hadn’t missed her, except what he might have taken from her again. “A woman who won’t help her father out has no heart,” he said coldly, as he ambled toward the door.

“A man who works his child to the bone and takes all her money has no soul. So I guess we’re even.”

“Guess so.” He had reached the door by then. She hadn’t been worth the bus fare from Vegas. “You won’t be seeing me again,” he said. “Enjoy your fancy life, Iris. Keep hitting those high notes. I always said you’d be a star one day. I just figured you’d be a better person when you were, and remember where you came from.”

“I try to forget it every day,” she said softly. “Take care of yourself, Dad.” He opened the door then, didn’t acknowledge what she’d said, walked into the hall, closed the door behind him, and he was gone. She suspected he had told the truth. She wouldn’t see him again. The sad thing was, she didn’t want to. All he’d ever given her was grief and pain, while he profited from her gifts. She stood looking at the door for a minute, feeling like an abandoned child, and then she went to look for Rosie, asleep on her bed. Iris sat down and held her, and the little puppy licked her hand.



* * *



—

Boy came looking for her a few minutes later. He was moving with more ease now, and eager to get back to work on his other single.

“Was someone here?” he asked her, watching her stroke the dog, with a serious look on her face. “I heard voices.”

“Yeah,” she said with a sad look in her eyes. The reality was ugly, of who her father was, and what he wanted from her. All he wanted was money, wherever he could get it, and she was a convenient source. She had always been profitable for him, ever since she was twelve years old. Without the profit, she was of no interest to him. He was no better than Billy Weston or Glen Hendrix. Blood made no difference to him, she was just another opportunity for money.

“It was my father,” she told Boy with a dead look in her eyes, as she kissed the puppy and set her back on the bed.

“Your father? The one you haven’t seen in four years?” He looked surprised.

“Yeah, that one.”

“What did he want?”

“He’d seen me in the tabloids, and read that Clay signed me, so he came to collect.”

“Great guy. Was he nice to you at least?” Boy asked her.

“No. Same guy, different day. Four years later. He disappeared four years ago because I wouldn’t sign over my paychecks to him.” The truth was the only two men in her life who hadn’t wanted anything from her and were good to her were Boy and Clay. The others all used her, and she was well aware of it. She knew it about her father too. It was just depressing to have him show up and do the same thing again.

“You don’t need him, Iris. You’ve done much better without him.”

“No, I don’t need him,” she agreed. “It would have been nice to have had a different father.”

“I used to think that, that it would have been nice to have a family, a real one. It would have been nice, but in the end, I did fine without one. We have ourselves, and look at where we are now. Look at Clay, he can’t do enough for us. That’s just who he is. And shit luck, you wound up with a lousy father. You’re going to be fine without him, better in fact. Guys like your dad don’t change. They’re empty inside. They have nothing to give. They can beat the hell out of us, like the two thugs who showed up here, but they lose in the end. They can’t touch us.” She hoped it was true. She nodded and he went back to his room to give her some time to think about it. She lay on her bed, holding Rosie, and she let the image of her father drift away until he was gone. She fell asleep with her puppy. Another gift from Clay.