Rock Chick Regret (Rock Chick #7)(162)

I sat there thinking it was definitely my second best day ever.

Not just my friends and the Balducci Blowout party but also because, that afternoon, Vance took me to my father’s storage locker. Hector was busy but at his arrangement (which, personally, I thought was ultra-sweet and super thoughtful and worth some sort of payback but I’d have to think of something other than a building or an island, maybe something that involved lingerie), Daisy and Kitty Sue met us there.

Vance opened the locker and, with a hand on the small of my back, pushed me in walking in behind me. He turned on the light but it hit me before the unit was illuminated.

The smell.

My mother’s perfume, White Shoulders.

I hadn’t smelled that smell in years.

I took a step back and my shoulder ran into Vance’s hard body.

I stopped, frozen for a moment then twisted my head to look up at Vance.

“Her perfume,” I whispered, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.

His hand slid up my back to my neck and his fingers curled there, giving me a squeeze.

“We can come back,” he told me, his voice and eyes soft.

I took in a deep breath, shook my head and Vance and I walked in, the weird, warm, reassurance of Vance’s hand didn’t leave my neck until I dropped to my knees at the first box.

We stayed there an hour, all of us going through boxes (except Vance who, after helping me through my initial weird out, stood outside). I cried a little bit and Daisy held me. Kitty Sue cried a little bit and I held her.

When we left, I had a list in my purse of the things I’d come back and get later but there were two things I took then.

I’d uncovered a framed photo, a photo I’d forgotten existed but it used to sit, pride of place, on our mantel. It was a picture unlike anything the Seth Townsend of now would allow. It was taken when I was six, out in our backyard, by a professional photographer. However the setting was casual, my Mom’s flower-filled garden in the background, and the pose was natural. My father sat in a garden chair and had Mom in his lap, his arm around her waist, his fingers curled at her hip. Both her arms were around his shoulders and she had her cheek against his. I was standing, pressed into his other side, his other arm wrapped around my little kid body, my head leaning into his chest. Mom and I were laughing at the camera, I didn’t remember why. My father wasn’t laughing but he was smiling, not like something amused him but like he was happy and precisely where he wanted to be.

I couldn’t believe I forgot that photo.

Then, forcing myself to get over it, I vowed I’d never forget it again.

I also found something else I forgot. The necklace Mom used to wear all of the time. My faded memory banks were uncertain but I thought she’d stopped wearing it a year or so before she disappeared.

It was a thin gold chain which hung to the dip in the throat and linked on either side to a pendant that was a connected, scrolled, elegant “E” and “S” the top curve of the “E” and the bottom curve of the “S” each had a diamond in it.

When we left, I held the picture to my belly, the necklace in my fist and I got in Vance’s Explorer.

I asked Ralphie and Buddy and they let me put the picture on their shelves.

I put the necklace on for the party.

Then I helped my boys get ready for the party. The girls and guys came over, we drank, we toasted, we ate, we went to the strip club and we had a complete and total blast.

After awhile, Jet’s sister, Lottie came on and I forever would never cast judgment on strippers again. She was sultry, she was intoxicating, she could move so beautifully it was art, not stripping. She had me enthralled within seconds and on my feet (with everyone else) after moments. She danced for two songs and only took her fabulous, turquoise-and-peacock-blue-sequined bra off at the last minute, exposing perfect br**sts for only a flash before the lights went black.

She was, as Roxie said, the shit.

No doubt about it.

“Oh… my… God!” I shouted to Roxie and Jet’s eyes came to me. “I want to be her.” I looked at Jet. “Do you think she’ll teach me to dance?”

Jet grinned.

“Who you think taught her to dance, sugar?” Daisy asked me on a Christmas Bells giggle. “In my day, I had a velvet rope too.”

I stared at Daisy.

“Then you’re the shit too!” I screamed at her then looked back at Roxie. “I wanna strip!”

“Oh Lord,” Shirleen groaned, sitting down. “First she wants to be a rock star now she wants to be a stripper.” Then she lifted her hand and snapped her fingers at no one in particular. “Somebody, get her another appletini before we gotta explain to Hector ‘Mr. Edge’ Chavez why his woman wants to strip.”

Everyone started laughing and I did too.

Hard.

So hard, my sides hurt and I bent forward and wrapped my arms around my middle.

Finally, I found something funny.

The very thought of someone telling Hector I wanted to strip, not to mention Shirleen calling him “Mr. Edge”…

Well…

It was, quite simply, hilarious.

Stevie found a waitress and we all got more drinks.

And I sat with my girls and (some of) my boys and looked around them, something settling safely inside me. That something was me thinking that, finally, I was living a beautiful life and hoping that, wherever she was, my Mom could see me and she was happy.