Best Girl (6 page)

I climbed up a dark wooden staircase to the second floor. I knocked on 204. Nothing. Maybe there were people she didn't want to see. Like one of those old ladies she'd swindled.

“Diane! It's me. Amanda.”

Dead quiet. So maybe she didn't want to see me either. Now what? I wasn't going to be a pussy and slink away. I banged on the door. I was going to stand up for myself.

“Diane! Open up!”

I looked down the hall. Two more apartments. If I was disturbing anybody, they didn't come running.

I grabbed the doorknob and jiggled it around to let her know I meant business. The door opened! I stood there like an idiot. Well, I wasn't the only one. She wasn't too swift, leaving the door unlocked. Anybody could walk in.

I pushed the door open farther, waiting for her to screech. But it was dark inside. She wasn't home. I felt along the wall and turned on the light switch. Small tidy kitchen.

The living room was dark. I could wait for her there. I groped at a floor lamp in the shadow. Flicked it on.

I froze. She was lying on the sofa, out cold in her green scrubs. Her pageboy hair fell over her face.

“Diane?” I came closer. A rubber strip was tied around her arm above the elbow.

I felt sick to my stomach. I knew what the stuff on the coffee table was. A bent spoon, a lighter, a small vial of water, some cotton balls. The needle had dropped to the floor.

I bent over her. Touched her arm. Shook her a bit. “Diane?” I tried to find a pulse in her wrist. Either she didn't have one, or I was doing it wrong. Didn't really matter anyway. She was too cold to be alive. Crazy lady od'd.

I stood up fast, my heart thumping. I'd never seen a dead body before. It was like a shell. The person inside was gone.

I used the cell on her coffee table to call 9-1-1. I gave the operator Diane's address and said I was pretty sure she was dead.

“Can I have your name please?” said the voice on the line.

I freaked out. I disconnected and dropped the phone like it was on fire. I had to get out of there. This had nothing to do with me. But the cops would jump to conclusions if they found me there. I couldn't do anything more for Diane.

I stuck my head into the hall to make sure it was empty. I was about to jump out the door, but something held me back. I turned around and tiptoed back into the living room. Like she was going to wake up.

I picked up her cell from the rug where it had fallen. My number was in it. The cops would roll through the list and find me. They'd put two and two together and come up with five.

I dropped the cell into my purse. Then I ran.

CHAPTER NINE

I
took the side streets going home. Still freaking, I looked over my shoulder every other minute. As if someone was following. As if I was guilty of something. The only thing I was guilty of was bad timing. An hour earlier and the 9-1-1 call might've helped. Don't get me wrong— I was sorry Diane was dead. But all I could think of was that I couldn't ask her any more questions. I would never know any more about my mother.

When I got home, I took out the only bottle of liquor I owned. Peach brandy that Shelley gave me when I moved out. I instantly felt guilty. I'd been avoiding her calls. There was no one else I could talk to about this. I had to tell somebody.

I drank down a glass. Then I punched in her number.

“Hello?”

“It's me,” I said.

Pause. “Hi, kid.” Her voice had an edge to it. “What's up?”

“Something happened. Something terrible.” I heard her breathe into the phone, waiting. “Diane, the one who told me about my mother—I mean my birth mother—she's dead! I found her lying there. I called nine-one-one. I was so scared…”

“Slow down! When was this?”

“Fifteen minutes ago! I just got home. I'm still shaking.”

“That's horrible. What did the police say?”

“I didn't wait around for them.”

“Ambulance guys?”

“I called nine-one-one and took off. You think that was bad?” Suddenly she was my mother again.

“Probably the best thing, considering.”

Yeah, considering my real mother died in prison.

“What were you doing there?”

“I wanted to talk to her. She knew Carol. I had some questions.”

Hesitation. “You better leave all that behind you.”

“I have to know the truth.”

“It'll only hurt you.”

“Why are you so sure? What if she didn't do it?”

She waited a few seconds. Then she said, “I've been around a lot longer than you. Trust me. Let it go.”

“Trust you? You lied to me about the most important thing in my life. I'll never trust you again!”

I pushed the button to disconnect. I felt stupid right away. I was on edge and taking it out on her.

I poured myself another glass of peach brandy. It went down nice and warm.

I took the guitar out of the case and put it down on the sofa. I looked over the papers inside the case. Sheets of music. Some Vandal Boss songs I recognized. Shelley had an old boom box she used to play in the salon. Those funny little audiotapes when I was a kid. I remembered hearing Vandal Boss songs for the first time when I came in to watch her cut hair. And here was their own sheet music! Notes in the margins, words underlined. Awesome!

Underneath the pile was a big envelope, no writing on it. I took out the one sheet of yellowed paper inside. It was one of those pages that already had the staff lines printed on it. The musical notes were printed by hand. Not round like the printed ones. These were just strokes with tails, like someone going real fast to get it all down. Then below each bar, lyrics in small tight letters to fit them all in. At the top it said, “Best Girl.” In the bottom corner was a signature:
Freddy Allan. For my best girl, Mandy
.

I just stared at it. My heart pounded. Tears rolled down my face.

You came along and broke my heart

Best girl, best girl.

Without even trying right from the start

Best girl, best girl.

Now you're walking

Now you're talking

Girl, you're sweet as candy.

I never knew I could love so true

My own sweet baby Mandy.

For my best girl, Mandy.
He loved me. My dad loved me! All the bad things I heard about him fell away. I read the words again through my tears.

Hey, wait! Those chords, those words— they were the lyrics from “Playgirl,” Stu Van Dam's hit song. A couple of lines were different. The rest of the song was the same. I looked for Stu's name on the sheet.
Nada.
Then I saw the date below the signature.
December
3, 1990
. My birthday! My dad wrote it for my birthday. I was four years old. A month later he was gone.

A shiver ran down my back. Would Stu have killed him for a song? Not just any song. The song that made his career. I looked at the sheet, picking up the Gibson. I hummed it, then tried the rest of the notes. They went up and down in the same places as “Playgirl,” but it was hard to tell. There were letters of the alphabet above the music notes. Guitar chords. I strummed the chords slowly and sang the words. Wow! Now I recognized it. Stu had improvised to fit the song to his voice. But it was the same song! Stu had stolen it from my dad.

I found the cell number Stu gave me when he came to the salon.

“Yo!” he answered.

“Stu?” I tried to control my anger. “It's Amanda.”

“Yeah, babe. What's up?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Lucky break. Come to Brooke's tomorrow night. Rockin' new artist playing his first gig. You'll love it.” He hung up.

I gritted my teeth.

CHAPTER TEN

T
he next day I photocopied the “Best Girl” sheet in the salon office. I kept myself calm the whole day, playing out what would happen that night. I would tell Stu I knew what he'd done. At first he'd deny it. Then I'd show him the photocopy. Finally he'd see that I had him. He'd confess. I would call the cops and they'd take him away. Okay, things probably wouldn't go quite that smoothly. But my mother's name would be cleared. I wouldn't be the kid of a murderer anymore.

Later that night, I changed into my knock-off designer jeans. They'd already seen my poofy skirt. Besides, I wanted them to take me seriously. I wanted to look grown-up. It's hard to do that in a poofy skirt.

Their rocking new star wouldn't go on till after ten, the usual club time. I wasn't interested in him, so I showed up at Brooke's with time to spare. I walked through the bar. No Stu. I went through the same door as last time and stepped into the hall. I knocked on the office door where I'd found Brooke before. No one home. I headed back the other way and opened the wide door toward the stage. Lexy and a few other guys were setting up for the show.

Without looking up, Lexy said, “Show's in an hour. Come back then.”

I walked in, all confident. He was just a kid. “I was talking to your mom the other day, remember? Old family friend.”

He looked up and blinked, some curly bangs in his face. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

“I'm looking for Stu.”

“Upstairs,” he said, giving me another quick look before going back to work. Probably wondering why his mom had never mentioned me.

I climbed the stairs, past the Private sign. I hesitated at the door. Maybe this wasn't such a smart idea. Stu was a big guy. If he didn't like what I had to say, he could knock me flat without trying. I took my cell phone out of my bag and held on to it. He might think twice if he thought the cops were on speed dial.

I wasn't going to wimp out. I could do this. I knocked.

Stu opened the door, blond hair freshly spiked. “Hey, babe. Glad you could make it. Come on in.”

I took a breath and followed him, holding my cell in my hand. The place was decorated in expensive modern. White leather sofa. Abstract blue and white rug on the dark wood floor. Big-screen tv. Snazzy. Royalty money.

“Drink?” he asked, pouring one for himself at the bar. “Vodka? Tequila?”

I shook my head. Now that I was here, it was awkward. He was the star. I was the kid who cut hair for a living.

“Take a load off,” he said, sitting down on the sofa. He looked at my hand. “Expecting a call?”

Good. He noticed. I reached into my handbag and brought out the folded photocopy of “Best Girl.” I walked toward him and handed it over.

“What's this?” he said, unraveling it. He sat still, his eyes taking it in. “Wow! This is ancient. Where'd you dig it up?”

“My mother kept it.”

“No shit.”

“Read the words,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa, nervous.

He stared at the page. His face went white.

“Look familiar?”

“Well…”

“It's ‘Playgirl.' Everything's the same but a couple of lines.”

“No, it can't be…”

“‘Playgirl' is ‘Best Girl.'”

“It's probably a coincidence. Freddy and me were close. On the same wavelength, you know?”

“You stole his song!”

“No! I—”

“You killed him for that song!”

Stu's mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head. “No! You got it all wrong.” He closed his eyes. “He was already dead when I found it.”

He rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. “Freddy kept a stash of songs in our van, and I was cleaning it out after he…you know. Then I saw this piece and it was good. Not great, mind you. I gave it
style.
I rocked it out, man! I put my own stamp on it. This song would've gone nowhere without
me
.”

He was so full of himself I wanted to smack him. “Here's what I think. You wanted the song so bad, you killed Freddy when he wouldn't give it to you.”

He shook his big blond head. “If I'd sung it for him and he liked it, he would've played backup guitar for me. He wasn't stupid.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because you're not stupid either. Look, how much do you want?”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“How much will make you happy?”

“Are you trying to pay me off so I don't go to the cops?”

He laughed. His face went bright, made him look years younger. “
Go
to the cops. I didn't do it. I know it hurts to think your mother did, but that's no reason to go around pointing fingers.”

Is that what I was doing? Pointing fingers to deflect the guilt?

Just then Brooke walked into the room. She was trying to put on an earring, pushing away her thick auburn hair, when she saw me. “Oh! Hi. Come for the show?”

“I can't stay,” I said, embarrassed, jumping up.

“Well, I'm just going down now— you might catch him rehearsing before he starts.”

I threw back what I hoped was a meaningful look at Stu. Then I let Brooke lead me downstairs. When she opened the wide door to the club area, Lexy stood center stage playing his guitar, singing a folky rock song.

“Isn't he great?” she said, grinning at her son.

Lexy was the hot new artist! Thing was—the song kicked ass
.
He was good. He was also the owner's son, so he got a chance to prove it. The spotlight shone on him, his face turned toward his guitar while he checked the chords. That's when I saw it. His ear. It was a flat clamshell like mine. Clamshell ears! What were the odds of that? I watched the way he stood there, slumped over his guitar, like the world was too sad to look in the eye. The rhythmic way he moved his head, the dark hair falling over his face. I'd seen that before. The YouTube video.
Freddy.
I stared at him, stunned by the recognition. It was so obvious. I looked at Brooke. Brooke and Freddy?

“Can I talk to you?”

I pulled her out into the hall where we were alone.