The Rock Star's Daughter (25 page)

Now the tears that had been building up all
night long began to fall. My whole summer romance with Jake had
been in vain and now I had nothing to show for it except a bag of
seashells on the tour bus. I cried that I had let him get my hopes
up about us running off like rebels to Tokyo, that he had made me
feel uncool and unworthy of his attention at the club, that I had
seen him kiss that girl at the club, and that if all of that hadn't
happened, I probably would have been more than willing to lose my
virginity to him.

"Oh, Taylor," Jill tried to comfort me.

"I just really wanted him to like me, you
know? But all he wanted was for me to sleep with him. And when I
told him no he just tried to make me feel guilty, like he had
waited all summer for me, and I don't even really think he did," I
sobbed.

"Good for you for sticking up for yourself,"
Jill told me. "I know you aren't going to believe me when I tell
you this, but there will be other boys, Taylor. Lots of other boys.
And when the time is right, you'll know."

"That's what my mom said," I told her,
sniffling and trying to brush the tears off my face. "But she never
said how I would know."

"When you're not afraid, that's how you'll
know," Jill said matter-of-factly. "When you're with a boy who you
know will like you whether you do or whether you don't, and that he
is just as afraid of how it might change your relationship as you
are."

Put in those terms, I was glad I hadn't slept
with Jake.

"Go get some sleep," she commanded me. "We're
getting on a flight to Newark this afternoon come hell or high
water. I miss my house and I'm tired of all these miserable old
sluts I have to look at in every hotel."

I laughed. Jill wasn't as oblivious to the
women flaunting themselves for my father as I had previously
thought. I got up to head to the second bedroom.

"Jill? How come you didn't call the police or
anything when I didn't come back to the hotel last night?" I asked
on a whim.

"I knew you'd come home," Jill said. "Your
mother raised a smart girl."

I smiled.

There were hasty but heartfelt goodbyes that
afternoon as we boarded a private jet. Tanya told me in a low voice
that she'd be in touch; she wanted me to attend Fashion Week with
her and she claimed to have some ideas about reality television
appearances for me. I feigned interest but immediately ruled out
any possibility of following up on that connection; nothing would
be harder to live down at Treadwell than appearing in a weekly
television show that would be scorned in the TV lounge.

"Goodbye, my darling," Keith said, kissing me
on the cheek. "You behave yourself in New Jersey, now."

Dad and Jill's house lived up to my fantasy.
It was a five story mansion, with a bowling alley and a miniature
movie theater in the basement and a huge pool in the back yard. I
had my pick of four different guest rooms, but chose the smallest
of the four because it was next to Kelsey's bedroom.

The lifestyle in New Jersey was as much to
get used to as life on the road. There was an entirely different
staff there than the people who ran the tour. There were two
personal chefs, a housekeeping staff, the lawn and garden crew, and
a chauffeur. Kelsey ran herself ragged showing me every room in the
house and every toy she owned. Jill somehow got me to agree to wake
up every morning to join her and Herschel in their morning yoga
routine.

Jill brought in her designer, a blond man
named Patrick, to help me redo my bedroom. We ordered new
carpeting, a cool cast-iron bed frame, and sky blue paint to match
my old room in L.A. I unpacked my suitcases from the tour, and
tucked the bag of seashells from Jake into the top corner of my
closet on a shelf. I didn't especially want to look at them, but
also knew that if I hastily threw them out while I was still upset,
I might regret it. I wondered dubiously if he had ever actually
gone to Tokyo. The more I wondered, the more it seemed unrealistic
that there had ever been a possibility that he was going.

Next to them I placed my copy of Jane Eyre,
in which I had pressed the flower I had taken from my mother's
wake. I couldn't bring myself to look at it, but knew it would
bring me comfort during the school year that it was safe and sound
on my closet shelf.

I spoke to my father only twice during our
weeks in New Jersey. The first time, he called me as part of his
rehabilitation program to apologize for the way he had been
treating me.

"Taylor, I am so, so sorry for the way I've
been speaking to you for the last few weeks. The honest truth is,"
he paused, "you saw something that I hadn't wanted you to see, and
I didn't know how to address it. I'm not proud of the way I've been
conducting myself this summer and I'm committed to making some big
changes."

I didn't have a response. I was glad he had
finally acknowledged that I had seen him with Karina but I didn't
believe for a second that he was making a commitment to
anything.

"Are you there?" he asked. I was so quiet he
thought the line had gone dead.

"I'm here," I said.

Two weeks later, when I was already counting
down the days until I boarded the train to Massachusetts, he called
again. This time he spoke with Jill at length, and it sounded like
they were making travel plans. When she handed the phone to me, I
wasn't sure what to expect.

It turned out that Pound's last show on the
tour had originally been scheduled for Los Angeles for a good
reason. The Jam Television Music Video Awards were held in Los
Angeles during the last weekend in August, and Pound had been
nominated for two awards. Even though Dad's record label knew he
was in rehab, they were laying on the pressure thick for the band
to attend the show. They were telling him that his image needed
some good press.

"There are a few things I'd like to tell you
when we're in L.A.," my dad told me. "Just to set the record
straight. And it sounds from what Jill's told me that you're having
a great time in New Jersey. That means more to me than anything,
Taylor, that you're happy being a part of our family."

I felt a little sick packing a small weekend
bag for our quick trip to L.A. I hadn't been home in three months
and feared that the nostalgia and homesickness were going to be
overwhelming once we arrived there. It had always been hard for me
to leave for Treadwell in the fall, and this time it was going to
be especially painful if I had to say farewell my hometown
again.

When we arrived, it was as hot as I've ever
experienced it in L.A. The Santa Ana winds were kicking up, and
those can get hot enough to make you feel like your body is baking
when they blow. When we stepped out of the airport and the heat hit
me, and my eyes fell upon a palm tree, I nearly wept with joy.

"Good to be home?" Jill teased.

Paparazzi swarmed as we boarded the Escalade
that had been sent to retrieve us from the airport. Some things
about being back in Los Angeles were entirely different this time
around. It was the first time I had ever landed at L.A.X and not
been picked up by my mom in the enormous clunky old Benz. We had a
ritual of stopping for French fries at a drive through and sharing
them hot out of the bag on the way home. I dared not ask Jill if we
could stop somewhere for French fries. Some rituals are too sacred
to be recreated.

Dad was waiting for us at the Beverly Hills
Hotel. He looked slimmer and tanner since I had last seen him in
Michigan. He seemed really happy to see us, too, although when he
reached for Jill to kiss her she turned her face so that he could
only peck her on the cheek. He still had major work to do in
regaining her trust.

All of us got to attend the awards show,
which was exciting. There were a ton of stars in attendance and for
once I got a little star struck. Pound didn't win the award for
Best Video, but did win for Best Special Effects. My father kept
his acceptance speech very brief and let Wade do most of the
talking, which was pretty out of character for him.

After the show, Dad asked me he could take me
out for a drive. I agreed on one condition, that we not drive past
my old house. I had a horrible feeling that a new family had moved
in and it would kill me to drive past and see lights on inside.

We drove up to Mulholland Drive in Dad's
rental car, an inconspicuous Volvo station wagon. Mom used to like
to drive up to the Hollywood Hills and look at the fancy houses,
and when I was little I liked to go with her. Mulholland is a
twisty road that snakes along the edge of the hills, overlooking
all of Los Angeles. Dad pulled over and parked along the side of a
road where there was a clearing in the trees, and we both sat for a
long time in silence.

The city below us sparkled and moved like an
electric dragon. The Capitol Records building punctuated the blue
night sky and Thursday night traffic shimmered on Sunset toward the
bars in West Hollywood. I hadn't admitted to myself until that
moment just how much I had missed home. I guess going to school on
the East Coast, I had fallen in love with the idea of crisp New
England autumns and snow days in the winter, but it occurred to me
for the first time that perhaps I would apply to UCLA or USC.

Los Angeles was always going to feel like
home for me, and for the first time since my mom died I felt her
spirit around me in Dad's car. Mom would always be in Los Angeles.
She existed in the crisp salty night air, in the rustle of palm
fronds, in the endless blue sky that could stretch for miles and
miles without a single cloud.

"Your mother used to love it up here," my dad
finally said.

"I know," I told him.

"When I first met her I used to drive her up
here and we'd sit up here for hours. I'd play my guitar… she'd
always ask me to play songs that would make her laugh. She liked to
hear me play Prince songs, songs that were totally not my style,"
my dad said, and I looked to see him smiling at the memory.

"She was a funny girl, your mom," he
continued. "So full of life. She wanted to experience everything. I
had never met anyone quite like her before. She only slept a couple
hours a night. Said she didn't like to sleep, it made her feel like
she was missing out on things."

He was telling me their love story. I had
never heard it before; I had only heard bits and pieces from Mom
and Julia, muttering about how he'd left, how he chose fame and
glamour over us. I felt a huge lump forming in my throat.

"Your mom was a party girl. Used to like to
hang out on the Sunset Strip, flirt with doormen at the clubs to
get into shows for free. One night after we played the Troubadour,
hell we were just starting out, there she was backstage. Dawn was
always twirling that long, long blond hair around one finger. She
had those long skinny legs, like you. A whole bunch of us went back
to the apartment I used to share with Wade back then, this tiny
little bungalow up on Vista Del Mar, doing all kinds of…" his voice
trailed off and he remembered he was talking to a kid. "Bad stuff,
stupid stuff, stuff I hope you're smart enough not to get into. And
when the sun started to come up your mom said she was going to take
the bus home. I asked her to stay and she said she was a good girl,
she didn't spend the night with strangers. It had been a while
since a girl had told me no. It's true, what they say. You always
want the one you can't have. So we spent a lot of time together in
L.A., started dating, it was pretty old-fashioned, all things
considered."

"Anyway, we were just kids, fooling around. I
mean I loved her, wanted to marry her, but then everything stated
to change. Your mom was singing with a different band then, going
on auditions all the time for acting roles. We got signed to Geffen
Records. We went on tour and your mom dropped everything else in
her life and came with, the partying got heavier… got out of
hand."

"When that first tour wrapped, I wasn't very
proud of myself. I knew I needed to make some big changes, clean up
my act, or I was going to lose everything. The thing about success
is that it's real hard on a band; everyone starts wanting their own
thing, going in different directions. And your mom… well," he was
struggling now to find a way to phrase the next part so as not to
hurt my feelings, and I appreciated it.

"She had a real taste for the lifestyle. She
had come out here when she was seventeen or eighteen, all
fresh-eyed, from Minnesota, wanted to be a star. Had a whole life
there with good parents and college that she just left behind. When
we got together suddenly casting agents were calling her more
often, photographers were taking her picture, she got to be on the
cover of
Spin Magazine
… man, that was real big for her, that
cover."

I had seen it. When I was little she had it
framed in the hallway leading to our bathroom. In the photo she had
long, long hair and was topless, with her hair strategically
positioned to keep the photograph from being obscene. She took it
down at some point after I left for school and casually told me
that seeing it every day was making her depressed about getting
old.

"I was getting homesick, wanted to move the
band back to New Jersey. I mean, that's our home, and we were
having a real tough time putting together our second album for
Geffen. But your mom didn't want to leave L.A. She felt like if we
left Hollywood we'd become irrelevant, she didn't want to be a New
Jersey housewife. She had big plans for herself."

"When you came along, neither of us was
ready," he told me. "I think your mom thought that a baby would
keep me in L.A. with her. I didn't think Hollywood was a good place
for a kid to grow up. Still don't. We went out to New Jersey and
three months after you were born, I came home from practice one day
and she was gone."