Amber

  “It wasn’t just that,” Mooch says. “He had a point. We were partying a little too hard. After the success of the first two albums, we started taking it easy. Too easy. We were more focused on having fun than working.”

  Cash nods his agreement. “True.”

  “What about my mothers leaving? How did that happen?” I can’t believe how nervous I am; I’m actually trembling as I wait for his answer.

  “We went to Albuquerque for a show. It was the first one that your mothers didn’t go to with us. I remember Barbara telling us that her mother was sick and they all needed to go spend some time with her. I assumed they were going to Vegas, but I didn’t double-check. Things were always cool with us; we trusted each other.”

  “It was a very unique relationship,” Cash says. “We were really close, but there was total freedom. We didn’t harsh their vibe and vice versa. It worked perfectly.”

  “Exactly,” Red says. “But when we got back to New York, they weren’t there. We waited a couple weeks, expecting them to come back or call, but they never did.”

  This relationship sounds a little too free and easy to me. “Didn’t you worry about what happened to them?”

  “Of course we did. But then we got word that they were fine and that they were dropping out and didn’t want to be contacted anymore.” He looks down at his hands, his shoulders slumping.

  “Who sent you that word? My moms?”

  “Yeah. Through our manager, Ted. At least, that’s what he told us at the time.”

  I’m having a hard time processing what he’s telling me. “But I thought you really cared about them.”

  “We did.” Red raises his head and his voice. “We loved them. I still do.” He glances over at his friends. “I can’t speak for anybody else, but they’re still right here.” He thumps his chest with his fist a couple times, right over his heart. “But they wanted out. We couldn’t force them to come back, and none of us were ready to end our careers.”

  “So, when you found out they were expecting babies, you just walked away?” I try not to sound bitter, but it’s impossible.

  Red jumps to his feet. “No!” he yells. “We didn’t know!”

  Paul goes over and grabs Red by the arm, making him sit back down on the couch. “Easy, man. Relax. Remember, you said you weren’t going to get angry about this.”

  Red jerks his arm out of Paul’s grip. “What do you care? You weren’t involved. You don’t know them at all.”

  Paul’s voice is calm and smooth, soothing in effect. “I may not’ve been there, but I know how important Amber’s moms were to you, and I know how much it hurt you when they left. Just chill, man. You’re going to scare her away.” He glances at me.

  Red looks at me too and nods, letting out a long sigh. “You’re right.” He pats Paul on the back. “Thanks, man.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Paul relaxes into the couch.

  Red drops his face into his hands, too overwhelmed with emotion to continue.

  Mooch takes over the storytelling from there. “When we got back from Albuquerque, Ted told us that your mothers were gone and weren’t coming back.”

  “The same band manager you have now?” I ask, just to be sure.

  “Yes. And they told him—or so we understood—that they didn’t want anyone to bother them. They didn’t want to be in the limelight anymore, and they didn’t want the press finding out where they lived. They just wanted to move on with their lives.”

  “And after all the time they spent with you, the times you shared, you believed that?”

  Cash responds. “The last month they were with us, they really weren’t into it. Of course we know now it’s because they were all pregnant and probably sick and worried about what was going to happen with their lives. I mean, living the way we were . . . It was no place for pregnant women or babies. I said it enough times in front of your mothers . . . Red said it too, and Darrell . . . he practically shouted it on a daily basis. He fired one of the roadies when he found out the guy’s wife was pregnant, and we didn’t do a damn thing to interfere.” He looks over at his bandmate. Red is nodding sadly. “It was kind of our mantra—no kids, no ties, no hassles. It’s how we channeled the music, or so we thought.”

  I heard that same thing from my mothers when they told Rose, Em, and me why they left the band . . . that it was no place for kids and families, so I can’t take offense at it. I know they would agree with what Cash is saying.

  “But what about natural curiosity?” I press. “Didn’t you wonder?”

  “Of course we did,” Red says, lifting his face out of his hands. “It practically killed us not knowing what they were doing or where they went.”

  “So why didn’t you look for them?”

  He shrugs. “Guilt. Pride. Drugs. You name it, I suffered from it.”

  “We all did,” Cash adds.

  “Things fell apart pretty quickly after that,” Mooch says. “We got in a huge fight with Darrell. He was happy that your mothers were gone; it’s what he wanted all along. But it was too much for us. Even though he wrote good music with us, we couldn’t even stand to look at his face after everything went down.”

  “That’s where I came in,” Paul says. “There was no way they could work with Darrell anymore. He and Keith got into a huge fistfight. Keith broke two fingers, putting a crack in Darrell’s orbital bone. It made it impossible for him to play for several weeks.”

  “So, my mothers disappeared, Darrell got kicked out of the band, and you came in to take over his spot.”

  Paul nods. “Nobody was even sure the band was going to be able to continue. But then Keith’s fingers got better, and the guys were so devastated by everything that happened, they poured themselves back into the music and touring.”

  “We made a lot of money,” Red says. “But I’d give it all back if I could do that part of my life over again . . .” He can’t finish.

  Tears rush to my eyes. I’m too choked up to speak.

  Ty clears his throat. “Wow. You guys just blew my mind. I’ve been following your music since I was a kid, but I didn’t know anything about this.”

  “You knew that Darrell left,” Paul says.

  “Yeah, but the official word on that was artistic differences.”

  Cash shakes his head. “Nah. We could play together, we just couldn’t stand to be in the same room with a guy who was happy about the women leaving, who was so insistent that they were bad influences.”

  I try to wrap my brain around what these men have said and how it relates to where we started this conversation. Something about my mothers leaving has to do with a person they’re thinking of hiring to write music. Then it hits me . . .

  “Is Darrell the one you’re thinking about bringing back?” I look at each of them, wondering if I’m right.

  Mooch shrugs, looking guilty.

  “That man will never step foot in any studio that I’m a part of,” Red says with passion, his tears forgotten in favor of fury.

  “Maybe we won’t need him,” Paul points to Ty, “if you can find his brother. Maybe it’ll work out. Or we could find someone else. Or just keep working on what we have now.”

  Red nods. “I’d give Lister’s dog a try before I let Darrell have anything to do with my musical life.”

  I can’t let that one pass. “His dog?”

  Red shakes his head, back to looking exhausted again. “It’s a little rug rat. Barks at everything that moves.”

  “I’ve seen it, actually. When Lister first came to our house.” I had temporarily forgotten their lawyer’s heart isn’t completely made of stone.

  It makes me think of Lister showing up at my house. “So how did you find out about us, then? After twenty-five years, who spilled the beans?”

  “Darrell,” Cash says. “He told Lister and Lister told us.”

  “Why would he do that?” I look at Ty, wondering if he gets it, but he seems as mystified as I am.

  Cash shrugs. “He was tryin
g to use it as leverage to get back in with the band.”

  “What on earth was he thinking?” I cannot imagine any scenario where Darrell admitting he helped our mothers disappear would help him get back into the band’s good graces.

  “Who the hell knows?” Red says. “And who the hell cares? All he did was seal his fate, as far as I’m concerned.” He glares at his bandmates, as if daring them to disagree. None of them appears to feel any differently from the way he does, though.

  The room goes silent. I look at these men sitting in front of me, seeing them with new eyes. Twenty-five years ago they had the world at their feet, and then it all blew up in their faces. Women they loved, who it sounds like they would’ve done anything for, disappeared from their lives without saying goodbye, and a couple of selfish assholes—Darrell and Ted—made a decision to keep them apart at any cost. And our mothers, who were young and scared, listened to these men and believed what they said. They let them influence the direction they took with their lives . . . a direction that led our moms away from allowing my sisters and me to know our fathers.

  Maybe I should be angry at those two men . . . maybe I should want to seek revenge and destroy them. But I don’t. And maybe I should be angry with my mothers for being so easily influenced and maybe even selfish. But I’m not. I stand here in front of the band, feeling their pain but knowing there’s a way past it. I can’t change the past, but I can influence the future.

  “I understand that your hearts were broken twenty-five years ago. I know my mothers had a hand in that. There were other people involved too, though. Your friend Ted probably hasn’t given you the whole truth about his role in it.” I haven’t heard from anyone yet that they know he’s the one who gave my mothers the money to leave and set up a new life. “But I’m not sure it matters in the long run.”

  Realization is washing over me in waves. I expected to feel anger and regret at learning the story of my mothers’ relationships and my beginnings, but I don’t. I feel grateful and hopeful. “The fact is, my sisters and I were better off being raised where we were. Like you said, the road is no place for kids or families. It would’ve been a kind of suicide for you to stop touring when you were doing so well, and I can’t say that I would’ve been happier having a famous dad drop by every once in a while to say hello between tours, especially when it would have also meant reporters constantly hounding us and ruining the peace and quiet that our home promises to us and all its visitors.”

  I have their complete attention, and even Paul is getting choked up. “Our mothers were sure you wouldn’t want them around anymore if you found out they were pregnant. You had said in no uncertain terms that pregnant women and children were not welcome on tour. They heard you repeat that thought many times during the two years they were with you.”

  “We know,” Red says. “And I can’t tell you how angry I am that I was so selfish and short-sighted.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” I say, fully believing that. “The past is in the past. It’s time to move on.”

  “I wish they had just told us,” Cash says. “We could have avoided so much pain.”

  “They didn’t want to pressure you into changing your minds about that, because in their hearts they knew you and Ted and Darrell were right: they didn’t belong on tour with you anymore. It was time to move on. And they knew if they told you, they risked starting huge fights and destroying the band. The band was everything to you and very important to them, too.”

  “Ted has a lot to answer for when he gets back,” Mooch says.

  “We could all be angry at Ted and pissed off at the circumstances that caused him to do what he did, but I think that would be a waste of our time and emotion. Yes, Ted sent our moms away under maybe somewhat false pretenses, but he also made sure they had the means to live and raise my sisters and me in a beautiful place. We’ve had a wonderful life because of him, and I can’t be angry at him for that.”

  I look around to see if they agree, and I think they do. They don’t look nearly as upset as they did a minute ago. “No one is innocent in this situation, and playing that blame game is only going to dredge up more hurt feelings that’ll take forever to heal. I would really appreciate it if we could just move forward from here—clean slate, no more misunderstandings or bitterness to bog us down. No more pointing fingers and getting angry at something someone did or said twenty-five years ago.”

  “I think that would be really great,” Mooch says through his tears. He gets up and comes over with his arms out.

  I happily enter his embrace and give him a big hug. “Thanks, Mooch.”

  He pulls away a little, tears going down his cheeks. “Do you think . . . maybe . . . you could ever call me Dad?”

  Shocked at his proposal and the emotion behind it, I burst into tears, unable to answer. I never in my life thought I’d have the chance to call any man Dad. When I turned eighteen, I officially turned the page, telling myself having one wasn’t in the cards for me, and yet here is this man that millions of people adore, asking me if I’ll be his daughter. He doesn’t even know if I really am biologically his, but he doesn’t seem to care. It’s beyond overwhelming.

  Red stands and so does Cash, both of them coming over to join in our hug.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  I think it’s a good thing that we have hair appointments tonight. The conversation got so heavy, there was no way out of it without a lot more tears, except for the fact that José Fernando Luis Velasquez was waiting for us at his salon.

  I wish more than anything I could call my sisters and tell them what’s going on, but I have no private time except for five minutes to use the bathroom before we’re on our way over. I’m sharing a ride with Ty.

  “So, that was kind of crazy, huh?” he asks. We’re holding hands in the backseat.

  “You could say that again.” I still can’t believe what I heard in the studio.

  He glances at the driver and lowers his voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I lean into him so I can give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow.” It’s too raw for me right now. I need to let things settle. Not to mention the fact that when I have this conversation with Ty, it won’t be in front of a stranger who’s driving the car we’re in.

  He squeezes my hand. “We’ve got time. All the time you need.”

  I could cry over that sweet comment, except I don’t have any tears left in me. Thank goodness the salon isn’t far. The limousine holding the other band members stops at the curb ahead of us and we park behind it. All of us get out at the same time.

  A few strangers walking by on the sidewalk stop to stare. There’s no way six people and their two drivers all exiting limos at the same time isn’t going to attract attention. A few of them recognize the band members, so Red and the others pause to sign autographs.

  I enter the salon ahead of everyone and introduce myself to the master. “Mr. Velasquez . . . Thank you so much for fitting us in on such short notice.”

  He’s looking over my shoulder with a big grin on his face as he pets my hand. “Oh, darling, I need to thank you,” he says with a Hispanic accent. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to get my hands on their hair?”

  This man is exactly what I needed. I smile. “Twenty years?”

  “At least that long.” He gives me an enthusiastic hug. “Who are we starting with?”

  “I think you should start with the boss,” I say in a near whisper. “As soon as Red’s on board, you’ll have no problem with the rest of them.”

  He nods sagely at me, narrowing his eyes. “Girl, I like how you operate.”

  “I’m sneaky.”

  He leans in. “I love sneaky.”

  He raises his hand above his head and waves it like a windmill at the wrist. “Let’s go, friends. Snap, snap! Hop to it! We have hair to make fabulous!”

  Out of the back room come several people to do his bidding, young men and women of all shapes and s
izes.

  I stare, not sure whether to be impressed or upset. “I thought you were cutting their hair.”

  “These are my protégés. They are here to assist me.”

  I nod, suitably impressed. “Okay. I’m just going to get out of your way.”

  He points to a chair that looks like a throne at the edge of the room. “That is for you, Queen Bee. You go sit your little buns down over there and I’ll have somebody bring you something to drink. What would you prefer?”

  “Green tea?”

  He looks me up and down. “I knew it. I can read you like a book. Hippie chick from day one.”

  I hold up my hand for a high five. “You know it.”

  He grasps my hand in his and squeezes it. Then he kisses my knuckles. “We are going to be good friends. I know this.”

  This is the happiest I’ve been since I came to New York, save all the moments I’ve spent with Ty. I wish I could live in this salon instead of the Four Seasons.

  The door opens and the band comes in, leaving a crowd of people behind them.

  I walk over to the throne and sit down in it as José yells, “Shades!”

  His troupe of assistants rushes over to the windows and lowers the blinds so that we have complete privacy. The fans are probably still out there, but even their cameras aren’t going to get a shot of anything going on in here now. I’m so relieved; I no longer feel like a fish in an aquarium.

  A couple minutes later, someone shows up with a nice mug of hot green tea for me. All the men in the band are brought into another area of the salon to have their hair shampooed and de-rat-nested.

  José is barking out orders left and right. He introduces himself to each of the band members, sharing a little quip about a song of theirs or a story about one of their concerts he attended.

  I can’t believe how lucky I am. You’d never know it by looking at him in his hot-orange pants, high-top sneakers, and yellow spandex top, but José is a true Red Hot fan. No wonder I got an appointment in one day.

  I sip my tea, reflecting on my day. I guess I would call it a success—seriously crazy, but good. I think about all I learned and how sad it is that the lives of people I care about were influenced by a lack of communication that would have been so simple to fix.