Getting Lucky (The Marilyns) (7 page)

“All of Ricky’s guitars are in his studio. Have you ever been in there?” She looked at Dawnie, but the question was clearly directed to Mandy.

“No. Uncle Will locked it and said we couldn’t go in there.” Mandy had snotty teenager down to a science.

Why hadn’t Will wanted them in there? Ricky was their father, and those were his things. What was the big deal?

They walked down the stairs, through the kitchen, into the east wing of the house. Ricky’s studio was in a separate building, attached by a covered walkway. Lucky punched in the four-digit code.

“The code is zero seven zero four. Ricky’s birthday.” It had been the only date he could remember. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“Uncle Will’s going to be mad.” Mandy managed bored edged with glee.

“Uncle Will always needs something to complain about.” She held open the door and flipped on the lights.

Dark gray foam covered three walls, and the fourth held a collection of electric and acoustic guitars. Metal stools, music stands, and microphones were scattered here and there. Nothing had changed, but there was an eerie emptiness, and it smelled musty and faintly of Ricky. She drank in the scent, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She’d forgotten that smell. A smile graced her lips before she remembered she hated him.

Lucky waved her hand toward the guitars. “Take your pick.”

Mandy’s eyes turned huge, and then tears gathered in the corners, spilling over and rolling down her cheeks. “Were they really his?”

“Yes.” Lucky fought the urge to put her arms around the teenager. “And now they’re yours.”

“Wow.” She turned and wiped her face. “Can I really have them?”

“I certainly don’t need them. I can’t play.”

“I want one.” Dawnie jumped up and down, pointing to a faded-denim Fender Strat with Ricky’s name in rhinestones across the front.

“Okay.” Mandy was too busy being awed to remember to be bitchy.

“Excellent choice. That was Ricky’s
United States of Me
tour guitar.” She unhooked it from the wall. “How about you look at it today, but we keep it on the wall until you learn how to play. In fact, why don’t we let Viviane pick out a guitar also so that you all have something of your father’s?”

Lucky wasn’t used to being this sentimental, but besides DNA, it didn’t look like the girls had much that had belonged to their father.

“You mean I get to keep it forever? You’re not going to take it back and sell it to pay the rent?” Dawnie was flat-out amazed.

“I call no take backs. Once you call no take backs, I couldn’t take it back if I wanted to.” She knelt down so she was eye to eye with Dawnie. “In my house, what’s yours is always yours until you decide to get rid of it.”

Dawnie thrust her Barbie Fashionista at Lucky. “I wanna give this to you. No take backs.”

“Oh, baby, no. That’s your favorite.” Lucky was touched. No one had ever given her such a valuable present. She handed the Barbie back to her.

“I called no take backs.” She grinned, and then it faltered around the edges as she realized what giving away her favorite meant.

“Okay.” Lucky took the doll, smoothed her plastic hair, and then handed her back to Dawnie. “But you’ll have to babysit her for me because I’m super busy. How about a quarter a day?”

“So you’re going to pay me to play with Barbie Fashionista?” Her little brow curled in concentration.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t get too worked up…. That’s less than two bucks a week.” Snarky Mandy was back.

“Two dollars a week.” Dawnie’s eyes turned bright. “I’m rich! When I get back to the house, I’m going to give you all my Barbies so you can pay me to play with them.”

“Just to be clear, these”—Mandy swept her arms out wide like a game show hostess—“are all mine.”

“Well, yes, except that Viviane gets to pick one out.”

“You’re not going to get mad at me and take them away or ground me from them?” Mandy was way too suspicious for a sixteen-year-old. She should be sneaking out of the house, meeting teenaged boys, and drinking cheap beer out of paper bags while sitting in the back of someone’s pickup instead of worrying whether someone was going to take away her stuff.

“Nope, they’re yours, free and clear.” Lucky stood. “And you can use this room whenever you’d like to practice. You could record your own album. I’ll show you how to use the soundboard.” She pointed to the window and the room beyond.

“Why are you being so nice to us?” Mandy still wasn’t convinced.

“Who says I am? You have musical talent, I have instruments and a place to rehearse. It’s a gift. Take it, smile graciously, and use the hell out of it.” Lucky had never had this hard of a time giving a gift. The picture of the girls’ childhood was starting to take shape, and it hadn’t been a very happy one.

Lucky knew about bad childhoods. Her father had liked to drink and gamble and hadn’t given a damn whether his little girl had her supper or a roof over her head. When he’d been shot dead for cheating at cards, Lucky had been seventeen and already living on her own. Early on, she’d become a fighter, but these girls were sweet and innocent and shouldn’t have to fight for anything. Their father should have made sure of that.

“Like I said, the entrance code is zero seven zero four. Come as often as you’d like.”

“Maybe.” Mandy nodded.

Apparently “maybe” was teenager-speak for thank you from the bottom of my heart.

“Why don’t you play something for us?” Lucky led Dawnie to the nearest stool and lifted her onto it.

She turned back around to find Mandy standing at the wall of guitars checking them out. “What would you like to hear?”

“Whatever you’re working on.” Lucky scooted a stool over to Dawnie and leaned against it. “Do you write music too?”

Lucky had always been a little bit jealous of those with musical talent. Her best friend Betts and then Ricky and now Mandy all had it, while she was left to listen from the audience.

If she were being honest with herself, she’d always wanted a child with musical talent so she could sit in the audience and be the obnoxious proud momma with the video camera. She’d wanted three little girls to dress in frilly dresses and to drive carpool and cart them to and from piano and dance lessons.

She eased onto the stool.

Mandy selected Ricky’s old 1960 Gibson Hummingbird. The wood had aged to a dark mahogany. It had been his favorite. She slipped the strap over her head and fitted her fingers over the strings. She strummed, cringed, adjusted the tuning keys, and strummed. After a minute or two, she was ready.

“This one’s called ‘Remember When.’” She strummed. “Remember when you threw me high, remember when you made me cry, remember when life was real, remember when the night was still, remember when…” Her voice was deep and sultry. She relaxed into the song and let the music take her away.

Lucky could feel the love and loss in the music. It was poignant, charming, and bold. She had Ricky’s talent times a hundred, but she had a sense of timing that he’d never had. Innately, she knew when to hold back and when to let loose.

Lucky eased her iPhone out of her back pocket and typed in her password. After clicking on messages, she pulled up Will’s phone number. As quickly as she could, she thumb-typed: Are you close to home? Come to the music studio. Damn, Mandy can sing!

Will was always looking for new talent, and here was one of the most talented musicians Lucky had ever met. Had he already signed her? If not, how had he missed that she was so talented?

Ricky might have been a bastard, but he’d produced some pretty awesome girls.

As if she’d forgotten the world around her, Mandy moved from song to song. Each one soul-wrenching and beautiful.

But the music business was hard and cold. When life was good, it was very good, but when it was bad, it was horrid. Was that the life she wanted for Mandy? True, Mandy didn’t exactly like Lucky, but she was still a child. And the music business was no place for a child.

Ten minutes later, the door squeaked. She turned around and met Will’s eye. Based on the angry set to his jaw and the glare he was throwing her way, he was none too happy that Mandy was giving them a private concert.

She shot Will a questioning look. He nodded in return, and he visibly relaxed. After a few seconds, one corner of his mouth turned up in a weary smile. No one knew more than Will how the music business chewed up people and then spit them out. He understood her concerns about Mandy entering a world where life wasn’t always easy.

It occurred to her that the moment they’d just shared was like one that passed between old married couples. With only a look, they could convey love, hate, grief, or joy. Even after fifteen years of marriage, she’d never had that with Ricky. She’d never been that in tune with another individual until now.

It was like a switch clicked on in her brain, and Will the brother-in-law disappeared—replaced by Will the man. His bottom lip was fuller than the top, which made his mouth ripe for sucking. Realizing that she was staring at his mouth, she looked away. Fantasizing about Will was new. Maybe one day soon, she’d act on some of her fantasies.

Will clapped, and Lucky and Dawnie joined in.

“Bravo. That was wonderful.” Lucky nodded to Mandy.

Slowly Mandy lowered her hands from the guitar and looked around like she couldn’t quite figure out how everyone had gotten there. “Oh.”

Embarrassment quickly changed to annoyance.

“It was nothing.” Those three little words managed to communicate modesty, boredom, and hostility. Teens were emotional multitaskers.

“Lucky, may I speak with you outside?” Will was using his professional snooty voice. Like he was about to enter into contract negotiations with a record label.

“Sure.” She stood and walked to the door. “Keep playing, it was fantastic.”

Mandy shrugged, but the grin on her face belied her happiness at the compliment. “Whatever.”

Lucky stepped through the doorway and closed it. Will was waiting for her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Accusatory didn’t quite cover the harshness in his voice.

“Why are you being such an ass?” Lucky crossed her arms and set her jaw. “Mandy’s got talent. Why in the world should that piss you off?”

“She’s sixteen. The music business will chew her up and spit her out. It destroyed Ricky.” He paced.

She’d forgotten he was a pacer. He might not have been justified with his snippy tone, but she understood his issue. Mandy needed protecting, especially after the reality show aired. All the girls would need protection.

“She’s not Ricky. I didn’t know him before he was famous, but I know the business isn’t kind.” She wanted to help, but Mandy wasn’t hers, and it was none of her business.

“I thought I had a little more time. I locked up the recording studio and kept her from it because she isn’t ready.” He tunneled his hands through his hair. “She’s the most talented singer I’ve ever met, but I thought I’d back-burner it until she was older. She’s been through so much. I wanted to let her be a kid for a little while longer.”

Losing both her parents had been traumatic. Mandy had been through a lot. “She’s almost an adult. It’s her decision.”

“What should we do?” He stopped and stared at her like she held the answer to the meaning of life.

We? She’d never really been a “we.” Before, she’d been an “us.” As Ricky’s wife, she’d merely been an extension of him. He’d never asked her what to do because he didn’t take advice or constructive criticism or even the occasional “here’s what I think.” It had never occurred to him that there were opinions other than his own.

“I think we should talk to her about it and see what she wants to do with her music. If she wants to record, we need to make some serious decisions about her future—the future of the family. Whether we like it or not, we’re already public figures, and this will magnify the situation.” Lucky said.

When she’d married Ricky, she’d been too young and stupid to realize the weight of having a public life. Everyone—including kids of public figures—should have a choice as to the life they led.

Will tunneled his fingers through his hair again. The resulting tussle gave him a rumpled, boyish look—add in the shorts, the Spurs tee shirt, and tennis shoes and he could have been in high school. What had he been like in high school … serious and scholarly?

“She’s been hurt so much. I don’t know that I want her in the music business.” He paced.

“We may not have a choice. She’s her own person and almost an adult. She gets to decide her future.” Lucky was firm on that. Everyone got to decide. “We can explain both sides and let her make her own decision.”

“The life is cruel. For every accolade, there are a hundred rejections.” On he paced. “The business sucks up self-esteem.”

“Maybe she’ll say no to the music biz.” The thought made her sad. A voice like Mandy’s deserved to be shared.

Will shot her a yeah-right look. “She’s sixteen. The pop princess ideal is part of the American dream.”

“All we can do is be supportive.” She touched the coach’s whistle on the cord around his neck. “Like the whistle.”

Using the whistle, she pulled him to her, leaned up, and kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll make the right decision. You always do.”

His arm came around her and hugged her to him. She fit nicely against him.

***

Dinner was a mostly silent affair full of chewing and glaring. Will wiped his face with a paper napkin, leaned back, balancing his weight on the two back chair legs, and watched Lucky eating her salad. Getting to watch her when other people were around instead of forcing himself to look down was nice.

Lucky hated salad and most green vegetables unless they were cooked in bacon grease, so watching her stumble through a salad with pears and goat cheese was an accomplishment. He’d made a deal. Pizza first and then everyone had to eat a plate of salad. Healthy eating habits started at home, and by God, they would eat healthy if it killed him.

Everyone except Mandy took turns chewing and glaring at him. She divided her glares between Lucky and him.

Viviane shot Lucky surreptitious glances, but neither seemed to be inclined to talk. By enforcing the new healthy eating rule, he’d made them allies against Campaign Healthy.