Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Our moment, or lack thereof, is cut short when someone takes her hand from mine. They immediately tended to the burn I caused leaving me no choice but to head back to the waiting area. I think about looking over my shoulder to get one last look at her, but I don’t.
As soon as I’m back in the waiting area, Stormy’s eyes are wide, and words are tumbling from her mouth before I can even sit down. “Did you hear that someone burned Zara’s hand and the shoot may not happen today? I mean, how could someone do that to her?”
Two things happen here for me. The first is my mind repeatedly says Zara’s name, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why. The second is acknowledging the fact that I may be public enemy number one if this shoot doesn’t happen and by looking around the room full of dancers, they’d have no qualms about maiming me.
“I’m sure everything is fine,” I tell my overly anxious daughter. Never mind the fact that I’m shaking in my boots, wondering if I have ruined everything. I’ve been on the other side of production and can understand everyone’s disappointment when shoots get rescheduled. It’s nothing for a guy like me to move my schedule around, but for others, it can be a downright nightmare.
Not willing to divulge my involvement in the situation, I sit back and pull my cap down a bit farther and close my eyes. I really needed that coffee to stay awake. Since arriving in Los Angeles, I haven’t exactly been sleeping very well. Iris plagues most of my thoughts at night. Then there’s the lingering voice in the back of my head asking me what the hell I’m going to do with two teenage daughters. My mama will be on hand, as will Barbara, but I’m now in a situation that I never thought I would be in. Even with Iris being flakey, I always thought she’d be around to help me out.
The beauty of being here is that no one knows me. I’ve taken both girls to school, walked through their halls, and haven’t been noticed. I even ventured out to the grocery store and looked at all the rag-mags on the newsstands to see if I’m anywhere in there. I haven’t been asked once for an autograph or picture at any of Stormy’s auditions, but I have been propositioned by a few of the other mothers. You know, these nice ladies are very sorry for my loss as their fingernails trail down my arm. Honestly, though, it’s been nice to stay under the radar and just go with the flow.
“Shoot’s on, I gotta go,” Stormy says. By the time I lift my hat to watch her leave, she’s in the mix of a sea of other dancers heading into production. This soundstage isn’t anything that I’m not used to, although most of my music videos are shot in airplane hangars or warehouses.
It’s not long before the music starts and I swear my ears are starting to bleed. For a brief moment, I feel like my mother used to when I would strum my guitar and sing out of tune. God bless her for putting up with me.
I sigh when the music stops, only for it to start up again, this time it’s much smoother. If I had to guess, someone was way off-key with the first go round, but not this time. From the first beat of the drum, I’m tuned into listening and the riffs that follow on the guitar really have my attention, but it’s her voice that has me sitting up and listening a bit more. I won’t even talk about the goose bumps that have formed along my arms or the fact that my heart is racing a bit more.
“I take it this is the first time you’ve heard her sing?” A woman across from me says. I glance at her and smile.
“It is. This isn’t my type of music,” I tell her.
“Where are you from?” she asks. “I like your accent.”
The inner boy in me turns bashful. I have no doubt that if the lighting was better, she’d see that my cheeks are red. I don’t even know why I’m embarrassed by her question.
“Nashville,” I tell her, hoping that my answer doesn’t give away anything. I’ve rather enjoyed no one knowing who I am.
“That was your daughter with you earlier?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, that’s very admirable of you to bring her all the way out here for this. Not many parents would.”
I nod a thank you to her and sit back, letting the vibrations of the music work their way through me. The lady smiles before she reaches into her bag, pulling out two knitting needles. I watch as she weaves in and out of her stitches, working on what looks like a scarf but is probably something else. I remember my memaw and how she used to do this every day. My memaw tried to teach me how to knit, but I was too focused on teaching myself how to play the guitar. And before Stormy and Willow moved to L.A. with their mama, she tried showing them, but they weren’t interested.