Chapter 5 #2
The Baltimore Symphony Orchestra wasn’t exactly within driving distance.
I knew the location was a deal-breaker for Mom because of the promise she made me, and if I hadn’t been present when she received the call, she probably wouldn’t have told me about the offer.
I urged her to audition anyway. Mom had already sacrificed her dreams once before.
I wouldn’t be the reason she gave them up again.
Thankfully, she listened, and nobody in our family was surprised when she landed the job.
Two months had passed since Mom moved to Maryland, and although I was over the moon about her newfound happiness, things didn’t feel the same without her: playing wasn’t as fun, it was hard to focus during my practice sessions, and I couldn’t for the life of me settle on a repertoire for my Juilliard application.
Maybe I was being melodramatic, but I even felt like my skills were slipping without her guidance.
More than anything, I wanted to hear her voice.
It was already late on the East Coast, however, so I turned on my laptop knowing I’d have to find solace in written word.
It didn’t matter if it was a call or text, Mom was terrible at answering her phone.
She blamed it on her age, saying it was a generational thing, but considering Dad was glued to his cell, her excuse wasn’t very convincing.
Email though—that was a different story.
For whatever reason, Mom loved typing out long rambling messages, sifting through junk mail, and clearing out her inbox.
Ever since she moved, it had been our primary form of communication.
Once my browser loaded, I clicked on our latest thread and reread today’s exchange.
THANK YOU!!
J Mitchell
Wed, Oct 14, 11:33 AM to Indie
Hello daughter of mine,
Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite youngest child?
Just wanted to let you know I received your package. Thank you so much for the book, that was so thoughtful of you. And it’s signed too?!?!? I started reading it last night and I’m already on chapter 14. I’ll give you a full review when I’m done.
In other news, my refrigerator died this week and it’s going to cost me an arm and a leg to repair. On the plus side, it was the perfect excuse to eat ice cream for dinner!
How are things on your end? Is your father making time for you or is he working twenty-four seven? Have you decided what to play for your Juilliard audition? Tell me everything.
Xoxo,
Mom
Re: THANK YOU!!
Indie
Wed, Oct 14, 4:12 PM to J Mitchell
Mama Llama,
You mean your best child, right?
Glad the book arrived and that you’re enjoying it.
I’m sorry to hear about the fridge. For future reference, you don’t have to wait for your appliances to break in order to eat ice cream for dinner.
Nothing too exciting on my end. Last weekend Violet bribed me to be her PA for Comic Con (where I got your book) because Lydia broke her leg. I met one of Alec’s bandmates when I was there and he was pretty cool. Dad is Dad. I got an A on my Macbeth essay, so thanks for reading it over.
Any idea when you’ll be able to visit next?
Love,
Indie
Re: THANK YOU!!
J Mitchell
Wed, Oct 14, 9:28 PM to Indie
You’re right—best youngest child.
Oh no! I’m so sorry to hear about Lydia, but it was nice of you to fill in for her. Which bandmate did you meet? The cute one with the dimples? If your father is spending too much time at work, you need to let me know. I’ll have a chat with him. Good job on your paper. Keep up the hard work.
I’ll try to come home for Thanksgiving, but if I can’t make it, I’ll see you at Christmas.
Xoxo,
Mom
P.S. You forgot to give me an update on your repertoire. I need all the details!
Had Mom realized I purposely didn’t answer her question about Juilliard?
Hopefully not. I didn’t know how to tell her I was struggling to pick my pieces.
I knew I could always call her and ask for help.
But part of me was terrified that if I did, she would decide leaving was a mistake and come home, which was the last thing I wanted.
Nancy Goodman, my old private instructor, would be willing to lend a hand, but she’d retired two years ago, and I didn’t want to bug her.
So that meant I was on my own, and really, how was that any different from every other situation in my life?
I just needed to get my shit together, stop panicking, and finalize my audition program.
Abandoning my computer, I wandered over to my violin case and pulled it out.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself as I settled the instrument into the crook of my neck. “Just take a deep breath and play.”
Five minutes later, I was working my way through Caprice No. 24, the Paganini piece I was considering, when my bedroom door swung open with so much force that it rattled against the wall. Violet stormed inside.
“We need to talk.”
Oh, now she wanted to talk?
Violet hadn’t spoken to me since Comic Con. During our flight home on Sunday, she’d given me the silent treatment—not that I minded—and I hadn’t seen her since.
“There’s this thing called knocking,” I said. “It’s considered the polite thing to do instead of barging in on someone, especially when you can hear that they’re busy.” I waved my bow to make a point.
Violet ignored me and held out a piece of paper. “What the hell is this?”
“I thought it was obvious. It’s an invoice for the services I provided as your assistant.” Violet still hadn’t given me the money I was owed, so this morning before I left for school, I’d written up the statement and slipped it under her bedroom door.
She scoffed. “Did you actually expect to get paid after ditching me? That was beyond unprofessional.”
Rolling my eyes, I set my violin into the velvet cushion of its case.
“And forgetting your promise to me wasn’t unprofessional?
” I asked. “Don’t try to lie to me. I saw the look on your face when I asked to leave for Melody’s panel.
You completely forgot about it, and despite that, I still ran your stupid errand for you.
But what did you do when I needed your help?
You left me out in the cold and sent a she-devil to patronize my abilities as a PA, which, by the way, isn’t my freaking job! ”
“Indie, that was never my intention—”
I cut her off before she could finish whatever bullshit excuse was on the tip of her tongue. “Doesn’t matter. We had an agreement, and the way I see it, I’m the only one who made an attempt to follow through. Hindsight, I’m not surprised, but I gave up my free time in order—”
“Oh, get off your high horse,” she snapped. “You weren’t helping me out of the kindness of your heart.”
“If you acted more like my sister and less like a selfish diva, maybe I would have.”
Violet’s entire body tensed. Three long seconds passed as my harsh words settled between us. “Is that really what you think of me?”
The hurt in her voice made me pause, but only for a moment. This fight wasn’t merely about yesterday. It was a long time coming.
“Does that honestly surprise you?” I countered. “You’ve been choosing yourself over this family for the past five years.”
“Oh, that’s right. Sometimes I forget you cast me as the villain of our little family tragedy,” she said, her tone so sharp it could have cut glass.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
At first, Violet didn’t respond. She surveyed me with an expression that bordered on pity, like I was a dying animal and she couldn’t decide whether to put me out of my misery.
“That there’s always another side to the story,” she said at last. “When you decide to stop playing the victim, talk to Dad. Maybe he can enlighten you.”
* * *
The equipment trucks crowding the driveway were my first hint that something strange was going on. The second was a man guarding our front door. As I climbed the porch steps Friday afternoon, he narrowed his eyes at me as if assessing a threat.
“Name?” he asked, looking down at his clipboard.
I glanced around. Was this some sort of joke? “Excuse me?”
“Your name,” he repeated, voice flat.
“Uh, Indie Mitchell-Jamiolkowski?”
Clipboard dude clicked his tongue as he scanned a list. With his precisely combed hair and all-business attitude, he reminded me of a male version of Sadie.
“Sorry, but I don’t see an ‘Indie’ here.
I’ll have to ask you to leave the premises.
” His lips curled into a smirk, as if denying me access to my own home brought him joy.
“But I live here,” I exclaimed. I stood on my tiptoes and peered over his shoulder, searching for someone I knew.
From what I could see, the house was in a state of frenzy.
There were people everywhere—grips hauling gear, two PAs arguing, a woman pushing a rack of costumes—but no one who could tell this holier-than-thou asshole to move aside.
“Hilarious,” he said, looking down his nose at me, “but you need to leave before I’m forced to call security.”
My fist clenched at my side. Little Eddy, Violet’s head of security, was the one who let me up the driveway in the first place. I was pretty sure I could take this idiot; he was tall but wiry with no discernible muscle. Not the ideal choice for a doorman.
“Darren, stop being a prick, and let her in,” someone said just as I was preparing to shoulder my way through.
We both turned. Standing at the foot of the staircase was Gabriel Grant, arms folded over his very massive, very naked chest. He was dressed in his standard IN attire: bare feet, ragged jeans that looked like they’d been worn through an apocalypse, and nothing else.
I blinked. What the hell was he doing here?
The smug expression dropped off Darren’s face. “Of course,” he replied, scrambling to step aside. “Right away, Mr. Grant.”
Rolling my eyes, I shoved passed Darren and crossed the foyer. “Saved by a werewolf,” I said, taking on the haughty voice Violet used when playing Lilliana. “How very peculiar.”
Gabe’s eyes sparkled in recognition, and he played along, placing a hand on his heart.
“Not peculiar at all, my lady. Since the moment our eyes first met, my heart and soul have been shackled to you. I could not bear to see your light leave this world, even if it meant a most egregious betrayal of my pack,” he said, reciting the cheesiest yet most quoted line from book one of These Immortal Nights.
The scene it came from was iconic, as it spurred the torrid love affair between the series’ main characters.
I grinned. Under normal circumstances, I couldn’t stand my sister’s costar, but he’d helped me get past Darren the Douche, and apparently, hidden beneath layers of ego, Gabe had a sense of humor. Who would have thought?
“In all seriousness,” I said, dropping the awful Lilliana accent, “thanks for the save. I was ready to punch that guy in the face.”
He lifted his shoulder in a lazy half shrug. “No big deal. If I saved anyone, it was Darren. He looks like a gust of wind could take him out.”
“Gabe?” asked an unnervingly familiar voice, and my amusement quickly faded when I realized it was Sadie. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but they need you on set.”
“Thanks, I’ll be down in a minute.”
Sadie nodded and backed away without so much as a glance in my direction. It was like I was invisible, which I suppose was an improvement from our last interaction.
“Okay, what the hell is going on here?” I asked, glancing around at the commotion. I didn’t particularly care for the solitude of Violet’s house, but this was straight up freaky.
“We’re shooting an IN promo today.”
“Here?”
Another shrug. “The original location fell through. There was a backup, but the venue double-booked with a wedding, so your dad suggested we do it here on the beach. Ten bucks they’ll have me do a shirtless slow motion run through the surf,” he explained, and I got the distinct feeling Gabe was genuinely excited about the prospect.
“Well, you’re already halfway there,” I said, gesturing at his lack of clothing, “but back to my dad. Have you seen him recently?”
“Last I saw, he was in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, and good luck with the whole Baywatch thing.”
As I made my way to the back of the house, I knew I was wasting my time. With the shoot taking place, Dad would be too busy for me, but I couldn’t get Violet’s words out of my head: Talk to Dad. Maybe he can enlighten you.
What the hell had she meant by that?
I had to know.
Sure enough, I found Dad right where Gabe said he’d be, parked on an island stool where craft service had set up. He was on the phone, talking animatedly in legal terms that went over my head, but when he saw me, he smiled and held up a finger.
While I waited for him to finish his conversation, I grabbed a handful of M&M’s from the snack selection and wandered over to the kitchen window.
On the beach below, my sister was posing in the sand.
The red dress she wore billowed in the air behind her, compliments of a large wind machine positioned beyond the view of the photographer’s lens.
“How was school?” Dad asked as soon as his call ended.
“Fine.” Twisting my amethyst pendant around a finger, I turned away from the window. “But Violet mentioned something to me yesterday that I’d really like to talk about. I know you’re probably busy, but I was hoping you could—”
His ringtone cut me off. “Hold that thought,” he said, checking the screen. “I need to take this. Why don’t you wait in my office, and when I’m done, we can talk. This will only take a couple of minutes.”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
In the small den he used as his workspace, I made myself comfortable at my dad’s desk.
There was no way he’d be done in a few minutes, so I decided to get a head start on my homework.
As I opened my European history notebook, I noticed a manila folder haphazardly tucked under a pile of bills.
What caught my attention was the white booklet sticking out of it.
My heart skipped a beat.
Glancing through the French doors to make sure my dad wasn’t coming, I pushed aside the bills to get a better look. There was nothing written on the folder’s tab to indicate what was inside, but somehow, I already knew.
When I flipped open the file, I was met with the crisp white title page of a TV script.
But it wasn’t just any TV script.
It was the pilot for a TV adaptation of Lady Phoenix.