Chapter 4
Maddy
I’m twenty now, and despite being totally amped up today, I’m happy to be home.
Home, being the only pitch black English manor-style home this side of Beverly Hills.
Our house is so massive, and our family is so close that all three of us kids, my siblings four and five years older than me, still live here despite not having to.
I throw myself on the enormous black leather couch that wraps around our living room, which is all red walls, high ceilings, and gold records.
I’m practically vibrating out of my skin when my dad appears.
“What’s with you, Baby? Did you find some amphetamines in the medicine cabinet?” My dad tosses a bottle of water in my direction. I scream.
“Dad, what the fuck is that?”
Clicking across the white and grey marbled floor is something old and slow, twice the size of a throw pillow, and rather green.
“It’s a fucking turtle, what do you think? It’s older than you, give it some respect!”
“It’s toenail just got stuck on the rug! I’m not going to respect that. Ugh!” I tuck my feet up under myself. “Why, Dad?!”
“Well, I needed someone to take care of while you were gone!”
“I’m an adult, Dad! I don’t need my nappies changed, hopefully neither does that turtle!”
“Why are you so keyed up, Baby? You need this?” A white pill flips through the air, and I catch it in a tight grasp.
I squint at it. “Xanax?”
My dad sweeps his shaggy, dyed black hair out of his face and settles into his recliner. His hazel eyes crinkle at the corners, same exact shade as mine, and ours always hold the same mischief. “What? You need two?”
I tuck the pill in my sweatpants pocket, just in case. I’d been gone for two months in Georgia filming a movie where I played Sandra Bullock’s daughter, and I knew they’d missed me. I had cried when my agent called and offered me the part, yeah, because I was happy, sure, my first movie!
But the tears were mainly … tears of relief?
My show had just been cancelled, and my all-American, early 2000s, Paul Walker meets Jensen Ackles looking boyfriend had broken up with me.
If you're asking why I'd allowed myself to date before winning an Emmy, well, I was nominated for one and I thought that was good enough. But God, was I wrong. Tate ripped my heart out and I have no shiny gold trophy to show for it. I was the most depressed I’d been in my life and getting the call was the first time I’d felt hopeful in weeks, so, of course, I’d accepted the gig immediately.
“Baby! Hello?”
“I’m just worked up because Mickie’s novel is released today! You know, the one that’s going to be a huge hit made into an epic HBO Max show, and I’m going to be the star? I’ll positively blow UP, Dad! You know I’d be the perfect evil princess!”
“You’ve already blown up, Sandra Bullock’s daughter! Are you kidding me?! I’m so proud. You don’t have an evil bloody bone in your body, Matilda. That’s what makes you a great fucking actress!”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I mean, except for that time you nearly gouged that girl’s eyes out in grade nine.”
I shift uncomfortably against the soft leather. “She stole my first boyfriend! What was I supposed to do? Be the bigger person?”
He snorts as if that’s an incredible punchline to the joke that is me. “You're as petty as you are pretty, Matilda.”
I can't really argue that. I grab the remote and start flicking through apps while Lola appears and starts fussing over Dad. Her dark hair has been bleached and dyed lime green, swirled into perfect pin curls to match her perpetual pin-up style.
“Why are you all dressed? Why’s Lola putting concealer on you?”
Lola rolls her dark grey eyes at me, “We’re going to the Rolling Stone offices, Baby! Keep up!”
“Right now? Why?”
“Old guard meets the new,” Dad says with a …
“Dad, why are you smiling? It’s freaking me out! Who are you meeting?”
“Jett Raven!” They both shout at me like I’m completely daft.
I start laughing hysterically, and my dad looks like I’ve grown two additional heads.
“What? His new album blew me the fuck away!”
“Seriously?”
Lola throws a signed vinyl at me. I have no idea where she pulled that from.
Jett's sea glass green eyes stare at me for far too long, his black hair featuring streaks of royal purple, still wild and sticking out everywhere.
Cheeks are a little less round. New lip ring accentuating his insane pout.
I get distracted thinking about how much money women spend on getting lips like that when Jett was clearly born with them. Then I see the Sharpie.
‘Maxwell - This album wouldn’t exist without your influence. I am not worthy, my king of rock, but the only thing that would make my big Hollywood Bowl performance better is if you joined me on stage for a song. Undying loyalty, Jett.’
I finally rip my eyes from Jett’s. Why was that hard?
I toss the record on the couch. Mickie had convinced me to go see Jett with her twice since we met him, once at the Whiskey and again at the Troubadour.
He has since outgrown such venues and yes, I will admit we had fun.
Jett is entertaining, of course, but I still can't picture this old man loving his sound.
“Dad, is Mum jealous you have a boyfriend? A much younger one, at that?”
“Shut up, Baby!” Lola throws the concealer at my head.
I will admit, Jett is a powerhouse performer. His energy onstage crackles, absolutely electric. He’s silly and sweet, weird and outrageous. But he can also be abhorrently obnoxious trying too hard with this whole courting my father thing.
“You’re seriously considering singing with him at the Bowl, Dad? Poppy emo whatever it is he’s doing?”
“This is the closest thing he’s done to rock and be quiet, because I’m here for it.
He’s gonna bring rock ‘n roll back, I just feel it in my old bones. Fucker is finally learning to play that guitar for real, I heard it with my own ears. Mum and Lola say he’s me in a younger body, and today I’m going to see for myself! ”
I groan, and my dad’s not done. “Say one more word, Baby, and you’re coming with us.”
The words bubble up in my throat like a woman possessed, “It’s just that he’s so—”
“All right, you’re coming with us, loudmouth! Go get fucking dressed.”