Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Hi Keera, it’s your momma here. I’m in Vegas and, guess what, I’m too old for the shows! Me! Too old? I am so fricking annoyed. I came to see my pal Ernesto, you know the guy who told me for years he could get me a gig out here, no problemo.
‘Turns out he was lying!
‘All the jobs go to bands of young dudes doing Eagles covers or girls who can’t sing but can rock a pastie, if you know what I mean. What’s some twenty-one-year-old Barbie going to know about heartbreak? Jack shit, that’s what they know.
‘I’m only here because I need the money. We are broke, in case you don’t know, Keera! I can’t believe you used the money in that last account to go to this “retreat”. You got fixed already, for chrissake. How many more fixes do you need?
‘I’m staying at Maggie Flatbush’s house. I’m in with the lizard. Gecko. Whatever. It has a triplex and a cubic zirconia necklace. I’m on a blow-up mattress on the floor. Lizards have it better than me!
‘I’ve been thinking – I hate that rehab schtick but it could be merchandisable. You hear me? So phone me, Keera. We need to get you on the talk-shows telling everyone about your pain or whatever. Then an album. Then the money’s rolling back in again!
‘Phone me.
‘ASAP.’
Keera listens to the voice message and then deletes it.
She doesn’t want to give herself the opportunity of listening to it again.
Once is enough.
She cannot think about her mother now. There’s too much whirling around in her head. Bobbi in real life is insistent enough; Keera’s only hope is to banish her voice for now.