Chapter Three – Alex #2
“There’s nothing to steal because you held it together when we lost everything,” he spits the words with so much guilt that I almost feel sorry, but I look away before that. “You have no idea how rotten the music industry is,” he says loudly, with an almost condemning sneer.
I open the door because I don’t want to stay here. This has never led us anywhere. But my mouth is faster than my brain.
“You’re right, Dad. But I already had a legal team, a label interested, and the full certainty that you and Mom raised me with the ability to handle the industry.”
“Your mom always thought of all of us, she would never put her own needs before family.” The words come out shaky, as if he’s trying to say “don’t mention your mother’s name.”
I walk through the door, aware that she never would.
Although she confessed that sometimes only a piano understood her and that she loved giving her heart to heartaches set to dramatic melodies as much as to the classics of the greatest composers from our neighborhood.
Tereza Alencar remained known as the greatest samba composer of her generation, even though her other passion was MPB [4] .
Even though she wanted to do something more like her, Mom kept doing what was more like him, because it fit better in the family.
“No, she wouldn’t, but that doesn’t matter anymore because she’s not here,” I retort over my shoulder and walk out, pulling the door behind me.
I know I broke my dad’s heart, but it was better than letting him break mine.
We both know that if that happened, he would never forgive himself.
***
“I’m gonna miss you so much, you know?” Thalia, my cousin and manager, whines while finishing off my hair, as Glad You Came keeps the Vagabonders under control during the warm-up for the show.
“No, you won’t,” I tell her, not moving much. “We’ll talk all the time, and I’ll send you weekly PowerPoint updates.”
“Remember when we did that way before it was cool?” she asks, laughing and letting the layers of tulle fall off my skirt.
“Yeah, and we actually used PowerPoint, even though everyone was already on CANVA.”
I beam as Thalia steps back, making room for two of the production crew to head to the stage, watching her admire her own work.
“We were so nostalgic. Now smile!” she orders, holding the phone in my face. “We need to update your photos, and this one’s going to be gorgeous.”
I shake my head, take a deep breath, and press my mom's guitar pick into my palm, striking a few classic poses. Then we head to the stairs that will take me to the stage in a few minutes, and I sit down to snap a few more.
“Okay, spill it.” My manager lowers the phone, now fully in ‘cousin’ mode.
“Huh?” I raise an eyebrow, accepting her hand to help me up.
“You’re acting weird. Quiet, just agreeing with everything I say. What’s going on, are you nervous?”
“Of course I’m nervous. I’m about to sing for seventy thousand people, and I don’t even have the right to mess up on the new song because they’ve already learned it!
And I can’t even show I’m nervous because A.J.
thinks that means I’ll run off." The words come out so fast I don’t even know if I made sense.
“Ah, dodged the question.” Thalia squints at me.
I throw my head back, breathing deeply.
“I went to see my dad today.”
My words almost make her drop her phone.
“Really? How was it?”
“Sad. I don’t think there’s ever going to be an ‘us’ again.” I push her into the wall as five crew members rush by, carrying coolers to the stage.
Six minutes until I sing in my amazing city for the last time.
“And…?”
“You already know, Thalia. He said he’s happy because I’m happy, but it felt like he was talking about a funeral.”
“That’s normal. You guys have had that talk a million times.”
“Yeah, but this time he said my mom would never put her own wants before the family’s...”
“Low blow from Uncle Luiz.” Thalia touches her chest.
“So I said that doesn’t mean anything anymore because she’s dead.”
My dad blames himself for Mom’s death, and even though he never says it out loud, I can see he resents my career because he’s terrified of losing me too.
My mom passed away on one of the few nights my dad didn’t go see her perform. It was MPB – a genre he wasn’t too fond of – so he stayed home. That night, she died in an accident caused by a drunk driver, and for months – maybe over a year – he kept saying she only died because he wasn’t there.
It always hurt me: there was nothing he could’ve done, and I’ve never, ever blamed him for her death. I used to think that if he had gone, it would’ve been worse –they both would’ve been in that same accident, and I would’ve lost them both.
For a long time, that was my only comfort.
But it doesn't matter anymore, because every time I look at my life, it feels like I lost them both anyway.
“If he said anything else, Thalia, it would break me, and I’d forgive him, but he’d never be able to live with it..."
“Ready to rock?” A.J.’s English invades my ears, and I jump, facing his smiling face with dimples, his loose bun, and Rick in a stunning leather jacket, ready to hit the stage in five minutes.
“My God, where did you guys come from?” I’m so shocked I ask in Portuguese.
“From here,” Richard answers, also in Portuguese, reminding me he’s fluent in our language. Judging by the pitying looks A.J. and Richard exchange, they must’ve heard at least part of the conversation. “We came to wish you luck for the last show of the first weekend and...”
“Remember when English was the official language of the band, Richard? I remember.” A.J.
jokes to make it clear he doesn’t understand much.
My laugh fills the hall, easing the tension in my chest like only a walking skyscraper having a meltdown could.
“And we also want to see your outfit. The costume designer gave it high praise.”
“Thanks so much, I made up with the look,” Thalia stumbles over her English, but delivers the message. “Do a little spin.” She asks, and I do, receiving applause from both men.
“You look really pretty. You look like the girl who came to our meeting three weeks ago,” A.J. comments, and Thalia gives me a sideways look. “Not that you don’t look amazing in long dresses, but the vibe, you know?”
“Are you counting the weeks you’ve known her and telling which outfit gives more her vibe ?” Richard teases A.J., giving him a playful slap on the neck.
“My music partner knows I’m just being nice. And she’s right, samba is hot !” He repeats the words from my t-shirt.
“Three minutes for Alex to go on,” Pietra yells, invading our space. “The stage is waiting for you, go rock it!”
“Can you put her in the VIP area between the stage and the premium pit, please?” I ask Pietra, who nods and takes Thalia after she says goodbye with a kiss.
“And you,” my cousin turns to A.J., “keep those hands off her during One Last Kiss !”
“I only kiss people who scream my name,” A.J. jokes, and I raise my arm to throw something at him.
But the only thing in my hand is my mom’s guitar pick, so I lower my arm and turn. I take a deep breath, ready to be embraced by the seventy thousand people of the night, happy because at least one of the people I love is with me.