The color of my dress makes my eyes pop in my tanned face, and I can’t help thinking that the design of the outfit invokes the image of the Grecian goddess of springtime.
For the first time, I feel happy that Marta knows more about what is going on in my life than I do. I would have felt like a real country bumpkin, walking into a party in a maxi-skirt and tee if other people were going to be in gowns like this.
I am about to tear the sales tag from the dress when I see the price. My mother could probably buy two new coolers for the flower shop for how much my outfit costs. Instead of ripping off the tag, I cut it off carefully with a pair of scissors I find in my vanity drawer. Maybe if I can manage to keep the dress looking really nice, I can sell it on eBay after the party. My mom won’t take money from Joe, but maybe she’d take it from me.
I am not used to heels, and I am walking very carefully down the stairs, wondering how I am ever going to ride my bike to Tobin’s house in this dress, when I see Joe standing in the foyer. He’s wearing a slim-fitting suit that no doubt costs even more than my dress, and he’s dangling a pair of car keys in his hand. I almost slip on a stair. Joe is going to the music department’s party. Of course he is. He’s writing the play, after all.
“Ready, love?” he says with that darned cheeky grin of his. “I thought we’d take the Porsche.”
“I’m good on my bike. Maybe you should walk. Drunk driving is still a crime, even if you have a wall full of platinum records.”
“That stings, Daph. That really does,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically. “I haven’t had a drink all day.” He counts on his fingers. “Three days, actually.”
As I get closer to him, I do notice the lack of a liquor smell lingering in the air. He’s even splashed on a bit of cologne, removed his longer extensions so his hair now frames his chin, and shaved. He looks better without the stubble.
“Good for you. I can still take my bike.”
“Good luck in that dress,” he says.
He does have a point. “I’ll walk, then.”
“Sorry, deary, it’ll be dark soon, and if you think I’m letting you out on those paths after what happened to that Perkins girl, you’ve got another thing coming. I nearly had a heart attack last time.”
“She’s the one who had the heart attack.”
“Sorry. Wrong phrasing, but the gist is, I’m driving you to the party or you’re not going at all.”
I give Joe a look that shows that I’m not amused. I don’t know where he gets off thinking he can pick and choose when to act like a real father. Though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me almost likes it. If his driving me to a party is enough to keep him from yucking it up with his good old buddies Jack and Daniels, it at least says something about him. What that something is, I’m not quite sure.
“Okay, we can go together. If you let me drive the Porsche,” I say, because a red Porsche is always more preferable to a yellow bike when making an entrance at a party.
“Do you know how to drive a stick shift?” Joe asks wearily.
“No, but I’m a fast learner.”
He hesitates for a moment.
“I can always walk.…”
“Fine,” he says, and hands over the keys. “You look stunning in that dress, by the way. I knew that color would be perfect with your eyes.”
“You picked out my dress?”
“Does that surprise you?” he says with a wink and grin.
Part of me wants to go back upstairs and change into my maxi-skirt just to spite him, but the part of me that has never felt so beautiful in my life manages to win out. “Thank you,” I say softly.
“Now let’s go party, shall we?” he says, offering me his arm.
The mayor’s mansion is on the exact opposite side of the lake from Joe’s place, so it takes us a while to drive there—mostly because I keep stalling out the Porsche. I am surprised at how well Joe has managed to keep his cool as we grind our way into Tobin’s driveway. We stop in a long line of cars waiting for valets at the front door.
“Right here’s good enough,” Joe says, gritting his teeth. “We’ll just let the valet come to us. How’s that?”
We idle in silence for a few minutes. There hadn’t been much time for talking on the drive over except for Joe’s strangled instructions on how to shift gears. “So …,” he says awkwardly, and I know an attempt at conversation is coming. Joe gives me a grin that reminds me of the stray dogs my mom is prone to bringing home. Long, reaching notes fill his voice as he asks, “What are your thoughts about the opera? Are you excited to be playing Eurydice? What do your friends think?”
I can’t help laughing. Doesn’t he realize that because of his “grand gesture,” I don’t have any friends? Other than Tobin, that is. I’d thought I didn’t care about meeting new people when I agreed to come to Olympus Hills, that I’d come just for the music, but after almost a whole week of having nobody to talk to at school, with Tobin out on suspension and the Sopranos’ blackballing me, I’d never felt so lonely. In Ellis, I had people to eat lunch with and hang out with on the weekends—here, I spend most of my free time writing new songs so I’ll look too busy to care when the Sopranos pass me, talking behind their hands.
And I miss CeCe. I’d never been super-BFF-close with any of my school friends. But CeCe—despite her being almost five years older than me—and I had been supertight ever since she came to Ellis when I was eleven. Except now I’ve been gone for a week and still haven’t been able to get her to call me back. And my calls are all going straight to voice mail. Jonathan says she took the week off with the flu, but I can only think that she’s superpissed at me for abandoning her. And it only made things worse that today is her birthday.
But it’s more than the friends thing that irks me so much about Joe’s big surprise. It’s the same reason I wanted to change out of this gown when I’d heard he’d picked it out for me. Anger rises up my spine, and I find myself wishing I had changed.
“I’m not your puppet, Joe. You can’t just offer to buy me nice things or dress me up pretty and put me in some play and make me sing the words you’ve written—and pretend it makes up for every minute of my life that you’ve ignored me. You should have told me about your plans beforehand. You should have asked me if I wanted to be part of it.”
Joe’s grin vanishes. “I thought you’d be happy. I’m just trying to help.…” As they fall flat, I realize those reaching notes coming off him were the sounds of eagerness.
He really thinks he’s helping me, I realize. Mr. Morgan says that Olympus Hills productions usually bring in a huge audience, but with a name like Joe’s backing the opera, scouts from all the major music colleges, not to mention Broadway, and probably big recording labels will show up for opening night. This is a billion times bigger than that talent competition I’d wanted to enter back in Utah. Normally, I’d kill for a break as big as this one. I’d work my butt off to take advantage of every second of the opportunity, and a part like this is exactly the reason I’d agreed to come to Olympus Hills. But I wanted to get the part because I’d earned it, because I’d put in the hard work—not because Joe gave it to me.
Maybe Mr. Morgan had given me the part because of my audition. Tobin and Iris had said that I’d done an amazing job. But the suspicion (in both my mind and every other student’s) would always be there—that I’d gotten the part only because I am Joe Vince’s daughter.
I want people to hear my voice when I sing. Not his.
I want them to see me. Not just a shadow of Joe.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m sure the play will be great.”
I suddenly feel the urge to put a little distance between the two of us. I pull the car’s emergency brake and open the door. “I’ll find you when I want to go home,” I say, and exit the Porsche.