I’m sure there were some details I missed but I didn’t have the energy to suss it all out.
“All right, I’ll call Geri and have him transfer some more money into your account. But this is it until next month,” I told them sternly.
“Look at you, being all stingy,” my father said. “Is it because you can’t write another album? If you got back with Nate—"
“I’m writing just fine.”
“You know this money thing is just temporary,” my father said. “I’m working with this new group. The Charlettes. Once I get them trained up and ready for the stage, Imma be back in the big time like I was when I was managing you. Your mama and I won’t have to depend on you for money anymore,” he commented. There was a softness in his voice as he explained his plan.
“Okay, Daddy. I believe you.”
My father always had another group, artist, or scheme waiting in the wings.
“Are you gonna call that accountant about the money?” he asked.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Now, right? As soon as we hang up.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s almost eight o’clock on the East Coast.” A fact my father knew since he was in New York City along with my accountant. “He’s out of the office for the day. I will call him in the morning.”
One of them sucked their teeth.
“You’re Lena Clarkson,” my mother said. “You can call that accountant any damn time you want, and he should drop everything for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not tonight, Ma. First thing in the morning.”
“You know it’s not a good look to have your parents out here broke and in poverty while you live it up on some reclusive island,” she said.
“An island?”
“Yeah, Nate told us all of your business,” my father said. “Said that’s where you’re hiding out from him and everybody else.”
The kitchen counter supported me as I leaned against it and pinched the bridge of my nose. I snorted at my mother, essentially saying I was living the high life while they were destitute. Sure, if destitute meant living in a million dollar condo in the heart of Manhattan, completely paid for, with all of their monthly expenses taken care of courtesy of me.
I’d made sure to take care of my parents and set up accounts for them and everything when I started making money. It was part of my father’s reasoning for agreeing to let me move from underneath his management to Nate’s when I turned twenty-one.
“That’s not true, Daddy.”
“Then where the hell are you?” he asked.
I swallowed. “I’ll give the accountant a call first thing tomorrow morning. I have to go.”
I hung up quickly, only able to remain on the phone with both of my parents for so long before I needed to scream. I set a reminder on my phone to call my accountant in the morning to have him transfer enough money to last my parents the rest of the month.
I thought about returning to the backroom to try and finish setting up the production set before a pounding on my front door startled me.
“Who is it?” I yelled out before cursing myself for doing so. If it were a serial killer, I’d just announced myself as home and ready to be killed.
Then I gathered my ridiculous thoughts and realized serial killers don’t typically knock on your door when trying to come and kill you.
Halfway between the kitchen and the front door, I realized who it was, which was why when I pulled the door open and saw an angry-faced Gabe staring back at me, I wasn’t too surprised.
“Where’s your phone?” he demanded as soon as he stepped inside.
“In the kitchen,” I replied. “Why?”
He didn’t answer as he charged past me on his way to the kitchen. I closed the door and followed behind him. He lifted my phone and stared for a second before pinning me with his gaze.
