The doctors called my condition “aphasia.” In a nutshell, it was a communication disorder caused by my fall into the dam. I wasn’t dumb or damaged or slow. I just had problems with a few words now and then. Like, when people got chatty (long speeches, yawn), my brain blocked out pieces of it—which is why it was better if you sent me directions on my phone rather than tried to tell me where to go. And when I was under a ton of pressure, I sometimes reached for certain words, but they disappeared before they could make it out of my mouth. Poof! Gone.
And that was the worst part. The rest of it, I could cover up. But people tended to notice when you forgot simple words.
Sometimes it felt like a demonic word-eating pixie was living inside my brain.
I hated that fucking word-pixie.
Thing was, I hadn’t had problems for weeks, so it was beyond frustrating that my word-pixie was rearing her ugly head right now at the start of summer vacation. Right when I was ready to burst out of my cocoon.
Dad and I were on our way to spend the summer at CondorLake in the Sierras. We’d just driven over three hours from Mad Dog’s Bel Air house in Los Angeles. The rest of Mad Dog’s domestic staff already arrived yesterday to get the lodge ready, and Mad Dog and “the Family,” as we called them, had flown in by private plane earlier today. One that was sitting on the tarmac now.
Dad and I were the last to arrive at the lake because I’d attended my high school graduation this morning. (No big deal.) And I was the caretaker for Frida Kahlo—that was the excited, pointy-eared Mexican hairless miniature trying to lurch away from my father. She belonged to Mad Dog’s daughter Velvet, and this pooch didnotlike to fly. So she’d ridden up here in the car with me instead.
The Condor Lake private airport was a few miles outside of the lake proper, so we’d stopped on our way in, but it had delayed Dad’s military-tight schedule. On top of that, afternoon sun was hot on my neck, because I’d gone and cut off all my dark hair in a wild whim last night.Whoosh!Cropped pixie cut to match my pixie body. After the hairstylist was finished, he said it was aRosemary’s Babyhaircut, which didn’t bother me until we arrived here a few minutes ago and Eddie told me it made me look “way younger.”
Now I was paranoid.
Dad’s sharp, unhappy eyes followed Eddie across the private airport tarmac. Eddie had one hand pressed to his ear, trying to talk on the phone as wind whipped through his white T-shirt and long shorts. He was minutes away from boarding a plane headedto the Philippines for a couple of weeks. I hadn’t seen him since spring break. These precious few moments we had in person were going down the tube. Eddie didn’t seem to care. Everything rolled off him.
Frida gave me a plaintive bark, not understanding that Eddie was allergic to dogs.
I was just trying to hold it together.
“What’s that thing when an old male lion sees a young male lion, and he gets paranoid that his pride is in danger for no good reason?” I asked the tall Black man in the expensive suit who approached on the airport tarmac.
“Law of the jungle?” he guessed, moving his carry-on bag from one shoulder to the other. Gordon Goodman was Mad Dog’s top entertainment lawyer. He lived in L.A. and was always at the Bel Air house. He came up here early with Mad Dog.
“The old male only has one cub, and she’s not in danger,” I added unhelpfully. The word was right there.…
“He’s being a good king,” Gordon said.
“No, that’s not it either. It’s overprotective pissing… something.”
“Territorial?”
I clapped my hands. “That’s it! Territorial pissing.”
“Leo is your father, Jane. Territorial pissing is his duty. He does it for Mad Dog all day long—weeds out the threats. It’s second nature.”
“Eddie’s not a threat,” I insisted.
“Hey. Don’t know the boy,” Gordon said matter-of-factly ashe headed toward the open door of the plane, holding on to his hat. “But I’m about to spend some time with him. The flight to Manila alone is well over fourteen hours, and then we have to travel by car, ferry, and helicopter to get to this remote island. So I guess I’ll be forming an opinion, won’t I?” He didn’t sound thrilled. “See you later this month, Miss Marlow.”
Gordon was flying to some beautiful private island in the Philippines with Eddie and the Sarafians’ lawyer to sign a leasing contract that would affect the future of the Condor Music Festival. I didn’t quite understand the ins and outs of it, except that they had to get it signed by the end of June or next month’s festival was in jeopardy. Like, cancelled. Millions upon millions of dollars were on the line. Tickets were already sold, band visas were procured, advertising was running, hotel rooms booked.
But Eddie was going to make sure everything went smoothly. He was heir to the Sarafian empire, and his father, Serj, legendary music promoter, was teaching him the ropes. In the few months that Eddie and I had been dating—online, mostly—I’d learned a completely different side of the music business from him than I had from living in the domestic quarters of Mad Dog Larsen my entire life. Maybe more.
Eddie wanted to teach me the biz and introduce me to musicians.
Mad Dog wanted me to take care of his pets and fetch him lemonade.
Eddie pocketed his phone and smiled at me, brown eyes squinting in the afternoon sun. Wow. He really was goddamnstunning. Everyone said he could model. He’d clipped his hair short and lightened it, so he truly looked golden from head to foot. “Gotta run, babe,” he said, rubbing his nose. “We’ve gotta make a flight at LAX. This crop duster only goes so far.”
Crop duster? Please. I couldn’t fathom how much it cost to fly them to L.A. by private jet. This one was Mad Dog’s regular charter home. I’d never stepped foot on it. The only domestic in our house who had was Mad Dog’s personal bodyguard.
“You’ve got to leave now?” I complained. “But I’ve barely seen you.”
“Well… when you said you were meeting me here, I didn’t know you meant you were bringing Daddy along,” he said, laughing a little stiltedly as he flicked his gaze toward my father. When I protested, he amended, “He’ll warm up to me. Everyone does.”
