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“Was it that bad?”
“Well, from the leopard print pants and the gold jacket, to the way you laid all over your female audience. You also chugged a bottle of liquor between songs, and then there was the most intense headbanging I have ever seen you perform, which, by the way, Knox was not impressed by.” As I say it all out loud, I find that I am more amused by the situation now than angry.
I should be angry with him, but I’m not. I can’t be. When he’s on stage, he’s playing a character—the same way an actor plays a character in a movie. It’s not who he is. It’s the artist inside of him. I can’t explain that to Knox, though. She wouldn’t understand. Not yet, anyway. Maybe I’m hoping that J.R. can tone it down a little. At least until Knox is old enough to understand.
“It was a wild show, Rach. The energy was intense. It just came out of me.”
“I know that. But maybe you should just think of Knox when you’re playing. Pretend she’s in the room. Okay? She lost a friend over that video, J.R. I’m pretty sure her mother thinks we’re Satanists or something.”
“I hate the internet,” he mumbles.
“For the record, I thought the video was kind of hot.”
“You did?” I hear him smile.
“I kind of wish you were coming home tonight,” I say seductively. I’m joking, of course, but only half-way. I’m attracted to this man of mine in more ways than one. There is something to be said about the way he looks on stage, hair insane, wild and free. It gives me life. I guess that’s what drew me to him in the first place.
J.R. laughs through the phone. “Stop it.”
I laugh, too, and then I add, “Seriously, though, you’ve got to have the conversation with Knox when you get home. She’s never seen you like that, and I think she’s in shock.”
“I’ll make it up to her,” he promises. “I gotta go. Are you sure you’re not mad?”
“I suppose I’m not angry this time,” I tell him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Be home soon.” He hangs up, and I sit there at the table a few minutes longer before deciding that maybe I should be the one to talk with Knox first.
I find Knox in the living room, staring blankly at the television. She’s curled up on the couch, her head resting on the arm of the couch.
“Can we talk?” I ask, sitting down beside her.
“About?” She doesn’t look away from the T.V.
“Your dad.”
“I don’t want to,” she mumbles.
“I know you don’t want to.” I reach for the remote control and turn the T.V. off. “But we should.”
Knox sighs, and then she turns her head to me. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I know the video Maria showed you surprised you.”
“That wasn’t my dad,” she says. “His clothes, everything about him, was…” She grimaces as she tries to find the words.
“You’re right. The man in that video wasn’t your dad completely, but it was your dad playing a character. You know how actors play characters in movies? Musicians are the same. They write stories and sing them; and when they sing them at concerts, they play the character that they want to be,” I explain. I’m not sure she’s following, though, so I add, “I met your dad at one of his shows. Did you know that?”
“Was he acting the way he was in that video?”
I laugh a little. He may have been worse back then. He was younger, and he could move a little easier. “Believe it or not, he did, and I think it’s why I fell in love with him so fast. I loved his energy. Not many people can entertain others like that. I loved who he was on stage, and then I loved the man he was off stage, too. Soft and sweet. Perfectly sane. I admired that about him. How he could play the music, entertain the audience, and then come off the stage and be a total sweetheart.”
“The stage is like his T.V. show,” Knox says with her best child-like logic.
“Exactly. It’s not real. It’s just a show.” I feel like I’m getting somewhere with her now.
“I just think he’s too old to be acting like that,” she says matter-of-factly, folding her arms across her chest.
I laugh at her. “He’s not that old.”
