Lennon jumped to his feet. “Go away? Go. Away. That’s his fucking kid you are talking about, you heartless bastard.”
Sam stood. “What? You think coming to live with you guys like the Waltons—all good-night Jim Bob—will be the right thing for a baby?”
It hit a raw nerve. Everything the lawyer said about his living arrangements was true. To do the right thing for Petal, perhaps even for him and Pixie, was to move into his own home, but how could he do that? He looked across at Jordan then back to Sam. “It’s better than living with a junkie of a mother, I should fucking know!” Dred shouted.
The room dropped silent, the audible equivalent of a mic drop.
Dred forced his breathing back under control. For a moment, he wished Pixie was standing by his side. She had the ability to calm him when he was this wound up. He thought back to Sam finding her in his hotel room. He’d been furious then too, but her hand on his chest had sucked the anger from his as surely as if he’d been connected to a drain.
Everyone slowly but surely returned to their seats. Nikan walked by, squeezed his shoulder, and sat down on the arm of Dred’s chair.
“Why don’t you let me take care of this for you?” Sam offered, his tone reconciliatory. “I can deal with the lawyers. Leave you to focus on the album.”
Dred sat down again. “No thanks, Sam. You take care of my professional life, and I’ll take care of my personal one. What were you guys arguing about when I came in?”
“He wants to add dates to the start of the European leg of the tour,” Nikan said, looking into the fire. “We’ll still be finishing the album. The new tracks won’t be practiced or arranged to play live. We want to add the dates to the end of the tour.”
“Makes sense. So what’s the problem with that, Sam? Because you keep piling all this shit on us, one of us is going to lose it.”
“Fine.” Sam dramatically wiped his hands. “I am done with this conversation. You don’t want to accommodate the label’s wishes, I’ll let them know. But one of these days, you’ll be replaced by someone who is willing and able”—he looked at each of them for a moment—“to do what they want. I’m trying my very best for you guys, yet you never respect that.”
“Sam,” Nikan said, his temper cooled and his peacemaker tone very much evident. “Of course we respect you. But the asks are sometimes ridiculous, and I’m sure you know that when you ask us. Could you at least act like you recognize that? Aren’t we on the same team, or do you work for them?”
“Of course I work for you. I always have,” Sam replied.
“Fine. Then let’s figure this out.”
Hours later, when the conversation was over, and dinner had been eaten, Dred found himself alone in his room. He picked up the phone and called Pixie. The shop was most definitely closed, and he hoped she was at home. The phone rang once then was answered.
“Hey, let me turn this down,” Pixie said.
He could hear loud music playing, a musical as always. Something about the crème de la crème of the chess world and Yul Brynner, which seemed a totally random combination.
The music suddenly died. “What was that, Snowflake?”
Pixie laughed, the sound music to his ears after the day he’d had. “The Chess soundtrack. Written by the guys from ABBA about a cold-war chess tournament. I need to educate you.”
“Yeah. No, you don’t. Sounds boring as fuck. I can live without it, thanks. What are you up to?” He swivelled on the sofa, put his feet up on the opposite arm to the one he was leaning against.
“Planning for my day off tomorrow.”
“You plan your day off the night before?”
“I do if I am trying to fit in a hike, some sewing, brownie baking, card making, and watching Rent for the five-hundred-twenty-five-thousandth-sixth-hundredth time.” Pixie giggled again. “You don’t even get that, do you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Listen to ‘Seasons of Love’ from Rent later. It’ll make more sense.”
Dred took a deep breath. In a matter of minutes on the phone with her, he felt calm again. Being around her strengthened him. “Your day sounds perfect, Snowflake.”
“Wish you could share it with me.”
Dred sighed. He wanted that, too. He didn’t know where his daughter was. His creativity was shot. For the first time in a long while, the loneliness that had threatened to swallow him whole as a child was back. It was bone deep, and disheartening.
And then an idea hit him, so obvious, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
*
Pixie tightened her hiking shoes. A backpack filled with a light sweater, water bottle, and lunch was by the door. She checked the route on her phone. Bus to Coral Gables to explore the Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, then pick up the Old Cutler Trail and walk the five miles back to Coconut Grove. There, she planned to treat herself to dinner at a little outdoor café before heading home for the brownies currently cooking.