The Shadow Prince

chapter forty DAPHNE

It’s nearly midnight, but the restaurant Joe takes me to in LA is packed. Despite the cold wind and the spattering of rain, there’s a line wrapping around the side of the building. Joe leads me past the waiting crowd to the front doors. People scream his name and he stops to sign a couple of autographs. Flashbulbs go off, and reporters shoot questions at him.

“Who’s your companion?” one of them yells.

Joe wraps his arm around me. “This is my daughter!”

The camera flashes go wild. He grabs me by the hand, and the doorman lets us in without making us wait.

“Sorry about that,” Joe says to me. “You’ll get used to them. Eventually.”

We follow a hostess through the crowded restaurant, passing people I recognize from the gossip magazines. Joe hasn’t let go of my hand yet. He waves at his friends, exchanges cheek kisses, and merrily introduces me as his daughter to everyone we see.

Most respond quite diplomatically, but I can hear the tones of utter shock coming off them.

We finally find ourselves at a window booth in the back of the restaurant. It’s quieter here, but the energy of the place still buzzes around us.

The hostess puts two menus in front of us and then offers Joe the wine and beer list. He waves it away. “Chocolate milk shake. With sprinkles.” He raises his eyebrows at me.

“Make that two,” I say.

A waitress comes and takes the rest of our order. I get a Kobe beef and applewood smoked bacon cheeseburger and onion rings that cost twice as much as the fanciest steak at Ellis Grill. Joe seems to request half the menu. It’s his drummer’s restaurant, so I am assuming that running up a huge tab on opening night is the polite thing to do.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get much time with the telescope,” he says.

“It’s okay. Neither of us can control the elements,” I say, watching the rain patter against the window.

“What made you change your mind?” Joe looks a bit sheepish. “About coming tonight. I mean, I’m happy about it. You just surprised me is all.”

“Just something a friend said to me.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “And I like the stars.”

“Me, too,” he says. “Do you remember what my favorite constellation is?”

I do. I remember him telling me once when I was a kid. But I don’t want to admit that I’ve held on to that bit of information for this long. I shake my head.

“Lyra. It’s supposed to be Orpheus’s lyre. His father gave it to him when he was a boy. They say Orpheus was so talented, he could control the elements with his music. Animals, trees, rocks, rivers, monsters—even gods were not impervious to it. He used it as a weapon against Hades.”

“A weapon?” I ask. Ms. Leeds had said that we would eventually discuss the Orpheus myth, but we’ve been mired in Homer’s Odyssey for weeks.

“So to speak. Orpheus had one great love, his wife, Eurydice. She was bitten by a snake and died, but Orpheus was undaunted. Armed only with his lyre, he traveled to the underworld and tried to get her back. He used his music to convince the boatman to take him across the river Styx, and also used it to tame Cerberus, the three-headed dog that blocked his path. But his greatest feat was playing a song so melancholy and beautiful for the god and goddess of the underworld that even Hades himself could not deny Orpheus the opportunity to save his wife.”

“So he followed her into the dark?” I ask, thinking of Haden’s words from earlier today. “To save her?”

“Well, he tried, at least.”

“He failed?”

“Hades gave Eurydice to Orpheus and told him they would be allowed to escape under one condition—that Orpheus was not allowed to look back at his wife until they had exited the underworld. He led her out, using his voice to guide her, but just when they made it to the exit, Orpheus looked back and Eurydice was lost to him forever.”

“But why did he look back? They were so close.”

“I don’t know, really. Some say it’s because he thought they’d already reached safety. Others say it’s because she cried out because something was wrong. Or perhaps he’d lost faith that she was still there. Most storytellers agree that it was Hades’s punishment—that he knew Orpheus would fail.”

“Punishment? But he’s the one who said they could go.”

“To the ancient Greeks, questioning the will of the gods—let alone acting out against it—was the ultimate sin. Orpheus’s sheer audacity in thinking he could reverse his fate—get his wife back from the clutches of the god of death—was considered wrong. It’s a morality tale. You fight destiny, and it’ll come back to bite you in the arse every time.” Beyond the noise of the restaurant and the chattering patrons at the tables that surround us, I catch the most melancholy tone wafting up from Joe. “You can’t fight your destiny. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

I am about to ask him if he really believes in all this fate stuff or if he’s just being melodramatic for the sake of the story, but three servers appear with tray after tray of food. One of the servers asks for a picture of Joe. He poses with her and then digs into a plate of cheese fries like a man who hasn’t eaten in days. I bite into my bacon cheeseburger. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it is the best thing I’ve ever tasted—even better than the burgers we’d grill up behind the shop on Sunday afternoons. But I’d never tell my mom or Jonathan that.

“What happened to Orpheus after that?”

“Some say he died of a broken heart; others say he was torn apart by a group of crazed women because he was too sad to pay attention to them.…”

I smirk, thinking of some of Joe’s more rabid fans I’d seen on TV. It isn’t too hard to believe.

“Others say that his father, Apollo, carried him away in his sun chariot. Whatever the story was, the loss of his music was so lamented that Zeus himself threw Orpheus’s lyre into the heavens, and it became the Lyra constellation.”

I can see why it is Joe’s favorite constellation. I wouldn’t be surprised if he fancies himself a modern Orpheus. I am pretty sure he is the one who first coined his “God of Rock” nickname.

“Is that why you chose Orpheus and Eurydice for the subject of the play?”

“Among other reasons.” Joe holds up one of the burgers he ordered. “You have to try this. It’s bloody brilliant. It has a fried egg and a slice of beet in it.”

I wash down a bite of my cheeseburger with a gulp of milk shake and pull a gagging face at Joe.

“No, really. Try it.”

He waves the burger in my face, and I know he’s not going to stop until I take a bite. To my surprise, it’s even better than my burger.

“That is bloody brilliant,” I say, mimicking his accent.

“Eh, watch your mouth, girly,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes a bite of the burger. “Bobby and I first had these in New Zealand. Told him if he ever opened his restaurant, he had to put it on the menu,” he says with his mouth full. “Eh, you should come with us sometime. On tour.”

I choke on an onion ring.

“You okay there? Put your hands in the air. Maybe try some water?” He smacks me on the back until I stop coughing. “Yes, you should come on tour with us to Australia and New Zealand. You would love it. The stars are so much brighter there, and you can see constellations that you could never see here. We could go tramping up a volcano or something with a telescope. Now, there would be a good trip.” He pounds his fist on the table, excited. “Next summer, you’re coming with us!” he practically shouts.

“Joe, I don’t think—” My desire to see the world and my uncertainty about going on tour with the father I barely know come clashing together. Mostly, it irks me that one evening at the planetarium and a shared burger make him think that we’re the best of friends now. That I’d want to go with him. That anything has been forgiven …

“Joe, my boy!” says an extremely enthusiastic voice.

Joe and I both look up. A man in a trim, expensive-looking, light gray suit stands in front of our table. He holds what looks like a spinach smoothie in his hand. I can’t quite place his face, but I feel like I’ve seen him before.

“Sunny,” Joe says. He sits up straighter. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Bobby has done a fantastic job, don’t you think? Fantastic! Though he could stand to put some healthier items on the menu. Had to have the chef make me something special.” He lifts his green glass. He smiles at me. His teeth look as bleached white as teeth could possibly get. “So this is the elusive Daphne. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your beautiful daughter?”

“Oh yes,” Joe says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Daphne, this is Mr. Sunny. My manager.”

“Oh.” One of the few things I do know about Joe’s career is that he’s been with the same manager for almost eighteen years. Kind of unheard of in the business, these days. Which is weird, because even though Joe has a polite smile on his face, the tone coming off him makes it clear that he’s less than happy to see his manager at the moment.

I take the hand that Mr. Sunny offers. He clasps his fingers around mine as we shake. His skin is as cold as ice. Or I guess as cold as the smoothie he’s been holding.

“We were just discussing some plans for the summer,” Joe says. “Wouldn’t it be nice to take Daphne on tour?”

Mr. Sunny’s enthusiastic grin falters at the edges. I’m guessing that traveling with your teenage daughter doesn’t do the best thing for your image when you’re a rock star trying not to seem middle-aged to the younger generation.

“You haven’t forgotten about your obligations this spring, have you?” Mr. Sunny says.

Joe shakes his head.

“Speaking of which, Bobby says you’ve missed your last two sessions at the recording studio.”

Ah, the reason Joe isn’t happy to see Mr. Sunny. He’s been slacking.

“I’ve been busy working on the musical for Daphne’s school.”

“Oh, that explains it,” Mr. Sunny says merrily, but the sound coming off him is anything but. “Joe, may I have a word with you in private?”

“Of course.” Joe pats my hand as he stands. “I’ll only be a minute, Daph.”

“You are letting yourself get distracted,” Mr. Sunny says to Joe as I watch the two walk away. A mixture of very unhappy sounds is coming off both of them. I imagine Joe is about to get a berating for neglecting his “God of Rock” duties.

“So, you do exist,” a man says as he scoots into the booth next to me.

I blink at him until recognition clicks. I’ve seen him on TV countless times with Joe. Bobby Rox, Joe’s drummer.

“I did the last time I checked,” I say.

Bobby laughs. He’s pink-faced, and I can tell he’s on the verge of being drunk.

“Tell you what. We thought the old monk had made you up so we’d stop teasing him about being a eunuch!” he says with a chuckle.

“Did you just call my father a eunuch? Because I’m going to need a Brillo pad for my brain to get rid of that mental image.”

Bobby laughs so loud that the people at the adjacent tables stare. “We just like to tease the old boy. I’m sure he’s got all the right equipment. The guy’s as celibate as a monk. In all our years, with all those groupies and reporters and supermodels, he’s never once … you know.”

“Again with the mental images …” I point at myself. “Daughter, remember?”

Although a slightly disturbing topic of conversation, this bit of information surprises me about Joe. He’s never struck me as the religious type, nor the self-disciplined type, either. My mom had never said whether she and Joe had ever technically gotten divorced. Was it possible he is just that faithful?

I shake my head. They’d seen each other only five times in the last seventeen years. That certainly didn’t count as a marriage. There had to be another reason for Joe’s discretion.…

“The old boy probably wouldn’t drink so much if he let himself get laid once in a while!” Bobby goes on guffawing, and I’m glad when a familiar face approaches the table.

“Marta, you’re here, too?” I ask.

“I was nearby,” she says. “Joe sends his apologies. He needs to attend to some business with Mr. Fitzgerald. I’ve been asked to escort you home.”

Normally, I might feel slighted by Joe, but I don’t argue with this change in plans. It’s nearly one thirty in the morning and I can feel the fatigue pulling at my bones. I’ve already scheduled a Skype-chat breakfast with my mom, followed by three hours of self-imposed singing practice in the morning, and then I’m supposed to meet with Tobin for lunch so I can tell him everything I’ve learned about Haden and the Lord family. It’s still not a lot, but I know he’ll be revving for an update.

I follow Marta sleepily to her Audi. It’s a long drive back to Olympus Hills and I’m not sure I’ll stay awake. “Who’s Mr. Fitzgerald?” I ask with a yawn as I get into the passenger seat. “I thought Joe was with Mr. Sunny.”

“Oh yes. Only Joe calls his manager Mr. Sunny—because of his ‘sunny disposition.’ He’s Mr. Fitzgerald to the rest of us.”