Diary of a Rocker's Kid (D.O.R.K #1) (7 page)

Chapter 9

June 2, 2015

Mission L.A. Complete

We’re here…and it’s the best feeling in the world.

As soon as I walked in those double doors, I immediately felt at home. That has never happened to me before. The farmhouse felt like home because it was all I had, but this place has Dad, Cass, and me written all over it. It’s a rocker’s mansion for sure, and Dad already told me some stories about the wild parties they used to have in here. I enjoyed hearing about how completely off the walls Cass and he were. It makes me think maybe he’ll forgive me for the shit I plan to do once I’m legal…or not so legal.

He’s loosening up a lot now that we’re in L.A. He’s even treating me like an equal in a lot of ways. I guess he’s finally realizing I’m close to becoming an adult. Also, he said he plans to go out with Cass a lot while we’re here. Score for me! The less parental supervision, the better.

I’m not sure how to feel about meeting Stephan Lowe’s family tomorrow. According to Ana, Steph’s partner is Alfonzo Abate, a major action film star. He’s easily an A-list actor, and I’ve watched and obsessed over all his movies. His teenage son Giovanni is an actor too. He was a supporting actor on one of my favorite tween-teen shows,
Jackson and Julia
, until it got cancelled last year. He is constantly in the news, and girls everywhere obsess over him. My palms sweat and my throat dries up just thinking about him. I mean, this guy is swoon-worthy, and I’m about to meet him tomorrow. That has me terrified. What am I going to say to two actors I’ve worshipped for the past few years of my life? Especially one my age?

I can see it now—

“Hi, I’m Mads. You’re gorgeous. I want to marry you. I know I’m the Basket Baby, but maybe we can look past that. I’m even willing to start over on a deserted island together and forget either of us has a name. We can just sit on the beach day and night in nothing but our birthday suits and let the world fade away for the rest of our lives. Sound good? Great. I’m on my way to the courthouse to get emancipated right now.”

I’m dying laughing over here. That’s so unrealistic it’s almost not funny.

Almost.

Anyway, now that I know who I’m meeting, I’m considering letting Ana give me a full-scale makeover tomorrow. She’s been wanting to do that for years, and now we’ve finally got the perfect opportunity. Plus, it’s kind of necessary. I’m looking at the ends of my hair, and…yep, I’ve got split ends. They’re all over the place. Definitely getting a haircut, and I might color it too, even though that’s wayyy outside my comfort zone.

Here goes nothing. Hopefully I won’t come back bald. That’s my secret fear when entering a salon.

Ttyl,

Mads

***

“Beverly Hills” by Weezer plays in my head as we turn onto Rodeo Drive. The shops lining the street are just as iconic and ritzy as I pictured them, and it would seem that the palm trees have taken over this place. Ana acts like she’s about to have a seizure next to me as she points out all the stores and salons she wants to check out. Cass said we could spend as much as we want, and neither of us have ever been able to do that, so we’re both pretty stoked.

The first store we hit is called Ferria, and it’s known to have a lot of the best clothes for teenage girls. We’re greeted at the door by a tall, dark-haired woman with a smug expression. “Welcome to Ferria. My name is Meg, how can I help you?”

“Hi,” Ana says. “This is Madison Daley, the Grim Weeper’s daughter. She needs a whole new wardrobe.”

“Gee, thanks Ana.” I laugh.

Meg gasps, and her eyes light up. “
No way!
You’re the Basket Baby?”

I can’t help but feel a little flattered at her response. I’ve never heard my ‘fame name’ on someone else’s lips before, and the way she just said it, it actually didn’t sound too bad. “Yeah, I am.”

“Oh my God! I heard the Grim Weeper was back in L.A., but I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe it!”

“Well, believe it,” Cass says, looking like she’s about to burst with happiness. “They’re out of hiding for good.”

Meg immediately comes to my side, takes me by the arm, and leads me in the direction of the juniors section. “Well, don’t you worry. I’m going to personally see to it that you get
everything
you need today.”

In the hour that follows, Meg stays true to her word. I end up finding a lot of cute clothes I like, even some dresses, much to my surprise. She takes Cass, Ana, and me back to a dressing room with armfuls of clothes in hand, and when I try on my first dress—a strapless black lace overlay dress—I come out of the stall with tears in my eyes.

Ana notices my distress right away as she’s adjusting a bright green minidress in front of the three-sided mirror. “Mads, what’s wrong?”

I lift up the top of the dress, showcasing how much room is left in the bust area. “I have no boobs,” I mourn.

“You can always get it altered,” Meg interjects, giving me a reassuring smile. “Lots of people need their clothes altered. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

“I guess,” I say, supposing that all the dresses in L.A. are made for women who have implants. My cup size is between an A and a B, so I don’t even stand a chance.

“Try on another one,” Ana suggests. “Find one that looks a little smaller on the top.”

I respond with a dejected nod, and when I trudge back into the stall, I find a deep purple dress that we got from the juniors section. I slip off the black lace dress easily, and when I slide the new one on, I’m pleasantly surprised to find it fits me like a glove. It’s made of knit fabric and has cap sleeves, and it’s also formfitting, which gives me more of a curvy look.

I open the door of the stall and step out, feeling a little more confident. Ana and Meg gasp when they see me. “Oh my God, it’s perfect!” Ana says, smiling from ear to ear.

Meg leads me over to the three-sided mirror and stands behind me with her hands on my shoulders. “See, Madison? You look great.” I smile and nod. Other than my head, which has not been updated to Beverly Hills standards at all, I look great.

Cass and Ana drag me to a salon after three exhausting hours of shopping. After we’re signed in and sitting in the waiting room, they take some catalogs from a shelf and help me pick out a hairstyle. It’s going to require a dye job, but I’m warming up to the idea. Nearly every celebrity I’ve ever seen has dyed their hair at least once.

I get called back to a chair, and yet another tall, blonde, tan person comes up behind me to do my hair. “Hi, I’m Rick. I’ll be working on your hair today,” he says in a high-pitched voice. Another gay guy. I’m liking the number of men in L.A. who don’t treat women like we’re bodies with heads attached.

“Hi, I’m Mads. Please be gentle, I’m a style virgin.” Rick laughs at my little joke, and he talks me into taking six inches off my hair for health reasons. Then he darkens my base color just a bit and adds deep red highlights. After that, another person gives me a facial and waxes my eyebrows and upper lip.

Finally, the makeup artist, a middle-aged Asian woman with on-point eyeliner and a sweet smile, enters the room and comes up to shake my hand. “Hi, Madison! I’m Angie, and I’ll be doing your makeup.”

“Hi, Angie. Do you think you’ll be able to do anything with this?” I ask with a grin, pointing to my face.

She laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ll make you look great. Now the first thing I’ll need you to do is take off those glasses.” Before she approached me, I put my glasses on just to look at my hair in the mirror. When I take them off and lay them on the dresser in front of me, she gasps. “Oh my God, you have
perfect
eyes!”

“Thank you,” I say. She also praises my high cheekbones and plump lips. Angie goes on to describe the different products she’s using as she starts on my makeup and educates me on the best makeup to use. As she’s talking, I inwardly obsess over the fact that I can actually go out and buy all this stuff now I know we’re millionaires. She puts a slightly darker shadow on my eye than I’m used to, dabs concealer over the little bit of acne and dark circles I have, and then she finishes me off with foundation, pink blush, and light pink lipstick. The eye makeup gives me a dramatic, star-like appearance. In fact, I
almost
look like a real celebrity.

“Holy hell, is that
me
?” I ask, gazing into the mirror in awe.

“That is you!” Angie assures me, smiling.

Cass and Ana come up behind me, chatting and giggling. When they notice me, they gasp. “
Mads!
” they exclaim in unison.

I stand and turn around to face them with my hands in the air at my sides. “How do I look?” I ask, referencing the TV show Ana used to make me watch.

“
Sexy
,” Ana asserts like she means it.

“You look like a totally different person!” Cass exclaims. “It’s amazing!”

I look in the mirror again and smile. I might,
might
see myself as being a little bit hot.

***

Dad is waiting for us in the entryway when we get home, and as I enter the house, he clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, feeling a little awkward. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before.

“Baby girl, you look divine,” he says. The corners of his eyes crinkle up in a smile.

“Thanks,” I say, and he gives me a quick hug. “I think I’ll put my glasses back on now that you’ve seen me, since I can barely see.”

“That’s fine. You ladies ready to go to dinner?”

“Just let us take these things upstairs,” Cass says. We take our bags up the stairs and change into semi-casual attire, and then we file out of the house to go to the Italian villa next door.

We’re let in a gate that’s remarkably similar to ours, and I cling to Ana’s arm as we soak in the showcase of grandeur that looms in front of us. The stucco towers are even more impressive up close, and they give the home a sense of character and elegance. There’s a bright blue fountain out front that is already lit for the night. Impeccable landscaping and natural-colored floodlights liven up the front, and their balcony railings are black cast iron that is twisted into charming, traditional designs. We approach an ornately carved cherry wood door, and Cass rings the doorbell.

A distinguished, middle-aged Italian man opens the door, and I immediately start freaking on the inside.

Oh my God, it’s Alfonzo Abate…oh my God, it’s Alfonzo Abate…

He sees Cass, and a big, toothy grin appears on his face. “
Ciao, bella!
”

“
Ciao
, Alfonzo!” Cass replies, and they kiss each other’s cheeks like Europeans do. “This is Mike Daley, his daughter Madison, and their friend Ana. Everyone, this is Alfonzo Abate.” We all mutter our hellos. Even Dad looks a little nervous. I guess he never got to meet him before we left.

“A pleasure to meet you all,” Alfonzo says in a thick, charming Italian accent. “Please, come in.”

We walk into the entryway, and I hear a door close and footsteps padding down a hall upstairs. My heart picks up speed and time slows down when a younger, hotter version of Alfonzo saunters down the stairs into their grand entryway. It’s Giovanni Abate in all his glory—tall and tan, with piercing silver eyes and black hair so thick you could bury your hands in it and lose them. He’s wearing a white polo and jeans that are a little tight on him, and I have to try hard to bring my eyes up from his perfect body.

His gaze is intense as he fixates on me, and even after he touches down on the floor, his eyes don’t leave mine. “
Come va?
I’m Gio…” He stops, still staring at me. I’m not sure if he lost his train of thought or if that’s really his nickname. I squirm under his scrutiny, and then I feel a huge sense of relief when Steph dances in from the kitchen.

“Oh, perfect, you’re all here,” Steph says, gleefully clapping his hands. “Let me tell you, you’re all in for a treat. Alfonzo prepared dinner himself, so everything you’re eating tonight is authentic. We’ll start off with a 1965 Pinot Grigio and—”

“Take your glasses off,” Gio suddenly interrupts. Everyone falls silent, awaiting my response.

“Um…excuse me?”

“
Giovanni!
” Alfonzo roars with a scowl. His deep, bellowing voice echoes off the high ceiling and the walls. “
Attento a come ti comporti!
” I have no idea what he just said, but it seems like he was telling his son not to be rude.

Gio softens and rubs the back of his neck like Alfonzo just cracked a whip on it. “Sorry…never mind. I just thought you were someone I know.”

“I must look like someone,” I say with a nervous giggle. “Steph said the same thing.”

“You really do,” Gio says. “You look
extremely
familiar.” His dark brows shadow his eyes, and his gaze intensifies again, like he’s trying to get me to confess something.