All The Forbidden Things by Lesley Jones

Author:Lesley Jones [Jones, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

We order Chinese, share a bottle of red, and once again, talk about everything and nothing. Billie has a tattoo behind each of her ears that I’d not noticed until today. A treble clef symbol sits behind one ear, a bass clef behind the other, and I question her about them.

“They’re just little reminders of my parents,” she tells me while lying flat on her back, taking up half the length of my sofa. “Not that I need a reminder. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about them. It’s like, with those little symbols, they’re always there, close by, kinda watching over me.”

She turns her head to face where I’m sitting in the armchair, my right ankle resting on my left knee, elbow on the arm of the chair, my fist propping up my chin. A million and one song lyrics I could write about her fill my head. “I’m sure that’s what they are doing.”

I watch her chest move as she lets out a long, slow breath.

“Who knows? Do you think there is an afterlife? I’m not sure. I mean, it’s a nice idea, but I’m not sure. Unless someone comes to me with absolute hard proof, I’ll remain sceptical.”

She’s quiet for a few moments while I continue to take her in. I enjoy the silence. I feel content that it happens and doesn’t feel awkward, that she’s comfortable lying sprawled out on my sofa the way she is and talking to me about her parents.

“Can I ask you a question?” She swings her legs around and sits up before tucking them underneath her and settling herself into the corner of the sofa.

“Go for it,” I respond.

“Do you have any contact with your dad?”

Now it’s my turn to blow out a breath. No one’s asked me about Mike Young in a very long time. It’s been a while since I’ve really given him any thought.

“Nope. He paid for my education and the cost of raising me, but until we won our first Grammy, aside from Christmas and birthday cards and presents, I didn’t hear a word from him after he walked out the door and left us. Not a phone call, not a letter. Just cards that said: ‘To Max, happy birthday, Dad’.”

“Wow, all that time you got nothing and then he had the cheek to reach out after you won the Grammy?”

I nod. “He left a note for me at the Four Seasons. Said that he happened to be in town on business and did I want to meet up for drinks the following night.”

“And did you?”

“I didn’t make it back to my room till four the following afternoon. I was partying a lot those days. It was right before my last stint in rehab.” I feel the need to explain. “I didn’t notice the note, didn’t wake up till three the next morning, showered, and went back out to party again. I finally saw the envelope propped against the phone on the desk about four days later.

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