You Can't Fight Fate

“…and this is my eldest, Stephanie,” My dad proudly showed me off to his coworkers, “I’m pretty sure you two have met.”

I smiled at the balding old man and shook his hand.

“My goodness!” he exclaimed, “without a doubt, you don’t recognize me, the last time I saw you, your father had a head of long wavy hair and you were running around in just diaper at the venues he played at!”

I laughed dryly at his statement. Most of the people I had met tonight told me the same
thing, apparently I didn’t like clothes much as a baby (thanks mom and dad). I kept quiet and listened to the man.

“Why…you were a wild little girl! You were always getting tangled in the guitar cables and all we could see was your little pigtails bobbing up and down as you ran by,” he continued, “you definitely aren’t our little Stephie anymore. You are now a beautiful young woman.”

Ugh, no one had called me Stephie since I was four.

I smiled genuinely at the man this time; he seemed realer than any of the other people here.

“Thank you sir,” I replied as I shifted on my Christian Louboutin lace platform pumps, “It’s nice to finally meet the people who helped my parents raise me.”

“Ah, it’s so nice to meet you! Your father speaks of you often,” he replied.

“It’s nice to see you again old guy!” my father exclaimed as if he was so old. My dad was only 37 though he didn’t look a day over 29.

My father escorted me around as we moved through the large, extravagant ballroom.

“You look radiant by the way,” he murmured in my ear, “if this is what you come up with in under two hours, I can’t imagine if I had remembered to tell you about this event two days ago like I was supposed to.”

“I guess having a gay best friend comes in handy,” I replied monotone.

He sighed as I walked ahead of him; my dad was never good with the emotional side of having a girl as a child.

I glanced around to find my beautiful mother, she was laughing with who I believed was the wife of the founder of Columbia records.

Her dark hair shined and her smile lit up her face. I loved my mother. She was tall and had a nice figure after having three kids. To be honest…my mother was MILF(laughable, but it was true.). Almost every guy that I’ve dated has admitted that they were attracted to her. I couldn’t blame them, her chestnut brown hair and brown eyes were irresistible to my dad to this day.

I walked up to her and greeted her with a smile.

“Hey baby,” she cooed as she pushed back some of my bangs, “having fun?”

I gave her a look I knew only she could understand. Parties were not my thing. I swished my champagne around in the its glass.

"I've had two drinks already," I muttered, "yet, I'm still not having fun."

“My beautiful women.” My dad finally caught up to me and wrapped his arms around our shoulders.

“Wait! Stay right there!” Johnny shouted. He held up a large camera and snapped a photo of us.
“Good lord! Where did my little buddy go? She’s been replaced with a beautiful blossomed woman!”

I rolled my eyes at my godfather. He and my dad had known each other since they were born. They had been through everything together and he was the drummer in his band.

Johnny pulled me by the hand and spun me around. Next thing I knew, we were swaying to the slow beat of one of their old songs.

“You know…you should never say ‘blossomed’ to me again…” I muttered.

He smirked and let out a chuckle, his (still) long blond hair moved with his head like a blanket.

“Well, you shouldn’t get so old. How do you think it makes me and your old man feel?” he stated, “just seventeen years ago we were stupid and young…now look at us…boring and old.”

I unsuccessfully held back my laugh and giggled at his joke. Johnny could always make me laugh, ever since I was a baby, he was always my favorite.

“Johnny, you could never get old. You’re still the same goofy nineteen-year old I met years ago,” I argued with him.

“Oh really? Then why can’t I fit your feet in my mouth anymore?”

I glared at him, “I’m really glad I don’t remember touring with you guys as a baby.”

After the song stopped, I said goodbye to Johnny and took my seat, (next to my dad of course) at the head of a long decorated table with smaller round tables everyone else sat at. As soon as everyone was seated, the dinner portion of the party started. I zoned out immediately when my dad’s former band mates began their speeches.

This was the anniversary party for Chasing Fate, better known as the “biggest band that never made it.” Chasing fate consisted of four guys: my dad, Todd “the guitar god” Jameson, my uncle, Julian “the original funk master” Jameson, and their best friends, Johnny “Blondie” Henderson, and Frank “the grouch” Herbert.

My dad started the band when they were freshmen in high school just for fun, but by the time they were sophomores, they had groupies, including my mother. Growing up in a small town in Jersey helped their fame, the whole town knew about them, which led to people from surrounding towns to hear about them. My dad’s voice was like silk as his ample fingers glided across guitars strings. They wrote their own music and had their own sound, soul-rock is what my dad called it, add the fact that they were easy on the eyes and they were perfect for the big time. It wasn’t so easy to get a record deal as it is now though.
So, my dad and his band members took summer classes to graduate high school early (except Johnny, he just dropped out) and by the time the second semester of their junior year rolled around, they were off in a 10-passenger bus with their equipment, 500 bucks and a few personal belongings, determined to get a record deal. My dad took my mother too, sophomore year they got together and haven’t split since.

They didn’t know where they were even going. If they heard about a club or an open bar that was available, they would play a gig at little to no pay. Sometimes they would get paid in food. They didn’t mind, as long as they spread their music. After a year and a half of touring the country, everyone was crazy about their music. A wealthy fan even paid for them to a record a demo tape to send in to major labels. After that demo tape, they made enough money to buy their own equipment to record and sell their own music out of their van. With all the backing and support of their fans, making it big was definitely on their minds, but it wasn’t on the mind of fate. It intervened and here we are now, at the anniversary party for when they first formed the band.

After the band broke up, they all went their separate ways, yet they all worked together some how. My dad was the luckiest; he was offered a spot at a major recording label to do backing tracks for guitar. So after that, he began working with some people who reminded him of his band when they were younger and he formed the band “Berkeley to D.C.” and became their manager. They are now the biggest soul/rock band in the country. With the fortune of BTDC, my dad was able to found Jatsa Records, (Yeah…the Jatsa Records.) In ten short years, it became one of the most successful companies in the music industries. Artists hoping to make it big walk the lobby of our Chicago based building everyday.

Going to events, premieres and parties wasn’t so exciting for me anymore, I actually disliked it. Which is why I often don’t attend them anymore. College was nice because I hadn’t mentioned that my dad was the founder of a record label that was bigger than Columbia, Hollywood, and Def Jam records put together, not to mention if they played guitar. Everyone born after 1988 who is a musician praise my dad for his mad guitar skills. He was their real guitar hero, though he didn’t play as much as before. This probably explains why I lived in a mansion, have a Mercedes-Benz as my first car, and why my outfit costs more than a down payment on a car.

No one knew that he was my dad except the gang, minus Nick. I actually kind of made it clear to the gang that I didn't want him to know. It would just complicate our relationship more.

I didn’t indulge in the luxury of knowing famous people as much as before, I often avoided it. Especially boys my age, I was a sucker for a brunette guy with a guitar, (maybe it runs in the genes?) I was the love child of a rocker and a groupie (per se), the ultimate rock star cliché. Except, unlike my mother, I didn’t let myself get seduced by the raspy voice, poetic lyrics and the passion they always had…or I thought I didn’t let myself.

<->

Stevvie stumbled to the door of her apartment, carefully placing one foot in front of the other so she didn’t tumble into the bushes next to her. After waiting for her head to stop spinning, she tried to find the keyhole in the doorknob. After three unsuccessful jabs, Stevvie finally gave up and thumped on the door with her fist, knowing someone was there. To her surprise, it opened quickly, causing her to tumble into the arms of someone.
Stevvie let out a giggle and stood up with the help of the person.

“Whoa…you’re drunk again aren’t you?” Storm asked as he helped me to the couch.

“A little buzzed…maybe…” she replied as she took off her shoes, “cause technifically…I’m underage….shhh!”

The noise of her arrival awoke Eric who was sleep on her love seat. Jackie and Nick came from her bedroom where they were watching a movie.

“Hey…you’re home,” Nick stated as he sat next to her.

Storm, Jackie and Eric all looked at each other, amused. With Nick being the newest in the group, he didn’t know about when Stevvie went to parties with her parents. Ever since she graduated, her parents allowed her drink wine at their parties. They felt she was mature enough to know when to stop and it was better than her drinking behind their back.

Stevvie began singing an old song of her dad’s as she pulled off her jewelry, she wasn’t too drunk that she lost control of herself, but drunk enough.

“Hey cutie…” she replied to Nick. She turned to him and began stroking his shoulder.

“Did I ever tell you how adorable you looked today?”

Nick immediately grew suspicious of her actions, but chose to ignore her dilated pupils and sweet aroma that came from her breath.

She giggled and kissed him on his cheek before stumbling to her room. Storm, Jackie, and Eric all look at nick, holding back laughter.

“You guys know something I don’t know…” he accused them.

Storm and Eric burst into laughter, causing Nick to get more confused.

“Dude, Stevvie’s drunk,” Jackie stated through giggles.

“What?” he asked in disbelief.

“Stevvie is drunk…like alcohol…”Storm added.

“She’s hammered, drunk, buzzed, sloshed, pickled, trashed, intoxicated!” Eric shouted through laughter.

Soon, the smooth piano rhythms of Michel Legrand’s 'Stompin' At The Savoy' began to float from Stevvie’s music room to the living room.

“Come look,” Jackie instructed as she grabbed Nick’s arm and led him to her music room.

Nick, Jackie, Storm and Eric peaked into the room. There Stevvie was, in front of her easel in a pair of paint-covered clothes, painting and bobbing her head to the jazz music.

“Why is she painting?” Nick whispered.

They all shrugged.

“We don’t know, but every time she gets drunk at a party, after she’ll paint while listening to jazz music for hours,” Jackie replied.

“Most of the paintings that around her house are the result of nights like these,” Eric informed him.

“So…is that why we’re still here?” he asked. It was movie night and usually they left by twelve, it was nearing three in the morning.

“Yeah, her parents don’t want her alone when she's like this, plus it’s interesting to see what she creates after,” Storm replied, “…and she’s hilarious drunk!

“Really?” he asked, growing curiosity.

“Yeah…go talk to her,” they all encouraged him…