Pride: The Tawney Marcus Story

No Vacancy shows a bright neon light above the only hotel that we've passed in the last hundred miles.
"What the hell, Tawney, why would you bring us somewhere there aren't any vacancies?" Jimmy rattles on from the back seat. It takes all of me not to reach behind me and slap him upside of his head.
"How was I to know the place wouldn't have any rooms, jackass?" I ask.
"It's still all your fault," Jimmy mumbles under his breath to where I can barely hear him. I shoot him a dirty look through the rear view mirror.
"Don't look at me that way, you're the one who got us lost!" Jimmy rambles on again. "You should have taken that left turn back, what a hundred miles?"
"Shut it, James," I say warningly.
Sometimes my little brother was all that I could handle before snapping, he's lucky I haven't turned around in my seat yet and slapped him, hard.
"When are we supposed to be there anyway?" he asks.
"Tomorrow afternoon, we'll make it, I swear," I say.
"Yeah, right," James rolls his eyes again.
"Look! I didn't ask you to tag along, I could have done this on my own, you know!" I yell at him. "I didn't say 'oh James, how about you follow me across the fucking country so we can go stare at the guy who helped give me life, but now is nothing but a rotting corpse!' Jeeze!"
"You needed someone with you, I thought it would be a nice road trip!" James yells back.
"What the hell? I"m on my way to a funeral and you're in it for a 'nice road trip'?" I question pointedly.
"That's not the only reason I came and you know it, Tawney," James says his tone more serious than angry now.
"Why then, huh?" I ask hastily.
"You need the support," James says softly.
"I don't need anything right now!" I yell.
"You need to get some fucking sleep before I punch you!" James warns.
"Don't you dare threaten me, boy," I say angrily.
Our tempers are running high, it's our third day on the road and I was really hoping for a hotel to stay in tonight since we've slept in the car for two nights already.
Off to see my sperm donor's funeral all because it says in the will that I need to be there because there is something 'special' in it for me.
Unless it's an apology for being absent for seventeen of my eighteen years of life, I don't want to hear it.
"I guess we're sleeping in the car again tonight," I shrug.
"Looks like it," James says before laying down in the back seat and pulling his jacket over his head.
"You stay awake and I'll drive if you don't want to sleep, I'd like to get there a little earlier so we could get some sleep before this whole thing starts," I say quietly.
"Sounds good to me," James says uncovering his head and climbing over the center console into the passenger seat.
We pull out of the parking lot of the desolate hotel, which apparently, even in the middle of no where has no vacancies. I get back onto the road and James puts in a CD mixed with everything from country to rap and we start singing along to all of our favorites.
By the time we reach the California state line, James has already fallen asleep, like I knew would happen. Only about twenty more miles until we're in Barstow, California, my birth place and now the death place of my biological father.
I keep my eyes open for signs pointing me in the right direction. I finally see one for the exit that I need to take off of the freeway and into the city. Barstow isn't nearly as big as I remembered it as a little girl, although, there are still a lot of things that I can remember. We pass the park where I learned to ride my bike with my mom in command.
That was all before she met her new husband, Bob, and we got Jimmy in the mix. When mom met Bob, she fell head over heels in love with him, and we packed up and moved to back woods West Virginia to a town that is just a speck on the map. If you blink, you miss it.
"Wake up!" I yell loud enough to scare James and when he wakes up, flailing his arms like something was on him, I start to laugh heartily. The first time I've really laughed since I found out that my dad died.
I pull down a street marked 'Dolph Court' and I know immediately that the house on the end is the one that I'm going to.
I drive slowly down the street and note all of the cars outside of the house, there is one empty spot left for me to park and I quickly whip the car into the spot before turning it off.
Inside, I can hear voices, some loud and others sound like they're crying.
I put on my brave face and step out of the car with Jimmy following closely behind me.
"I don't know if I can do this," I say stopping halfway up the walkway.
"I'm right here, sis," Jimmy says, taking my hand in his.
Although we aren't blood related, his sentiment helps comfort me a little bit. It's also the very first time he's ever said something like that to me.
When we reach the front door, I hesitantly knock three times and wait.
"Who is it?" a voice comes from the other side of the door.
"Uh, it's Tawney Marcus," I call back through the door.
"Oh, my, gosh! Tawney, I haven't seen you since you were a baby!" an older woman squeals as she pulls the front door open quickly and immediately wraps me in a tight hug. She's hugging me so tightly that I can barely breathe.
"Uh, hi?" I as more than say.
"You don't remember me do you?" she asks sadly.
"I'm sorry, but no, I don't," I answer quickly.
"I'm your grandmother, silly!" this woman says. Apparently she's my father's mother.
"Oh," is all I can say before I'm ushered in the door, with Jimmy's hand still in mine, pulling him along behind me.
"Who's this young man?" My dad's mom, er, my grandma asks pointing to Jimmy.
"This is Jimmy, my step brother," I answer politely.
"Oh, well, you're more than welcome to stay with us too," she says smiling sweetly at the two of us.
"Thank you ma'am," Jimmy says. It's the first time I've ever heard him use the word ma'am and not be sarcastic.
When we walk into the living room, I'm overwhelmed by all of the people piled into the small house. There are more than twenty people standing around and all of them have their eyes on me. The room is decorated in antique furniture, everything down to the TV looked old.
"Everyone! Attention please," my long, lost grandmother calls out to everyone, "This is Tawney!"
"Hi Tawney!" a few people call out while others smile and wave like I'm an animal on display.
I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.
"Uh, I have to use the bathroom," I say quickly and my grandmother lets me go and I fumble toward the open door at the back of the room where I saw a toilets reflection in the mirror on the back wall.
"Look she still knows where everything is," a man laughs.
I shut the door quickly and bury my face in my hands, trying to fight off the tears of panic that have consumed me all of a sudden. I start to dry heave and lift the toilet seat in case that I do indeed throw up.
After I compose myself and the heaving has stopped, I turn the water on at the sink and splash some on my face, trying to calm myself further down. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before walking back out into the room.
Jimmy is waiting for me next to the bathroom door and locks his fingers in mine so we can walk back toward the woman who claims to be my grandmother stands.
"Sorry," I say quietly.
"There's no reason to be sorry dear," she says sympathetically.
"Why am I here?" I ask boldly and someone in the crowd gasps.
"Well, it's a complicated story," she says.
"I'd like to know all of it," I say honestly.
"Let's go into the other room, your friend is welcome to join us, but I'd prefer he didn't," the old lady says.
While we're waking to the kitchen, I look her over once more, her hair is short, curly and frizzy, like an old lady before perm day. She has a small hump in her back from walking arched over and if she were to stand full height, I think she would be taller than me, and I'm five foot six. She's dressed in an old, flower print dress that has seen better days, the red flowers have faded to a light pink.
Her blue eyes look like they used to shine with happiness, but age has fogged them with cataracts. They look like they may have been the same shade as mine back in her time. Clear, ocean, blue.
I glance at my feet when we enter the kitchen.
"Have a seat, we have a lot to talk about," she says seriously.
"Okay, thank you," I respond before sitting down on one of the high backed, wooden chairs that are placed around a large, wooden, dining table.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asks.
"No thank you, I'm just curious as to why now is the only time in the last seventeen years that my father has had anything to do with me," I say.
"It wasn't like that with him," she says.
"That's a lie, he hasn't once reached out to me since my mother left," I said.
"He's tried to contact you every month since you moved," this woman says.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, I haven't heard anything from him, not even a post card," I say bitterly.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, young lady, your father has been dedicated to you since the day you were born, that's why you're here," she says smartly.
"I beg to differ, like I said, I haven't received anything from him," I say.
"You might want to talk to your mother about that then."
"I have asked her about him and all she gives me are answers that they weren't right for each other and how he was violent."
"Violent? Your father never raised a hand to anyone out of anger!" the old woman snaps at me.
"Then why did my mother leave?" I ask.
"Because she couldn't handle the lifestyle that your father was trying to live for the three of you," she says calmly.
"What kind of lifestyle was that, drugs?" I ask curiously.
"Drugs," the old woman scoffs, "never in a million years, my dear."
"Then what?"
"Have you ever heard of the band 'Pride'?" she asks.
"Yes, of course, everyone has," I say.
"There you go, that's the lifestyle,"
I sputter and start to cough on nothing, "What?"
"Jarron Marcus, front man," she says.
"No way," I say quietly.
"Yes way," the old woman says with a smile.
"That still doesn't explain why I'm here,"
"Your father's will is being read today."
"And I have to be here for that?"
"Yes, because you're mentioned in it."
"Oh, okay." I shake my head, I don't know what to think. Jarron Marcus. Pride. What kind of would have I just stumbled into?
"Let's go back into the living room, we have guests and it would be rude to keep them waiting," the woman says. "You can call me Ms. Marcus if you'd like."
"Uh, okay," I say, not really knowing what else I would call her. I don't know her enough to call her 'grandma' or anything with that type of sentiment.
We walk back into the living room and I sit down and wait for everyone to gather around for the reading of the will.
A young man in a smart, three piece suit enters the room and sits in front of everyone with a briefcase on his lap, where he proceeds to open it and pull out a stack of paper.
"Thank you everyone for gathering here today, we've paid our respects to one of the most beloved men in our community. Without Jarron, this community may have never become what it is today. Without all of the donations to the homeless shelters and the schools, we might have ended up like a ghost town," the man speaks somberly, "I know that among myself so many of you were touched by this man and he has made such an impact on all of you."
I can feel tears prickling in my eyes once more because I had no idea that my father was such a giving man.
"In the words of Jarron, 'Peace, Love and Carry On'. He didn't want any of you crying over him and it specifically states in the will that I smack whoever has tears in their eyes, but since it's so many of you and I couldn't ever bring myself to smack Estelle, I think we'll let that go, I'm sure Jarron would understand.
"First we're going to start with the first thing on the list, the video will of one Jarron Marcus."
"Check, check, one, two," a voice comes over a TV in the front of the room as a man fills the screen. His blue eyes are identical to mine. He's got long, black hair that he has swept up into a ponytail at the base of his neck. I can see a silver hoop in his left earlobe. One front tooth is slightly crooked and chipped. There is a tattoo on the side of his neck that says 'Tawney'.
I gasp audibly.
"I heard that," the voice on the screen says and begins to laugh. "I'm totally kidding, you guys could be in the midst of a zombie apocalypse and I wouldn't know."
Laughter rings through the room.
I'm stuck watching this man, I had no idea my father was this man. I curse myself silently for having a crush on him in middle school. I had no idea that my father was THE Jarron Marcus.
The video crackles and there is laughter coming from behind the camera.
"Shut up, dipshit," my father says with his eyes brimming with laughter. "Sorry, folks."
There is another laugh from the room. I can see the man sitting in front of the room shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Apparently he wasn't expecting that.
"Mother, stop crying, I'm okay now," my father's voice says and he's turned to the camera almost like he's looking straight at Ms. Marcus, er, my grandmother.
"He knows me even in death," she whispers beside me.
"I want to thank you all for joining us today," my fathers voice says once more through the TV, "except those of you who are here just to be greedy, I know who you are and you're getting nothing."
I look around the room and there is a woman standing in the back who makes a tsking noise with her tongue before leaving through the front door. I can't help but wonder who she is.
"Now that Gloria is gone, we can start," the video plays on. It's so creepy that he knows what's happening, I guess when you've been around people long enough you get to know them.
"Mother, I'm sorry for leaving this world, I know that you're sad, but I promise, you can make it through this, just remember what I've always said, peace, love and carry on, I don't want you crying anymore for me.
"To start off, I want to tell my mother that Madrid is hers and she no longer has to live in this house, that is if she doesn't want to."
The man up front pauses the video and grabs a tissue and walks over to Ms. Marcus and hands it to her. "You know Madrid is the mansion on the mountain right?"
"Yes, yes, I've been there a few times, thank you," she says warmly.
The man walks back to the front of the room and starts the video once more.
"There will be a lifetime supply of money for you there, you can't refuse my money any longer and I hope you don't want to, mom. I worked hard for the both of us to get to this point and it bothers me that you never wanted me to share my wealth with you. However, with that said, I wouldn't mind if you didn't want the money and would leave a hefty donation to one of the local charities that needs it.
"Tony, you get my Fender collection.
"Madeline, that thing you've always wanted, you know, the car, you get it."
The list continues and I have to admit that I was surprised that my father had such extensive funds, I've been trying to keep track and he's already given away at least thirty million dollars.
"Tawney, my dear, sweet, beautiful daughter, I've tried for so long to have you in my life and I wanted so desperately to see you grow up, in hopes that I would one day not only walk you down the aisle, but to be the band at your wedding, but sometimes our lives are cut short. I never meant to hurt you or your mother in anyway and I'm glad that you were raised in a steady environment and not on the road like you would have been if your mother would have stayed.
You are and always will be my pride and joy, I just wish that I would have gotten to see you in your childhood more than I did. For that I am eternally sorry. I feel that I could have tried more.
"I want you to have everything else of mine. That's the remaining nine hundred and seventy million dollars."
I gasp again and this time feel like I'm going to hyperventilate.
"What?" I say with my hands in my head, shaking my head back and forth in disbelief.
"And if I know you, because I figure you are so much like me, you are sitting there, about to freak out, head in your hands, shaking your head, but honey, I'm serious, all of this money is yours."
"Nine hundred and seventy million dollars," I gasp.
The video continues but I can't hear a word my father is saying, my mind is reeling. I can't believe that I've just inherited a ton of money. More than a ton. Almost a billion dollars.
My father was a billionaire.
I'm a multimillionaire.
I stand up and I bolt for the front door. Jimmy is right behind me.
"I can't do this!" I scream to the sky.
"Tawney, wait!" Jimmy yells out.
I keep running until I'm at the end of the road. I start to take a left, but my feet slip out from underneath me and I fall flat on my butt.
Breathlessly, Jimmy catches up to me and pulls me up by one hand off of the ground.
I dust the dirt off of the back of my skirt.
"Don't run away from this," Jimmy all but begs me.
"I can't handle all of this!" I say, "it's just too much!"
"Take a deep breath," Jimmy says placing his hands on my shoulders.
I obey him and start taking deep breaths through my nose and out of my mouth.
"Ready to go back?" Jimmy asks after about five minutes.
"I guess so," I say with a shrug.
We walk back together, Jimmy holding my hand reassuringly, I also think it so he makes sure that I'm not going to run off again.
"I'm sorry," I say to my grandmother when we come back inside.
"It's totally okay, I felt like doing the same thing, but at my age, I wouldn't have made it out of the front door," she laughs lightly.
"It's a lot to take in," I say.
"I know it is, honey, I know," she says patting me on the shoulder.
"Uh, what am I supposed to do?" I ask.
"Just come back and sit down until the reading is over and we'll figure all of that out."
I follow her back into the house and sit back in the chair that I had occupied before leaving.
I put my head back in my hands and let the tears that have been threatening me all day start to fall. I think it has to do something with my lack of sleep as well as the events of the day.
It's not every day a girl gets told that her father was a rock star, a billionaire rock star at that. And it's definitely not everyday that he dies and leaves her all of that money.
The video ends and everyone starts to mill around the living room, grabbing drinks and snacks off of the table that's set up in the far corner.
I stay seated and try to let everything sink in.
The lawyer walks over and sits down next to me.
"Tawney, I'm very sorry for your loss,"
"Thank you," I say quietly.
"There are a few things that we're going to have to sort out before I can let you go though," he says sweetly.
"What would that be?"
"Well, with the extent of money your father has left you, there are supposed to be taxes paid on it, but he's already had that taken care of, so you don't have to worry about that. Do you have a bank account?"
"No, sir, I do not," I answer as calmly as I can.
"Well, we're going to have to set that up for you so I can start transferring money to your account. Your father has restrictions on how much you can spend each year, depending on what the purchase is, so we'll have to go over that and a few more technical things."
"Uh, okay," I say unsteadily.
"Each year, you will be allotted a million dollars, that is unless you purchase something large, like a house or a car, then you can pull that money straight out of the main account.
"Your father has also given you the power over everything about Pride, if you want you can dismember the band and let them go their own ways, or you can find a replacement front man and let them continue. Be assured that no matter what happens, no one will blame you for any of it."
"How long do I have to make this decision?" I ask.
"Six months."
"Wow, that's not really a lot of time," I mutter, "I guess, after I get over my initial shock, I'll make my decision."
"That would be wise, don't rush into anything," the lawyer says to me, giving me a comforting squeeze on my shoulder. "That's all I need from you right now."
"Thank you," I say.
"Dear you look terribly tired, would you like to lay down?" my grandmother asks.
"Yes, please," I say.
"Right this way," she says, offering her hand to me to lead me toward the back of the house I haven't seen yet.
We enter a hallway where there are three doors, she leads me to the first one and I walk in and gasp. There are pictures of my mother and I when I was a baby hanging all over the walls.
"This was your fathers room," she says.
"Wow," I breathe out.
I walk into the room and run my hand along the right wall until I reach a dresser. On top of the dresser is a framed picture of my father and my mother on the day I was born. Her hair is a mess and she looks like she'd been crying. My father is smiling from ear to ear, very proudly. I'm curled up in a blanket in my mothers arms, looking like I'm crying.
Tears form in the corners of my eyes once more and one slides down my cheek as I walk across the room to the bed. The bedspread matches the blanket that I've got that I've had since I was a baby. A soft, red, crocheted blakent.
"I have one just like this," I say to my grandmother.
"I made those," she says proudly.
"I never knew," I say as another tear slips down my cheek.
"I wish that I could have watched you grow up, dear," she says with tears in her own eyes.
"I'm beginning to miss what I never had," I whisper.