Hollywood Hills and Suburban Thrills

We were still driving ten minutes after we had left the airport, stopping abruptly at red lights, turning sharply onto different streets and back roads, and I was trying not to seem disturbed by the notorious hollering of the city around me that I could hear through the glass of the car window. My dad had been receiving calls on his cell phone through the entire drive and each time his phone would ring, he would follow the same routine: glance at the caller, excuse himself from our conversation, and then answer the phone with a sharp "What?"

I had relayed to him what I had been up to in Chicago since we last talked which, according to him, was eleven and a half months ago. I winced when he knew the exact amount, but he waved it off just like I hoped he would. He asked question after question and I would answered each one as honestly as I could.

Then he asked what had happened between my mother and I that had finally pushed her over the edge, and when I finally retold him the entire story, his response was a little more than I had anticipated.

"I'm proud of you," he says with a smile that made the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkle. "Good to know that you don't let her change who you want to be." I smiled thankfully at his understanding.

My dad was just as I had remembered him as. Personality wise, anyway. He had that kind of laugh and smile that would make even the darkest situations seem lighter; happier. Just sitting by him in that huge car was relaxing. He was on his phone again and I turned my gaze out the window, taking in the surroundings of the big city—well, bigger than Chicago anyway.

We were driving through an upper-class looking neighborhood. All the houses around the car were beautiful and expensive-looking. Their showers are probably bigger than my entire bedroom, I think humorlessly as I continued to try and image what it would be like to live in each of the houses we passed.

My dad hung up the phone again, heaving a sigh as he turned his attention to me again. "Sorry," he says for the tenth or eleventh time. I had lost count ten phone calls ago. "My employees go crazy when I'm not around telling them what to do."

I gave him a curious look. "Do you still work at that plastics company?" I ask and his answering grin told me that I was mistaken.

No, I quit that job a two or three years ago." He answers happily but stops at that. I gave him a look.

"Well?" I prod, craning my neck toward him incredulously. "Aren't you going to tell me where you work now?"

This time he beamed. "I work for a record company now," he replies. My eyes bulged and I felt my jaw drop an inch or two. He nodded in confirmation. "Yeah, the year your mother and I divorced." The smile on his face faltered slightly as he watched my response to the subject carefully. I suspected that he was anticipating some kind of hurt reaction, but I didn't so much as flinch at the words. I just smiled at him, signaling him that I was okay. He caught on and continued. "I had such a good time with you at Warped Tour around all those musicians, so I decided to quit my old job and get a job in the music business. Now I'm a tour manager."

"For what label?" I question.

"Fueled by Ramen." He answered.

Again, my response was one of shock. "You work under the label Fueled by Ramen and you don't even tell me until now?" I ask sarcastically and I caught a glimpse of regret in my dad's eyes.

"I didn't actually think you would care that much," he defends himself quietly. "When I left you and your mother, you seemed to have chosen who you preferred between the two of us."

That one stung. If I could've had my choice, I would've stayed with my dad over my mother in a heartbeat. She had told me the day he was leaving that a life with him wouldn't be any fun. He would be working constantly, never at home, and I would have to fend for myself for almost everything. Little did I know at that time that a life with my mother in Chicago would be just as horrid. The only good thing that came out of staying with my mother was that I met Will. I felt my the corner of my mouth twitch upward at the thought.

But then I saw the hurt on my dad's face and the happy thought was gone, replaced with guilt. "I'm sorry Dad," I say.

He looked at me for a moment and I stared back into those green eyes that he and I shared. And then he smiled that comforting smile. "Don't fret about it Dani," he says. "I'm just happy that you chose to come here after what was done to you."

"Well, I don't really have anywhere else to go." I shrug, turning my gaze out the window again to see that we were closing in on a white house—a big white house.

"You don't have a boyfriend that you could be living with?" he asks with a hint of knowing in his voice. Come on, I thought bitterly, surely he can't read me that well already.

"Well I have a boyfriend," I mention timorously, noticing my dad straighten up from the corner of my eye. "He lives back in Chicago."

"And why didn't you stay with him?" he asked and I looked at him. "I mean, I like having you here, don't get me wrong, it's just any other girl would've turned to their boyfriend first. Wouldn’t you agree?"

I gave a half-shrug. "Yes but I'm not like most or any other girls, as much as you and Will may like to think otherwise."

"Will? Is that his name?" my dad asks.

"Yeah, William Beckett." I add. My dad made an 'o' with his mouth.

"And is this William Beckett the lead singer of a band called The Academy Is…?" he asks eloquently, smirking when I rolled my eyes at him.

"Yes, Dad." I answer, shaking my head but smiling still.

"I've heard of him," I looked at him again. "Well, stories concerning him from various tours and events."

"Really? Like what?" I ask, eager to get some dirt on Will. God knows he knew enough about me from Gaskarth and Wentz.

"It's not my place to say," he says, much to my dismay. "But I've been wanting to meet him in person. Is he coming to New York City while you're here?"

The car hit a speed bump and I bounced in my seat, my seat belt pressing harder against my waistline. "No, he's staying in Chicago, waiting for me to go back."

He nodded and gave a thoughtful hum. Then, after taking a quick glance out the window, he was smiling at me. "We're here,"

I looked out the window to see that we were pulling up to a big white house. One that resembled the many huge and luxurious houses that we had passed on the drive here. It was magnificent—and it was my father's?

"This is your house?" I ask in shock, my eyes wide as the car pulled the front door and stopped. I stared up at the house in awe, completely passing up the sound of car doors opening, closing, and opening again. And then, my dad was in front of me, holding the door open as I stepped to the white pavement carefully, still staring up at the house. "This is outrageous."

"Thank you," my dad grins at me, pulling my suitcase while the man who was driving the car had my duffel bag. "Maxwell will show you to your room. I have a few phone calls to make before we go to your party."

"You already have my party planned for me?" I ask in shock.

"Of course I do. I know you're not twenty-one yet, but we're going to Angels & Kings. You know, that Wentz boy's bar?"

I stared agog at my father. "Are you serious right now? I'm underage and you're taking me to a bar for my birthday party?"

"I'll have eyes everywhere though. I may be a pretty lenient party-planner, but I'm a strict father, and I don't want you participating in anything illegal."

"I'll try to hold back," I smart with a small smile as he walked up the stares after Maxwell. My dad turned the corner and went into a kitchen area once we were in the house. I barely caught a glimpse of the kitchen, however, because I was trying to keep up with Maxwell—the man was walking at an unusually fast pace.

And then, he was opening a white door for me and I walked into the room slowly, only to stop dead in my tracks exactly two and a half steps inside.

My bedroom was unbelievable. Probably at least twice the size of my bedroom back at home, it had a queen size bed, a walk in closet, and a bathroom in it. I bit back a girlish moment, choked down a squeal, and walked slowly deeper into the room as Maxwell set my luggage down on the mattress. I was examining my closet when he spoke quietly from the doorway. "I hope you find everything in order Ms. Taylor," he says formally, looking around the room with a proud look.

"Please," I smile at him, inching toward the bathroom, "Call me Dani."

He smiled warmly at me. "Dani. Your father is planning to be on the way to your party in one hour meaning you will want to be ready at around six. Your father bought you another early birthday present and it should be hanging at the end of your closet."

"Thank you, Maxwell." I smile at him, now inching back towards the closet.

He smiled back at me. "You're welcome, Dani." And then he departed.

The moment the door clicked shut I was yanking open the door to my closet and gazing down the hall of hangers and drawers to see a plastic-covered hanger at the end. I darted to it and didn't waste time in pulling the plastic up to see the dress underneath, and once the plastic was out of the way, I was almost laughing in disbelief.

The dress in front of me was beautiful—black with white lace underneath, the ends of the dress were frayed and the back laced up like a corset. There was a note at the top. I ripped it off.

Sorry. I couldn't help myself.

Love,
Dad

P.S. – There are shoes second drawer up to your left. I'm glad you're here and happy birthday.

I blinked away the tears and tore the aforementioned drawer open, seeing the shoes and pulling them out along with pulling the dress off the hanger. I had never really been one to dress up for anything, but how could I turn this down? My dad obviously wants me to wear it and I was having a hard time convincing myself that I didn't want to anyway.

Once I had the dress on, I ran a brush through my hair a couple times, re-did my makeup, and then I gave myself a look in the mirror, and though I would've never believed it to be true, I thought I looked pretty.

I glanced at the clock—it was a quarter to six. I grabbed my cell phone and decided I could just carry it—there was one thing I would never do: own or carry a purse—and walked out of the room to find my dad was still on the phone. He gave me a smile before turning his back on me, talking in a hushed voice to whoever was on the other end of the line. I gazed around the house, trying to act like I wasn't eavesdropping, but my eyes met his when I heard his phone snap closed.

"You look beautiful," he smiles at me.

I blushed. "Thank you,"

"Are you ready for your other present?" He sounded more excited than I was.

"The party?"

He opened the door that lead back to the Escalade. "Your party," and we were on our way.