Onyx-Black, Part 2
part one is down about 2 entries.
“What plane? Dad hates planes. He don’t fly.”
“He’s not flying. Come on, girl, you’re gonna be late! He tugged on her arm, nearly pulling it out of the socket. When she still didn’t move, he shot her an angry, exasperated glance. “Come on, Onyx. I’ve got 45 minutes before your coked-up father blows up the set during sound check, and I’m taking up most of it carting your precious ass around, so could you move it, now, or do I have to carry you?”
She weighed her chances of getting anywhere against that mood, found them slim, and capitulated, following him. It wasn’t like she had any attachment to the bus, anyway, not like her father had.
Todd shepherded her down the elevator and through the lobby. This early in the morning, only the most die-hard of groupies were hanging around - and most of these knew her by name. Three tired women napping on a lobby couch glanced up at her, waggling their fingers idly at her -Margot, Dawn, and Twilight. She waved back, distracted from her plight for a moment.
“How’s the article going, Margot?” she teased. Margot had been “writing a story about the band for Rolling Stone” since Onyx was a baby. So far, there had been no visible result.
“Going great, Onyx,” Margot responded. “I’ve even got a part in there about you!”
“Great!” Onyx responded dully, suddenly depressed. There had been innumerable passing paragraphs about her in thousands of articles printed about her father and Wyld Lyon, not a one of which said anything truthful or genuine about her, her interests and pet peeves and life. People were interested in the idea of a girl who was growing up in the rock n’ roll lifestyle, but not in the real girl, in her, Onyx-Black Walker.
She let Todd herd her into the waiting limo passively, throwing her duffel bag at him and letting him search it without a complaint. He pulled out the dime bag, tossing it in his own attaché, and tsk’ed softly.
“You know better, Onyx.”
Of course I do, but what’s it matter?, she wanted to ask, but didn’t. It would likely only start an argument. Meanwhile, Todd had pulled out her bowie knife - a gift from one of her dad’s roadies - and paused in amazement at the copy of The Lord of the Rings tucked inside a sweater. There being no reason to confiscate that, however, he just shook his head and moved on.
“You’ve hardly enough clothing in here for a week; don’t you carry another bag?” She shook her head mutely in response. “All right. I’m wiring ahead a goodly pile of money - Rhapsody can help you get it changed. Maybe she can take you shopping, get you some clothes. Aren’t you old enough to start caring about clothes and things?”
“I’m twelve,” she answered, allowing herself to become a little amused - Todd never seemed to be able to remember how old she was. Even her father did better than that.
“Only that? It seems like you’ve been around so much longer,” he teased, and Onyx couldn’t help but smile a bit and stick her tongue out at him. Curious, she asked,
“Rhapsody? Is that the new nanny’s name?”
Todd grew suddenly interested in a small stain on his tie.
“What plane? Dad hates planes. He don’t fly.”
“He’s not flying. Come on, girl, you’re gonna be late! He tugged on her arm, nearly pulling it out of the socket. When she still didn’t move, he shot her an angry, exasperated glance. “Come on, Onyx. I’ve got 45 minutes before your coked-up father blows up the set during sound check, and I’m taking up most of it carting your precious ass around, so could you move it, now, or do I have to carry you?”
She weighed her chances of getting anywhere against that mood, found them slim, and capitulated, following him. It wasn’t like she had any attachment to the bus, anyway, not like her father had.
Todd shepherded her down the elevator and through the lobby. This early in the morning, only the most die-hard of groupies were hanging around - and most of these knew her by name. Three tired women napping on a lobby couch glanced up at her, waggling their fingers idly at her -Margot, Dawn, and Twilight. She waved back, distracted from her plight for a moment.
“How’s the article going, Margot?” she teased. Margot had been “writing a story about the band for Rolling Stone” since Onyx was a baby. So far, there had been no visible result.
“Going great, Onyx,” Margot responded. “I’ve even got a part in there about you!”
“Great!” Onyx responded dully, suddenly depressed. There had been innumerable passing paragraphs about her in thousands of articles printed about her father and Wyld Lyon, not a one of which said anything truthful or genuine about her, her interests and pet peeves and life. People were interested in the idea of a girl who was growing up in the rock n’ roll lifestyle, but not in the real girl, in her, Onyx-Black Walker.
She let Todd herd her into the waiting limo passively, throwing her duffel bag at him and letting him search it without a complaint. He pulled out the dime bag, tossing it in his own attaché, and tsk’ed softly.
“You know better, Onyx.”
Of course I do, but what’s it matter?, she wanted to ask, but didn’t. It would likely only start an argument. Meanwhile, Todd had pulled out her bowie knife - a gift from one of her dad’s roadies - and paused in amazement at the copy of The Lord of the Rings tucked inside a sweater. There being no reason to confiscate that, however, he just shook his head and moved on.
“You’ve hardly enough clothing in here for a week; don’t you carry another bag?” She shook her head mutely in response. “All right. I’m wiring ahead a goodly pile of money - Rhapsody can help you get it changed. Maybe she can take you shopping, get you some clothes. Aren’t you old enough to start caring about clothes and things?”
“I’m twelve,” she answered, allowing herself to become a little amused - Todd never seemed to be able to remember how old she was. Even her father did better than that.
“Only that? It seems like you’ve been around so much longer,” he teased, and Onyx couldn’t help but smile a bit and stick her tongue out at him. Curious, she asked,
“Rhapsody? Is that the new nanny’s name?”
Todd grew suddenly interested in a small stain on his tie.