Daniel Price - Slick

In his message, Alonso had only stated that Harmony had…a visitor. He’d said it with such delicate discretion that for a moment I thought he was referring to her period. If only. Harmony was indeed dealing with her very own blood, but it was all in the form of a fifty-eight-year-old man whose arrival I probably should have anticipated.

At ten o’clock he approached the main entrance to the hotel, only to be stopped by doormen. From his stained army jacket, torn jeans and duct-taped shoes, it was obvious he wasn’t a distinguished guest of the Miramar. And yet despite his pauperlike appearance, the man insisted he was a Prince.

“You show her this photo,” he demanded. “You show her my ID. She’ll know me.”

Sadly, he wasn’t the first one to try to ride his way in on the long lost-relative ticket. He wasn’t even the first one who proclaimed to be Harmony’s father. But he was the first to offer evidence. In addition to a long-expired driver’s license, he bore a photograph from 1981, the only known picture of Harmony’s two natural parents.

I suppose I couldn’t blame her for wanting to meet her biological father, if even just to confront him. Nobody could blame me for assuming the worst in Franklin Prince. At thirty-eight, he’d knocked up his adolescent foster daughter and then abandoned his family to live with her in Modesto. Shortly after Harmony was born, he discarded both lover and child for a new teenage squeeze. He wasn’t the villain of Harmony’s life (that would be her stepfather), but he wasn’t a beacon of virtue either.

I was dying to know how she was doing. The phone rang six times before she answered. She sounded tranquilized.

“Hello.”

“Harmony. It’s me. I heard. Jesus. How are you?”

“I can’t talk now.”

“Is he still there?”

Pause. “Yeah.”

“Listen, I want you to call me the minute he leaves, okay? Don’t worry about the time. I’ll be up.”

“Okay.”

“You promise to call me?”

“Yeah,” she said after another discomforting silence. “I gotta go.”

I put the phone down, then stretched out on the couch. It was hard to think, especially with Jean still running loose in my head. I watched Saturday Night Live until my eyes fell shut. When I opened them again, it was two-thirty in the morning. My red phone was ringing.

“Harmony?”

She didn’t respond, but I could hear her soft sniffles. I sat up.

“Okay, are those good tears or bad tears?”

She sniffed again. “I don’t know.”

“Well, how did he seem?”

“Terrible. He was missing teeth. He had these sores on his hands. And he smelled awful. I felt so bad for him.”

He must have been a pathetic sight indeed. I couldn’t imagine anyone, even Harmony, being anything less than furious.

“So was he all apologies?”

“Yeah. He said he’s a different man now, that he’s been living in shame over what he did. He said he’s been trying to find me for a while. Then he saw me on the news.”

I resolved not to say anything. No misgivings. No theories. I was just going to follow Maxina’s cue and be supportive.

Unfortunately, Harmony read my silence far too well. “Okay, what?”

“Nothing. I’m just listening.”

“No, you ain’t. You thinking shit.”

“I’m always thinking shit. But right now I’m just here to listen and be your friend.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Scott, just say what you wanna say.”

“Look, I don’t know this man. I can’t judge his motives.” Wincing, I rubbed my temple. “All I’ll say is that it took me one afternoon to find you.”

“Well, he ain’t as smart as you.”

“You didn’t change your name. You didn’t even leave the area.”

“So maybe he just ain’t smart, okay? He’s still my father.”

“I know that. I know. I can’t even pretend to relate to what you’re going through right now. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m very protective of you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She unleashed a jaded laugh that was unique for her. And worrisome to me.

“It’s not that I think he’s out to hurt you,” I stressed. “I just think he’s…” Damn it. Shut up. Shut up. “Can I ask you a question?”

She let out an acrid sigh. “What?”

“Did he ask you for money?”

Her lack of answer was answer enough. I threw my head back, mouthing a curse.

“Did you give him money?”

Still nothing.

“You gave him all the money I gave you.”

After another lull, her crying gasps started up again. Son of a bitch. He was better off staying out of her life. Franklin Prince was not a nice man, nor was he a subtle man. And Harmony wasn’t stupid. She could tell from the start that her father was looking at her through dollar-sign eyes. All I was doing was confronting her with her own worst suspicions.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m sorry I—”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What?”

Her voice was low and guttural now, full of teary rasp. “Stop calling me ‘sweetheart.’ Stop calling me ‘honey.’ Stop talking down to me like I’m your goddamn bitch.”

I leaned forward, stunned. “I’m sorry. Harmony. I didn’t know that bothered you. If I’d known—”

“Just stop talking! I am so sick of you talking! I’m sick of you talking, and playing me, and acting like you care about me and shit!”

“I do care about you.”

“You never cared about me! You only care about getting what you want!”

I stood up. “Harmony, I’m not the one you’re mad at right now.”

“Yes you are! I’m mad at you, Scott! I’m mad at you for always talking down to me! I’m mad at you for always telling me how I feel! I’m mad at you for not telling me about Lisa Glassman!”

“Wait. What?”

“And for promising me all this money and then not letting me take a dime!”

“Hold it!”

“And I’m mad at you for kissing me and promising me the world and then locking me up in this motherfucking room for the rest of my life! ”

“Wait!”

“Fuck you!”

The line went dead. The phone fell out of my hand. I put it back on the coffee table, then lay down on the couch again. My eyes were wide open. I spent the next few hours staring up at the ceiling, connecting the stucco dots into images that were both grand and intricate.

________________

Although she didn’t tell me, Harmony had another visitor on Saturday.

At three o’clock a lovely young woman of Korean descent approached the bodyguards outside Harmony’s suite. From her small white bikini, she seemed to be a guest who’d stumbled off (way off) from the pool area. After greeting the men, she removed the towel from her waist and slowly spun around for them. Her goal, aside from causing erections, was to prove that she wasn’t hiding any recording equipment. She wasn’t with the press. She was simply a businesswoman who required a few moments of Harmony’s time.

Like most women who caused erections, and like most erections, she was indulged. The bodyguards let her deliver her pitch through a two inch crack in the door.

Harmony, my name is Kathy Oh. I’m a publicist. A very good one. Now you can listen to me or not, but I’m telling you right now that whoever’s handling you is wasting you. You’ve got a spotlight on you that few people ever get. You should use it before it goes away. Make a difference. Make some money. I can get you enough offers in the next seven days to set you up for the rest of your life .