The Shadow Prince

I smirk, thinking of some of Joe’s more rabid fans I’d seen on TV. It isn’t too hard to believe.

“Others say that his father, Apollo, carried him away in his sun chariot. Whatever the story was, the loss of his music was so lamented that Zeus himself threw Orpheus’s lyre into the heavens, and it became the Lyra constellation.”

I can see why it is Joe’s favorite constellation. I wouldn’t be surprised if he fancies himself a modern Orpheus. I am pretty sure he is the one who first coined his “God of Rock” nickname.

“Is that why you chose Orpheus and Eurydice for the subject of the play?”

“Among other reasons.” Joe holds up one of the burgers he ordered. “You have to try this. It’s bloody brilliant. It has a fried egg and a slice of beet in it.”

I wash down a bite of my cheeseburger with a gulp of milk shake and pull a gagging face at Joe.

“No, really. Try it.”

He waves the burger in my face, and I know he’s not going to stop until I take a bite. To my surprise, it’s even better than my burger.

“That is bloody brilliant,” I say, mimicking his accent.

“Eh, watch your mouth, girly,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes a bite of the burger. “Bobby and I first had these in New Zealand. Told him if he ever opened his restaurant, he had to put it on the menu,” he says with his mouth full. “Eh, you should come with us sometime. On tour.”

I choke on an onion ring.

“You okay there? Put your hands in the air. Maybe try some water?” He smacks me on the back until I stop coughing. “Yes, you should come on tour with us to Australia and New Zealand. You would love it. The stars are so much brighter there, and you can see constellations that you could never see here. We could go tramping up a volcano or something with a telescope. Now, there would be a good trip.” He pounds his fist on the table, excited. “Next summer, you’re coming with us!” he practically shouts.

“Joe, I don’t think—” My desire to see the world and my uncertainty about going on tour with the father I barely know come clashing together. Mostly, it irks me that one evening at the planetarium and a shared burger make him think that we’re the best of friends now. That I’d want to go with him. That anything has been forgiven …

“Joe, my boy!” says an extremely enthusiastic voice.

Joe and I both look up. A man in a trim, expensive-looking, light gray suit stands in front of our table. He holds what looks like a spinach smoothie in his hand. I can’t quite place his face, but I feel like I’ve seen him before.

“Sunny,” Joe says. He sits up straighter. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Bobby has done a fantastic job, don’t you think? Fantastic! Though he could stand to put some healthier items on the menu. Had to have the chef make me something special.” He lifts his green glass. He smiles at me. His teeth look as bleached white as teeth could possibly get. “So this is the elusive Daphne. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your beautiful daughter?”

“Oh yes,” Joe says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Daphne, this is Mr. Sunny. My manager.”

“Oh.” One of the few things I do know about Joe’s career is that he’s been with the same manager for almost eighteen years. Kind of unheard of in the business, these days. Which is weird, because even though Joe has a polite smile on his face, the tone coming off him makes it clear that he’s less than happy to see his manager at the moment.

I take the hand that Mr. Sunny offers. He clasps his fingers around mine as we shake. His skin is as cold as ice. Or I guess as cold as the smoothie he’s been holding.

“We were just discussing some plans for the summer,” Joe says. “Wouldn’t it be nice to take Daphne on tour?”

Mr. Sunny’s enthusiastic grin falters at the edges. I’m guessing that traveling with your teenage daughter doesn’t do the best thing for your image when you’re a rock star trying not to seem middle-aged to the younger generation.

“You haven’t forgotten about your obligations this spring, have you?” Mr. Sunny says.

Joe shakes his head.

“Speaking of which, Bobby says you’ve missed your last two sessions at the recording studio.”

Ah, the reason Joe isn’t happy to see Mr. Sunny. He’s been slacking.

“I’ve been busy working on the musical for Daphne’s school.”

“Oh, that explains it,” Mr. Sunny says merrily, but the sound coming off him is anything but. “Joe, may I have a word with you in private?”

“Of course.” Joe pats my hand as he stands. “I’ll only be a minute, Daph.”

“You are letting yourself get distracted,” Mr. Sunny says to Joe as I watch the two walk away. A mixture of very unhappy sounds is coming off both of them. I imagine Joe is about to get a berating for neglecting his “God of Rock” duties.

“So, you do exist,” a man says as he scoots into the booth next to me.

I blink at him until recognition clicks. I’ve seen him on TV countless times with Joe. Bobby Rox, Joe’s drummer.

“I did the last time I checked,” I say.

Bobby laughs. He’s pink-faced, and I can tell he’s on the verge of being drunk.

“Tell you what. We thought the old monk had made you up so we’d stop teasing him about being a eunuch!” he says with a chuckle.

“Did you just call my father a eunuch? Because I’m going to need a Brillo pad for my brain to get rid of that mental image.”

Bobby laughs so loud that the people at the adjacent tables stare. “We just like to tease the old boy. I’m sure he’s got all the right equipment. The guy’s as celibate as a monk. In all our years, with all those groupies and reporters and supermodels, he’s never once … you know.”

“Again with the mental images …” I point at myself. “Daughter, remember?”

Although a slightly disturbing topic of conversation, this bit of information surprises me about Joe. He’s never struck me as the religious type, nor the self-disciplined type, either. My mom had never said whether she and Joe had ever technically gotten divorced. Was it possible he is just that faithful?

I shake my head. They’d seen each other only five times in the last seventeen years. That certainly didn’t count as a marriage. There had to be another reason for Joe’s discretion.…