Page 139 of Dirty Like Zane
For as long as I could remember, I’d wanted to work in the music industry and manage bands—and not because I loved music. I did, but the real reason I’d always been so driven to succeed in my career was because deep down I’d been seeking my father’s recognition and approval allalong.
I knewthis.
My musical talent was pretty much nil, but the business side of things had proven a solid fit for me, and I knew that was the only way I’d have a chance of making a name for myself in theindustry.
The only thing my dad had ever seemed to care about besides himself was the musicindustry.
Well, and hisdog.
And yes, I wanted hisapproval.
That was never more clear to me than when I sat here in his tacky house and felt his supremelackofapproval.
It wasn’t that my father disapproved of me,exactly.
He just didn’tapprove.
And seeing him like this, fawning over Cookie? He was now feeding her treats from a silvered-glass bowl… and JesusChrist.
I was jealous of adog.
“I don’t expect anything from you, Dad,” I told him, which was true enough. Maybe I did want, but I’d learned long ago not toexpect.
“How’s your husband?” he asked, switching topics like I hadn’t even spoken. Was hetryingto be an asshole? Because he definitely hadn’t asked me howIwas since I’d stepped in the door. “You know, I asked him to meet up with me when Dirty played Vegas. What was that, two months ago? He never called meback.”
Perfect. I should’veknown.
I’d never heard from my dad while we were in Vegas on this tour… yet he’d reached out toZane.
Zane never told me about that, but I didn’t blame him. He would’ve known it would only hurtme.
“He’s okay,” I saidflatly.
I could’ve said,He’s mad at me right now because I freaked out that our wedding is now in the press, thanks to you, and we spent an hour arguing about it this afternoon while he tried to talk me out of coming to see you, you know, on account of you being such an irretrievable asshole, but Ididn’t.
“Okay?” He grunted. “You’re not making himhappy?”
“I try,” I said; no idea if he’d pick up on the sarcasm. “My mission in life is to make my husband happy, ofcourse.”
“Should be. You play your cards right, he’ll take care of you for the rest of your life. I would’ve taken care of your mother, if she’d steppedup.”
Cards?
Play?
Like my marriage to Zane was some kind of strategicgame?
And mymother…?
My mom did step up—and raised me by herself. With pretty much zero help from him. While he’d fucked groupies and snorted coke in his gold-plated mansion, we’d scrapedby.
I watched him suck back the last dregs of his drink, his eyes unfocused. He was barely following our conversation, and it wasn’t just that he was drunk and/orhigh.
He also truly didn’t give ashit.
Not oneshit.
“What are you on?” I asked him. It wasn’t something I normally asked. Because really, why bother? But I was morbidlycurious.
