Not This Time

Nina: June 5, 2013

     "Yeah, it was nice to meet you too," I said with a wave as I backed away toward my cab. It wasn't necessarily a lie, but I honestly couldn't have cared less. I was only there because Brian had booked it for me. He was the boss. I dropped my smile as I turned away and climbed into the cab.
     "Where to now?" Doug asked. He'd been booked out for me for the day, the poor man. He was being paid well, but only debatably well enough to put up with me all day long. I leaned forward and sighed. "I'd love to go home, but I think New York is a little too far out of your range." Doug snickered at me and agreed. I gave him a fake pout and groaned, "Do you know the restaurant The Melting Pot?"
     "Oh yeah," he said as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Good place. Great food. You should try the stew."
     I gazed at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes had extra liner than I usually wore, and they'd teased my hair up a little for the photoshoot. They were going for a specific look, I guess. I didn't really care. It was hard to care about most things these days. With another sigh, I finally answered him.
     "I've had it."
     "I didn't even tell you which one."
     "Doesn't matter," I assured him, leaning back in my seat again, "I've had it. I've had everything on the menu at some point or another."
     He didn't ask, but I could tell he was curious. I didn't volunteer any information however, and he didn't speak up again until he announced that we'd arrived. I peeked out the window at the restaurant as we pulled up. It had been a long, long time since I'd been in that restaurant. A decade, at least, this year. The outside had gotten a facelift since the last time I'd seen it. The logo had been modernized, which was good considering it had been stuck in the 90s most of my teenage life.
     "Why don't you park and come on in," I suggested, leaning forward on the front passenger seat again. I nodded when Doug looked over at me. "I'll cover your lunch. You can have whatever you want." I got out and finished through the open door, "Might I suggest some stew?" Doug chuckled and thanked me just before I closed the door. Looking over the top of the car, I took my phone out and took a picture of the storefront. As I made my way to the door, I added the picture to a text message with the words 'Like the new sign.'
     And sent.
     One of the waiters started to greet me as I stepped through the door, but I held up a hand to stop him. With the same hand, I motioned over my shoulder at my cab driver, who was still stepping up onto the curb from the parking lot.
     "I'm going to be at a different table, but whatever this man orders, put it on my check, okay?" I instructed just as Doug got inside. The waiter started to nod, but another familiar voice spoke up in addition.
     "And whatever's on her check is on the house," Gordon declared, bringing his hand down on the waiter's shoulder, "Mark them under Owner Expense. She's here to see me." The waiter nodded to him and turned away to grab a menu for Doug.
     "You know the owner?" Doug asked me quietly.
     I looked at him, unaffected. "He's my dad." Doug tilted his head in surprise and I smirked a little in amusement. "I told you I'd had everything on the menu." Gordon put his arm around my shoulders and beamed. "Yup, she was my test subject for all the recipes."
     "That's cool," Doug said in an awed tone. He nodded for a minute more, looking between the two of us. Then the waiter cleared his throat and Doug snapped out of it. "Right. Thank you, sir," he said to Gordon. Then he turned to me. "Just let me know when you're ready to go, Ms. Nina."
     I grimaced. "Ugh, just Nina, Doug."
     "Alright, Nina," he chuckled.
     "Enjoy your lunch," Gordon told Doug as he followed the waiter away. With that, Gordon motioned me toward another table that he had set aside for us. I sank into the chair and leaned back with a sigh. He sat down, as well, as he waived another waiter over to take our order. I didn't even need a menu. I'd been thinking about it ever since we'd set the lunch date.
     "Yeah, I'd like a schnitzel plate, please," I ordered, looking up at the kid as he set our water glasses on the table. "Chicken, with kartoffelpuffers and steamed broccoli, if you have it."
     "No pepper," Gordon interjected.
     "No pepper," I confirmed, still looking at the waiter. He scribbled my order and turned to my dad expectantly.
     "Just bring me some of the ratatouille I started earlier," Gordon requested dismissively. The kid made another note on his little notepad and nodded. Man, I did not miss those days.
     "And to drink?" he asked, looking back at me.
     "Oh, the water is fine," I replied. Gordon agreed and the kid scampered off to tell the kitchen. I turned back to my dad and gave him an appreciative nod. "Ratatouille."
     "Trying to eat a little healthier," Gordon explained, rubbing his stomach in small circles, "The more veggies the better."
     I smiled a little and nodded again. "Good for you," I complimented, genuinely. Normally, that phrase coming from me would be sarcastic, but I really did mean it. As much as I didn't get along with Maribelle, I harbored no real ill will against my dad. It was difficult not getting to see him as often because of the estrangement with his wife.
     "Are you okay?" Gordon asked out of the blue.
     I blinked out of my thoughts and looked up at him. "Pretty sure, yeah. Why?"
     He shrugged. "I don't know, you just seem....off," he observed, "There's something different about you."
     "Oh, yeah." I sighed, "It's the makeup and my hair and stuff. I just came from a photo shoot. Sorry. I know it looks-"
     "No, it's not that," he interrupted, "You seem kind of.....sadder." Oh. I knew what he was talking about, but I wasn't really sure how to address it. He must have sensed my discomfort, because he added quickly, "And skinnier, have you been eating?"
     I snickered. He sounded like a parent. "I've been eating," I assured him, "I just.." The sentence trailed off as I tried to figure out how to put it without worrying him. Mostly, I was pretty open about the depression, but this was my dad. After a minute of avoiding eye contact, I figured there was probably no better way to say it than to just say it. "I've been dealing with some depression recently," I sighed finally, "It's not a big deal. The tour helps."
     He didn't say anything at first, but I could see the concern on his face. I tried to smile a little to make him feel better, but it didn't really stick. It never really stuck whenever I wasn't onstage. I think the fact that it didn't just deepened his concern more.
     "It isn't about your mother, is it?" he asked gently. I scoffed and shook my head. I'd stopped wasting emotional energy on her years ago. Gordon frowned more. "So what's going on then? I mean, is everything okay?"
     I shrugged again, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "I dunno," I answered honestly, "I'm not really sure what's causing it. I'm doing the best I can, though. There's only so much I can do. Penny's method of coping doesn't work for me. I've just been trying to stay busy. Keeps my mind off it."
     "Penny's your friend in New York, right?" he asked, taking a sip of his water. I nodded again. So did he. "How's she doing?"
     "She's good. I think she's working on a TV show right now, but she's been calling in on her connections for me whenever she gets a chance," I chuckled, "She's trying so hard to help me out of this mood. It's really so sweet of her."
     Gordon smiled at that. "What about your other friend?" I could feel the confusion on my face, even though I was pretty sure I knew who he was talking about. Still, I waited for him to say it. He thought for a second and then pointed to me. "Matt! Matt was his name, wasn't it?"
     I pursed my lips with a small nod. "Yeah, it was Matt," I confirmed, "We don't talk anymore. We haven't spoken in over a year now."
     "Uh oh, what happened?"
     I shrugged. "He and his girlfriend were keeping something from me. He lied straight to my face when I asked him what it was." I paused and shook my head, looking away. I hadn't thought about it in a long time. I'd been too busy with my album and my band to even have a chance. I didn't realize it would still make me angry to talk about it. "They were part of the problem," I concluded, finally looking back at my dad.
     "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I know it's hard losing a friend. I'm proud of you, though, for recognizing what kind of behavior is unacceptable and cutting it out."
     "I try," I snickered as I picked up my water glass. As soon as my glass was clear of the table, my plate of schnitzel was set down in front of me. Oh, the food looked perfect, just like I remembered it.
     We took a few moments to get into our food. I savored the crumb coat on the chicken schnitzel and the crunch of the broccoli; it was steamed just right. It felt funny eating a German-inspired dish sitting across from a traditionally French dish. That was my dad's genius idea though with The Melting Pot. Different styles of food all in one place. It was a smart plan to expand the target market. He did well with it.
     "How's tour going?" Gordon asked after we'd both gotten a chance to dig in a little, "And the band thing?"
     I nodded as I stabbed a piece of chicken. "I think it's going pretty well, not that I'd have much to base it off of. Brian, our manager, seems excited," I explained, taking my bite. "Fleetwood's going to Europe or Asia or some place in a couple of weeks." I paused to swallow my food and took the opportunity to shake my head so that he didn't think I was done yet. "We're not going with them," I continued, "Brian was telling me he's been getting calls from some places asking for us back."
     "That's great!" he exclaimed through a full mouth.
     "He was talking about setting up a few more dates for us to headline once we split from Fleetwood," I went on. "He's been saying the album's doing really well, but I haven't been watching the charts. I think one of our singles was pretty high up there last I looked, but I couldn't tell you a number."
     Gordon smiled at me. "You know your granpapa and mémé would be very proud of you," he said. I paused, mid-chew and looked up at him. Granpapa and Mémé both died when I was thirteen. That year was harder than usual. Most of my fond memories were of escaping to their house in San Antonio.
     "I miss them," I mumbled, not realizing how much until that moment, "Too bad they never got to see me play."
     "No, they'll always have that Beatles song," Gordon reminded me, "Which was it?"
     Chewing my last bite of broccoli, I smirked at the thought of it. "It was I Feel Fine. That was the only song Granpapa taught me to play."
     "That's the one!" He stirred his ratatouille aimlessly. "Mémé always knew you'd make it if you got a chance." He smiled sadly to himself. "I think Granpapa meant to teach you more songs but you two were having such fun with that one, it just never happened."
     I swallowed the last bite of my meal and set my fork down on the plate. "Yeah," I sighed, "That's okay. My guitarist has been teaching me so that I can help him out on some of the songs." I paused and looked around the dining room for a clock. "In fact, what time is it? I'm supposed to meet up with him for a lesson sometime this afternoon."
     Gordon held up his wrist to look at his watch. "It's almost two. Do you need to go?"
     "Not right this second, but pretty soon here," I told him, glancing over at Doug still enjoying his meal. "I gotta wait for my driver to finish eating anyway," I snickered, looking back at my dad, "I'm not going anywhere without him. Are you sure you don't want me to pay for it? I don't mind, really."
     Gordon set his spoon down and shook his head adamantly. "Absolutely not," he insisted, "You came all this way to visit, the least I can do is cover your meal." I was about to protest when he held his hands up to stop me. "I know you came for your show, not necessarily to visit, but still."
     "You're sure sure?"
     He laughed, "Just let me have this one."
     I closed my mouth and smiled a little. I guessed I could do that. Lord knew he probably didn't get that many wins living with Maribelle. If there was one good thing I got from her, it was her stubbornness, and the jury was still out on whether or not that was actually a good thing.
     "That reminds me," I declared, shifting a little in my chair so I could reach my back pocket. I pulled out a pair of tickets for the show and tossed them onto the table toward him. "These are for you. They'll get you backstage, but Maribelle is not welcome unless she's ready to apologize."
     Gordon picked up the tickets with a nod of thanks and offered another smile as I spoke. I could see his face fall a little, though, when I mentioned Maribelle. He shrugged and motioned toward the kitchen.
     "Maybe I'll take Don or Robert," he sighed, "letting his gaze fall to the tickets once more. "I don't think your mother would enjoy Fleetwood Mac even if she was ready to swallow her pride."
     I shook my head. "Yeah, she probably wouldn't like any of mine either," I snickered.
     Gordon chuckled too and agreed. For a minute, we didn't say anything. There wasn't much else to be said. We were almost like strangers. Not quite, but almost. Before either of us could start a new topic, however, a young lady stepped up to our table.
     "Excuse me," she muttered to me when I looked up, "Are you Nina Artelle?"
     Unfortunately.
     I almost said just that, but then I glanced sideways at Gordon. I wasn't going to say that in front of my dad. Instead, I let out a sort of awkward, "Yeah."
     The girl's face brightened a little. I could tell she was trying to contain her excitement. I just couldn't understand why. It wasn't like I was a big deal. She pointed to another teenager sitting across the room.
     "My little sister is super shy, but we really love your album," the girl explained. I followed her finger to look at the girl on the other side of the room. She looked like she was trying to look like she wasn't looking. I smirked a little at the sight of it as I looked back at her sister. "Would you mind taking a picture with her?"
     I offered the best smile I could manage, which still felt fake. With a glance at Gordon, who nodded, I shrugged back to the girl. "Sure." I looked back over at the girl's sister and waved her over.
     "Oh my gosh, thank you!" the other girl rambled as she scampered over.
     I chuckled. "No problem. What's your name?" I asked as I pulled the chair behind mine closer and patted the seat.
     "I'm Leslie. That's my sister Linsey. We were just talking about No Secrets," she continued excitedly as she sat down, "Dear John is probably my favorite song. I was kind of sad that it wasn't a single! I'd love to hear it on the radio more!"
     I smiled a bit at her enthusiasm. "Me too," I confided, "We're thinking about doing a World War II style video for it, but don't tell anybody. I'm not supposed to be talking about it." I made an 'oops' face.
     Leslie just about glowed with excitement. She looked so happy that I'd shared that with her. I leaned back toward her and held up a rock'n roll sign with my hand. Leslie leaned in, too, as her sister held up her phone to take the picture.
     "Hold on now," Gordon piped up suddenly, hopping up from his seat, "You said you're both fans! Get in there, I can take it for you!" Linsey didn't argue. She pranced over to stand next to her sister.
     "Thank you so much!" Linsey whispered to me as she leaned in.
     Gordon held up the phone and stared down his nose at it, just like a dad. After another second, he grinned and called out, "Smile!"