4) Going on Tour
While Mrs. Wyman and Jess made up the downstairs guest room, the Professor plugged in his laptop and got to work at the kitchen table. After clicking for half an hour, he phoned a few people. His voice really carried, which Mrs. Wyman counted as an asset since he was a teacher. “Jess,” he had said, “was a top-notch student. In one short semester, she taught me as much as I taught her.” He rotated a pinkie finger and winked, signals that meant nothing to Jess’s mother.
Pulling out fresh sheets for the bed and clean towels for the bath, Mrs. Wyman grabbed her daughter’s hand and arched an eyebrow. Jess shook her head and even recoiled a little. Their weekend guest was not her boyfriend. His voice on the phone ricocheted at the corners, as if he were striving to broadcast his conversations. Arms folded, mother and daughter stared out the window, taking in the summer lawn and dappled hedge.
“Derrick. Wait up. Case of mistaken identity; that’s another guy, not me. This is Professor Charles Xavier. Like in the comics? No shit. I’ve got a driver’s license to prove it, a big white van, and four bookings in Boston. Thing is, this incredible spectacle has appeared on the scene. Are you open to adding Emma Frost to the show? Well, get up for it. One look at her and you’ll split wide open. She might even sing for all I know. Thought balloon. Do you have rehearsal space? We’re safe there? Text me the address so I’ll have it. Midnight’s fine. See you then.”
Jess was hopping up and down, as softly as a bird. “Can you believe it, Mom?” she whispered. “They want me as Emma Frost in a costume band.”
“Is that what he was saying? It sounded like code to me. Oh, look at how late it is. I didn’t have any real estate work so I better make dinner.” Her mother opened the refrigerator and was pulling out meat and vegetables. Jess waited until she stood up and touched her shoulder.
“Mom, this whole hair-bleaching accident, the timing, and the way your salon fixed me up feels cosmic. Not in any weird sense, but you know. Taking the stage as Emma Frost? That’s the ultimate, fuck-all adventure.”
“You don’t know that yet.” If Jess was off the mark, her bright, confident, young daughter would crumple inside. The downside of being young—you hoped for so much so fervently. You died every day. But now, she was already gone.
Standing in the driveway with the Professor, Jess and Nick stuck their heads inside the van. Peeking through the window, catching a glimpse of her mother’s head, Jess told Professor X, to concentrate on her father. Her mother got too wrought up; she’s bombarded with risks; in her mind, they never let up. But she’d never interfere, either. Dad’s the one who’ll want answers.”
As Professor X showed off his equipment, five boxes of synthesizers and amplifiers, a tower of looped cables, six sleeping bags and three tents, Nick said, “Our dad’s tough. He’s a tyrannical perfectionist in his real estate business. And to relax, like for fun? He intimidates whoever’s around. Unless you’re one of his personal, big-money clients.”
“An alpha dog then.”
“Except—Jess, bet you didn’t know this,” Nick said. “He’s got a collection of X-Men comic books from 1975 to 1980.”
“The Wolverine was the popular mutant, Nick. Sure his collection isn’t the Wolverine?”
“He has the X-Men’s 100th issue. But I’ve never heard him mention Emma Frost.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the Professor said. “If he collected the X-Men comics, that’s an advantage.”
Then the kind-hearted, happy-go-lucky, screw-up bar owner, Jess’s sweet, incompetent former boss, took her aside. Did she really want to do this? He didn’t want to talk her father into it if certain qualms were already getting to her.
“Touring involves some seedy stuff, some hand-to-mouth. And the d.js. drink, do drugs, and play women like a contact sport. They’ll bitch about you, compete for you, love you, hate you, and take bets on which one drives you nuts the most.”
“Isn’t that part of the fun?”
“Well, yeah, it can be. It can be. Especially if you’re Emma Frost.”
(To be continued)
