Part 26 (2/2)

”Me, too,” he says. ”Do you know what my favorite constellation is?”

I do. I remember him telling me once when I was a kid. But I don't want to admit that I've held on to that bit of information for this long. I shake my head.

”Lyra. It's supposed to be Orpheus's lyre. His father gave it to him when he was a boy. They say Orpheus was so talented, he could control the elements with his music. Animals, trees, rocks, rivers, monsters-even G.o.ds were not impervious to it. He used it as a weapon against Hades.”

”A weapon?” I ask. Ms. Leeds had said that we would eventually discuss the Orpheus myth, but we've been mired in Homer's Odyssey for weeks.

”So to speak. Orpheus had one great love, his wife, Eurydice.

She was bitten by a snake and died, but Orpheus was undaunted.

Armed only with his lyre, he traveled to the underworld and tried to get her back. He used his music to convince the boatman to take him across the river Styx, and also used it to tame Cerberus, the threeheaded dog that blocked his path.

But his greatest feat was playing a song so melancholy and beautiful for the G.o.d and G.o.ddess of the underworld, that even Hades himself could not deny Orpheus the opportunity to save his wife.”

”So he followed her into the dark?” I ask, thinking of Haden's words from earlier today. ”To save her?”

”Well, he tried, at least.”

”He failed?”

”Hades gave Eurydice to Orpheus and told him they would be allowed to escape under one condition-that Orpheus was not allowed to look back at his wife until they had exited the underworld. He led her out, using his voice to guide her, but just when they made it to the exit, Orpheus looked back and Eurydice was lost to him forever.”

”But why did he look back? They were so close.”

”I don't know, really. Some say it's because he thought they'd already reached safety. Others say it's because she cried out because something was wrong. Or perhaps he'd lost faith that she was still there. Most storytellers agree that it was Hades' punishment-that he knew Orpheus would fail.”

”Punishment? But he's the one who said they could go.” ”To the ancient Greeks, questioning the will of the G.o.ds-let alone acting out against it-was the ultimate sin. Orpheus's sheer audacity in thinking he could reverse his fate-get his wife back from the clutches of the G.o.d of death-was considered wrong. It's a morality tale. You fight destiny, and it'll come back to bite you in the a.r.s.e every time.” Beyond the noise of the restaurant and the chattering patrons at the tables that surround us, I catch the most melancholy tone wafting up from Joe. ”You can't fight your destiny.

Believe me, I've tried.”

I am about to ask him if he really believes in all this fate stuff or if he's just being melodramatic for the sake of the story, but three servers appear with tray after tray of food. One of the servers asks for a picture of Joe. He poses with her and then digs into a plate of cheese fries like a man who hasn't eaten in days. I bite into my bacon cheeseburger. I'd be lying if I don't say it is the best thing I've ever tasted-even better than the burgers we'd grill up behind the shop on Sunday afternoons. But I'd never tell my mom or Jonathan that.

”What happened to Orpheus after that?”

”Some say he died of a broken heart; others say he was torn apart by a group of crazed women because he was too sad to pay attention to them. . . .”

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 surehe is the one who first coined his ”G.o.d 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 clas.h.i.+ng 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, very 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 gla.s.s. He smiles at me. His teeth look as bleached white as teeth could possibly get. ”So this is the illusive 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 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?”

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?” Sunny says.

Joe shakes his head.

<script>