ALEXANDRA was disoriented by the shrill ring of the house phone line. It woke her up from a sound sleep at the crack of dawn. She stretched across the bed and reached for the phone. In her groggy daze, she over-reached, and stumbled to the floor with a thump.

“Hello?” she answered, groaning.

“Alexandra?”

“Yes. Is that you, Rosa?” She recognized the woman’s voice.

“Yes. It’s me.”

Rosa Charles was her father’s executive assistant, and very likely his secret significant other. It was unusual for Alexandra to get a call from her, especially at this hour. She looked at the clock on the nightstand next to the bed. It was six thirty in the morning.

“I called Dad earlier. I mean last night, I called. Nobody answered.”

“Alexandra,” Rosa said again.

“Yes?” She pulled herself up to sit. Alarm bells were going off. Rosa sounded on edge. “What is it, Rosa? Did Dad ask you to call me?”

“No, he didn’t. Actually, he told me not to call. I just…well, I saw you were trying to get in contact with him last night. I had to call you to let you know what’s going on. Your father…he’s very ill, love.”

Her heart dropped and a cold dread tickled down her spine at the grave tone the woman used to deliver the news. She was instantly aware that whatever illness Rosa was talking about, it wasn’t some minor virus or common cold.

“What happened to him?” Her voice trembled and her hands shook so much, she was sure she would drop the phone. She steadied the receiver with two hands and leaned back against the bed frame to listen.

“He has a very bad case of pneumonia,” Rosa explained softly. “He can’t shake it, and things aren’t looking good. You father made everyone promise not to tell you, but now he’s taken a turn for the worse and—”

“Why didn’t he want me to know? How could any of you keep this from me?” She heard the alarm and fear blend into her angry tone as she cut Rosa off. She couldn’t believe what Rosa was telling her, but it was more important to find out what was going on. “Hold on. What do you mean he’s taken a turn for the worse?”

“It’s hard to say. The doctors are doing everything they can. They may not be optimistic, but I thought that maybe if you came…”

The phone went silent as Alexandra processed the dire prognosis. Rosa may have been quietly waiting for her to react. None of this made any sense. She tried telling herself it was just pneumonia. People got pneumonia all the time and came out just fine. Her heart raced. She could almost hear the thunderous beats rattling her ribcage. With a breath that was too hard to suck down, she focused back to Rosa.

“I’m coming home,” she said. “Tell my dad I’m coming home. Tell him to hold out for me. I’ll be there before the end of the day.”

The phone clattered as it dropped to the night table. Alexandra moved with frantic energy as Rosa’s words repeated in her head—the doctors weren’t optimistic. She might as well have told her he had mere hours left, because it felt like time was of the essence. She grabbed her smartphone from the edge of the bed to find Rick’s number. She had to let him know.

“There’s been a change of plans, Rick,” she said to him when he answered.

“Baby, you see what time it is? I got a wife, you know. What’s this about a change of plans?”

“Rick, Dad is really sick. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’m leaving on the next plane out. I just called to tell you a month might not cut it...”

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her body shook as she sobbed.

“Whoa, Alexandra,” Rick said, his tone transforming from sarcasm to sober. Her dad was his close friend too. “Maxwell’s in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “Rosa called. He’s in the hospital.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry hun. Can I do anything to help?”

“You can, Rick. I don’t want the media getting wind of this. I need…my family needs privacy, and we both know they won’t respect that. Even at the hospital. They’ll find a way to get to Dad.”

“Absolutely. Discretion is paramount,” Rick whispered. “I already had the media hounds set up to cover your Riviera vacation. That should give you some space for a while.”

Alexandra paced nervously with the cordless phone, and stopped in front of the mirror. One hand raised into her long purple hair. She had let it grow for years. And now, it fell to the back of her knees. It was part of her signature look. Anyone who saw that hair would instantly recognize her, no matter what she tried to do to hide from the media. Looking at this conspicuous mane, she knew what she had to do, and that Rick would never agree.

“I’m cutting my hair,” she shouted, almost surprising herself.

“What?”

“I’m chopping it all off.” She paused to think. “And I’m dying it.”

“Honey you can’t do that.”

“I have to, Rick. That way no one will follow me, and no one will pry into what’s going on. They’ll be looking for my purple hair. I’m sure they won’t recognize me without it. My father deserves some dignity if it’s serious, Rick. You know how he values his privacy. I have to try and give him that.”

As Alexandra spoke, her voice gained conviction. She stared in the mirror. Even without heavy liner and dark eyeshadow, the purple hair defined Lexxi Rock. It was every bit as much a part of her public identity as the stage name. Ridding herself of it was the right thing to do.

She hung up the phone in the middle of Rick’s protests, and dashed down the stairs.

“Lilly!” she shouted. Her housekeeper had to be around. Lilly came in every morning at six.

Alexandra skated across the slick floor of the living room and slid through the archway to the kitchen, out of breath and feeling crunched for time. She found Lilly at the kitchen table, making a breakfast tray for Alexandra as she did on most mornings.

“Lilly, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What is it, Ms. Alexandra?” Lilly asked in surprise.

“My hair. I need you to cut it. Short. Like boyish short. But first I need you to drive to the store and get me some black hair dye. Here’s some money. It’s really important, Lilly, and I really don’t have time to explain. I just need you to do it, and right away!”

At her breathless pleas, the housekeeper nodded and hurriedly grabbed her car keys to leave. Less than an hour later she returned with the hair dye. Lilly quickly led Alexandra to the bathroom attached to her main floor bedroom. She dragged a chair and placed it in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom. Next, she pulled scissors out of a drawer. Lilly was familiar with styling hair. She had once told Alexandra she cut and dyed her own hair all her adult life.

She was grateful Lilly had no qualms about helping her, although the work was punctuated with grumbling and expressions of confusion at Alexandra’s urgency. With steady, sure hands, she brushed through the immeasurably long purple tresses, parting her hair in four, and braiding each section for manageability.

“Are you sure, Ms. Alexandra? This is so extreme for you.”

Alexandra stared at both of their reflections in the mirror, and nodded solemnly. She felt a pang of remorse at the drastic measure, but it couldn’t be avoided. She couldn’t take the risk. For countless events, she stood on stage and whipped around that hair. It had to go. She desperately needed to be anonymous.

Alexandra heard Lilly’s first snip. It felt like a part of her was just cut away. She struggled not to cry.

“Shorter,” she whispered.

By the time Lilly was done, four long, thick, purple braids were resting on the bathroom counter, and piles of hair littered the floor like the purple plumes of some exotic animal. What was left of on her head wisped around her earlobes in a short, curly, almost pixie style that instantly transformed her. She studied herself, marveling at the difference. Her eyes slanted slightly upwards at the corners, and her waxed eyebrows still made her look feminine. It was the same for her pink lips and blunt nose above her slightly full chin. The face hadn’t changed, and yet she had.

“You can sort of pass for a boy, Ms. Alexandra!” Lilly declared.

Alexandra looked at her with a brave, somber half-smile, and told her, “Now let’s do the color.”

* * *

The plane touched down at Tucson International. When the flight attendant cleared passengers to disembark, Alexandra reached up above the seat and dragged down a carry-on bag. So far, traveling by passenger plane helped her avoid the attention of leaving LAX and arriving in Tucson by private jet. She had made it through LAX without being detected, and now, braced herself for this last leg of her trip.

Just like back at LAX, she dreaded walking through the airport. With so many people, she could be recognized. She wore loose olive green jeans, an oversize black t-shirt, and a black zippered hoodie. With sunglasses and a fitted baseball cap pulled low, she followed the other passengers into the terminal building. It was working! No one shouted for autographs or tried to take pictures. In fact, no one noticed her much at all.

She remembered to be polite, and held doors for women, kids and elderly people. She walked with an exaggerated, bow-legged slouch. It was a little over the top, but she hadn’t been able to blend into the background for a long time.

I could so get used to this!

She found the private driver outside the airport, waiting as instructed. She coughed and tried on a lower voice to fit her disguise when giving the address to her childhood home.

The day was already approaching dusk, and the darkening sky showed a smattering of stars. The streets grew more and more familiar as she peered out into the early night. The nondescript black limousine fought through snarling traffic to the Tucson suburbs. It finally came to a stop in front of a beautifully maintained house that rose into the dusk sky. The wraparound porch sat on a base of dark grey granite, and the house was trimmed in off-white. It was a familiar house; her home.

For a moment, Alexandra realized she was sitting in a limousine. This wouldn’t help if she wanted to stay incognito. She asked the driver if he had a personal car. He told her he did—a blue Ford sedan.

That’s more like it.

She asked him to use it instead whenever she phoned to be driven around. He hesitated, but when she offered him double his daily rate to cover the extra expenses, he agreed. Climbing out of the limo with the large backpack as luggage, she ran up to the door. She rang the bell nervously, blowing warm air on her long, slender fingers. Arizona at night was colder; nothing like Beverly Hills during the early summer.

Rosa opened the door. The platinum blonde wore a tangerine pantsuit and a concerned look.

“Hello. How can I help you?” She looked past Alexandra as she stood at the doorstep. “Are you selling something? I may be able to spare a few dollars. How much is it, young man?”

“Rosa,” she said. “It’s me.”

Rosa stepped back and peered at her again. Her mouth dropped open in surprise when she finally recognized who was standing in front of her.

“Alexandra? Oh my gosh! I didn’t even recognize you! What a clever disguise!”

Alexandra whipped off the baseball cap with a sheepish smile. Soon her smile became sober. She stepped inside and turned around to face her, thankful Rosa dared to go against Dad’s orders to let her know about his illness.

“Where is he?” she asked softly.

“At Carondelet St. Joseph’s. I was just headed there. I came by the house to pick up a few things for him. Do you want to ride with me?”

Rosa held an overnight bag and her car keys. Alexandra nodded. She hurried back to the limo driver and let him know she would call him sometime the next day. She reminded him not to come with the limo. She jogged over to Rosa’s SUV and climbed inside. As she got into the vehicle, she noticed a neighbor across the street. He was about to get into a pickup truck. He watched them curiously. Alexandra tugged her hat down lower on her head.

The drive to the hospital was marked by a solemn conversation about her father’s rapidly deteriorating health. Rosa sniffled, retelling how they had initially thought he had a bad cold, until he passed out in the night while going to the bathroom. She nodded, silently noting Rosa’s absentminded confession. She had to have spent the night, and now it was confirmed—Rosa was her dad’s significant other. It all made sense, and easily explained why she was just as shaken by the situation as Alexandra was.

“How long was he sick before he was hospitalized?”

“Over a week. The doctor at the hospital said your father’s immune system was weakened by the medications for his rheumatoid arthritis.”

Alexandra covered her mouth, trying not to fall apart. She did her best to mirror the calm demeanor Rosa was modeling, but inside she was out of her mind with worry. She wasn’t prepared for this. She couldn’t imagine a future without her father.

I have to hold on to hope.

When they arrived at the private room in the ICU at the state of the art hospital, it all became irrevocably real. Maxwell Storme was a bear of a man when healthy, a burly six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, but his illness had taken a terrible toll on him all of a sudden. In fact, her father looked like an entirely different man from the person she saw six months before at Christmas.

The stark white room was chilly and impersonal. Nurses moved soundlessly through the halls like ghosts. Voices whispered, feet silent. The ICU was eerily quiet for such a busy place. Alexandra wanted to scream. It felt exactly like a place where people came to die.

Stop being so morbid, she silently warned herself. He’s going to be fine.

She wished she could take him out of the room and whisk him back home where he belonged. Standing there, she felt like she had when she was fourteen, watching her mother in a similar bed, looking just as depleted. Fate had snuffed out the brightest light in her world. She couldn’t imagine losing her father too. Suddenly the sobs wouldn’t stop, and tears poured down her cheeks.

I might soon be parentless.

It was the coldest, loneliest realization.

The beeping buzzes of equipment made her skin crawl. Her pulse raced with fear. She stepped forward on unsteady legs, vision blurring as she tried to look at her father. He was frail and small, a shell of the size he had been when she last saw him. His skin was so pale, too pale. It couldn’t be healthy.

She clutched his hand desperately, feeling the bones of his fingers, and after a short while, let out another agonized sob.

“How could you keep this from me, Daddy?”

He couldn’t answer—there were tubes up his nostrils and down his throat—but he opened his weak blue eyes. He raised his frail hand, and she could tell he was surprised and pleased to see her, from the creasing of his forehead, widening of his eyes, the way his lips curled upward.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, Daddy,” she whispered, trying to be strong. “I wish you would have told me sooner.”

His smile grew slightly.

“This is just like you, getting sick so you can get me to come home,” she said, hoping to lighten her mood and his.

Rosa stepped up behind her, quiet and still. “He didn’t want to interfere with your music. You were working on a new album, and he wanted to wait and see how things turned out before getting you worried. I’m afraid the wait and see approach didn’t work so well. All of this happened so suddenly. We never expected...”

Alexandra choked back a sob. Her father made Rosa hide his illness. He had always fought hard to protect his privacy, and with Alexandra around—as Lexxi Rock, with swarms of media and paparazzo—there would be no such thing.

“Oh, Daddy,” she whispered with a shake of her head. She turned back to gaze up at Rosa. “Thank you for telling me.” The middle-aged woman smiled tightly and squeezed her shoulder, slipping from the darkened room to give Alexandra and her father some time alone.