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laughed as they were meant to, and although I wasn’t feeling it, I did too. As if everything was cool. But I was affronted. Embarrassed. And livid.
    “Okay. I’m just playing. And you’re being a good sport.” He looked from me to his captive audience and encouraged their participation. “Isn’t she? She’s delightful, isn’t she?”
Applause
. “So for anyone who doesn’t know who this lovely young woman is… Scarlette Conterra is Tyler Conterra’s daughter. And the movie she’s here to talk about…” Deliberately, a showman, he trailed off long enough to cue laughter and more catcalls before holding his hand up. “Is ‘Conterra Chronicled.’ This is a documentary of Rock Icon Tyler Conterra. As I mentioned, I had the privilege of being at the premiere. Very moving film. This is the brainchild of Willard Acker. What did you think of him?”
    “He’s brilliant.” Again, I shoveled the shit aside—like the hard feelings I harbored for the documentary content that I’d barely stopped in time—and instead I concentrated on the end result and the small amount of time I’d watched and been impressed by his work.
    “His previous documentaries have won awards, and I have to say, this might be his best work yet. The cinematography is amazing, and the soundtrack brilliantly pulls it all together. Some of it is unreleased tracks?”
    “Yes. They’re actually holding back on the soundtrack because the unreleased recordings will be on an album coming out later this year as well as the soundtrack.”
    “Has your father’s band’s music always been a part of your life?”
    “Yes. I love their songs.”
    “You’re in good company. It’s transcended decades, hasn’t it?” When I nodded, he went on. “The interviews in the film are extremely moving. The questions and answers are very candid.”
    I nodded. “He—Mr. Acker—did reach in, grab the gut, and twist with many of the subjects.”
    “Would you indulge a couple of more questions?” At my nod, he shuffled his cards again. “When did you know who your father was? What age did someone sit you down and say, hey, this man was your father. Or was it a surprise realization?”
    “It was definitely one of those cartoon-light-bulb-flashing-on moments.”
    “Do you mind sharing?”
    “We were living in L.A. My mom had a boyfriend. This particular one came around anytime he was off-tour.” I paused remembering how he would show up and hang around for a bit and then be gone for a bit. And being shuffled off to my maternal grandmother who was still alive at the time when my mom joined him on tour for a week or more at a time. Both scenarios were common with man after man in my mother’s love life. “I was around six or seven, I guess. My mom and I were watching a concert on one of the music stations. He sat down on the couch with us, and I remember wondering what his problem was, because he was being such a—so moody. He finally lost it and demanded she change the station. And my mother said, quote, ‘No. Scarlette wants to watch her daddy.’”
    “And that’s when you knew. You understood?”
    “I asked her a lot of questions in the days to come, but yes. I felt the connection the second she said it. Like a missing piece had suddenly completed me.”
    “In the documentary, you play your father’s guitar. What’s your interest in music? Have you ever wanted to go that direction as a career?”
    “The life of a musician is a dark ride. A lot of stress and uncertainty. I’m more of a stable-schedule-each-day-for-the-next-year type of girl.”
    “When you watched the documentary, was it emotional for you? Or were you too young to associate those scenes with your life? What feelings did you have?”
    “The one consistent emotion when watching it—and when thinking about everything—is regret that I don’t remember him. Even when I think as hard as I can, there’s not one real memory. My memories come from seeing him in pictures my mom