“I want you to shoot the documentary like a home video but with interviews. It would be for my fans. I’ll offer it for download on my website.”
I can’t even let myself get excited about this.
“Nico… I can’t. It’s too much. I can’t be apart from Tate for that long.”
“Right—I was getting to that. I’ll fly him out whenever you guys want to see each other.”
“I mean it’s too much for me to ask of my mom. I can’t ask her to look after Tate full-time like that. It’ll be summer break. She’d have to take all that time off of work or I’d have to make arrangements for day care. And I’d miss him and worry about him. We’ve never been apart for twenty-four hours, even.”
He blinks, and on an inhale, he says, “Bring them. Bring Tate. Bring your mom so she can look after him when you’re busy. They can travel with us and I’ll pay for two hotel rooms for you, so your mom can have her own.”
“You can’t possibly afford that.”
“I can. I’ll have to go over it with my business manager, but I can. I already have enough room in the bus.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’re a package deal. I want the whole package.”
Oh my God.
Oh. My. God.
This is crazy and I’m actually considering it.
“Is it just you? On the tour?”
“Yeah, I’ll have local back-up bands and opening acts at a lot of the venues. Some nights will be solo shows. My tour manager’s set up merch people and sound guys in each city.”
“How do you…how would we travel?”
His face erupts into a smile when he hears me hesitantly say the word ‘we.’
“Sleeper bus. I’ve got a great driver named Ricky. It’s a sweet ride. It’ll be like glamping. I think—I’ve never been glamping. There’s a back lounge with a double bed and six bunks. Front lounge, kitchen, bathroom with shower—not that anyone ever uses the bus shower. Wifi, two TVs, DVD, sound system, Xbox, I think there’s also a Wii. We’d only sleep on the bus while traveling. There are a lot of stops on the tour where I’m booked for a couple of nights, so we stay in hotels. It’ll be fun. For all of us.” He runs his fingers through his hair and nods, probably trying to convince himself of this. “We’ll have fun. You or your mom can sleep in the back lounge with the bed. Without me in it, I mean.”
“Absolutely not. You’re the one who’s going to be performing, you need the comfort and the privacy.”
“I can’t ask your mom to sleep in a bunk bed.”
“Don’t even worry about it. We used to go camping all the time when I was a kid. My dad was always renting motor homes and taking us on these crazy road trips. My mom loved it.” I feel sad, all of a sudden, for the briefest of moments. Out of the blue. I wish my dad could meet Nico. I shake my head to snap myself out of it. “Louise may act like the queen sometimes, but she’s no princess. She will insist on us sleeping in the bunk beds, trust me.”
“We’ll see.”
I can’t believe this is happening. A job. Photographing a celebrity. Documenting a tour. A built-in audience for my work. A subject that I’m already excited and fascinated about.
Now that I’m allowing myself to open the creative floodgates, there’s a deluge of images in my brain and Nico isn’t even naked in any of them. Okay, he’s shirtless in some of them. But I would love to be able to capture him in that context. The singer, the songwriter, the musician.
“Well…I’ll have to talk to Tate and Louise.”
“Of course. I know it’s a lot to spring on you. Hopefully three weeks is enough time for you to work things out.”
I cover my face. This is crazy. Or is it the greatest idea anyone has ever had? Because I’d be able to get my career back on track, be with Nico and Tate and my mom. Tate would have an exciting summer vacation for a change and Louise would get the break from the norm that she so clearly needs.
After getting a film school scholarship, this is the opportunity of my life so far. My gut is telling me to jump on this and deal with my rapidly beating heart later. I may be fooling myself, thinking this might work. But at least I’m fooling myself over a real job and not making a fool of myself by licking his face in public.
Nico Todd.
What do you know?
Maybe he isn’t trouble after all.
Maybe he’s the answer to our prayers.
12
Nico
Okay, so it didn’t occur to me to ask her to bring Tate and Louise along until a few seconds ago and I have not thought it all through yet.
After I hung up the phone with her this afternoon, I spent half an hour calling magic stores to see if they carried the Japanese milk trick—which is not available for immediate delivery on Amazon. I ended up driving out deep into the Valley to get it because I was obsessed with getting it for Tate so I could give it to Kat tonight. The whole thing took a few hours. But she doesn’t need to know that. No one on earth needs to know that.
But it will be fine.
If this is what it takes to get Kat on that bus with me for two months—getting her six-year-old boy and mother on the bus with us the whole time too—then it’ll be worth it. Just seeing her smile like this, getting so excited makes it all worth it. Six-year-olds probably just take naps most of the day, right? And her mom seemed cool.
“We will pay for our own food,” she insists.
“We’ll see.”
“My mom will insist on that. She’ll probably want to bring you a bunch of frozen soup and baked goods or something.”
I nod appreciatively, but what I’m thinking is—shit, I’m going to have to get more insurance coverage. We won’t be able to stay in luxury hotels if I’m getting rooms for all of us and my driver too. I can afford it. It means the tour will be less profitable for me. But it’s worth it. Investing in the future. Our future. Trial by fire. If we make it through this, we can make it through anything.
She holds the itinerary in both hands, looking down at it without reading, and we start walking again. “You want a behind-the-scenes type documentary? For fans. On your website.” Her voice is different all of a sudden. She’s in professional mode. I love it. I respect it. And it makes me want to tear off her server uniform and do very unprofessional things to her gorgeous naked body.
“Yes. Pay per view.”
“So you’d want it shot with a digital camera.” It’s not really a question, as she’s totally lost in thought.
“Yes.”
“I have an amazing little Panasonic for low light situations that would be perfect for shooting at the venues. And a couple of other compact lightweight options that take really high-quality images. I’d use the same equipment I use for shooting weddings.”
“Sounds good.” I fucking love how intense she’s getting and I have to hold back from making a joke about our wedding.
“But it wouldn’t exactly be a documentary—more of a combination of concert footage and backstage chronicling of what it’s like for you on the tour, plus some insights into you as a person and artist in general.”
“Okay. Yeah, that’s right.”
“Along the lines of Madonna: Truth or Dare, with more of a reality TV kind of feel?”
“But with less pointy bras and fishnet stockings. Unless that’s what you wear when you’re working, then I’m all for it.” I get an arm swat for that. “I’m not going to want anything too intimate in the final cut. I’m not going to want you filming me visiting my grandfather’s grave or anything. And I don’t anticipate a lot of backstage drama—although I have been known to randomly yell out ‘I didn’t come here to make friends—I came here to win.’ But that’s not the kind of thing I want in this. It should feel like a fun home video that the fans get to watch. I mean, we’ll do a little trailer for the website so they know what they’re getting when they pay for it, but it’s not like we’re going to be competing with other shows for viewers like on Netflix. It’s a bonus movie for fans.
”
“Okay. So, any girl or woman or gay guy who’s willing to pay to stream or download this from your website is already in love with you and your music. That’s a given. I’m not naive, I know it has to be about ensuring that they stay in love with you and your music and they continue to want to buy your music and go to your shows. A backstage video is going to show them different sides and layers of Nico Todd. The man, the myth, the legend. Are you funny? What are you like first thing in the morning? What do you eat for breakfast? Are you staring at your phone all day? Do you get nervous before a show? What do you miss about home when you’re on the road? What do you love? Who do you love? You’ll want to share details that people aren’t going to find on your Instagram feed. And I mean, I know this isn’t a Ken Burns documentary for PBS, but personally, I’d also like to get some real meat in there. Go deep, but in a fun way.”
That is exactly what I’ve been thinking for the past two months.
She’s so caught up in her pitch that she doesn’t see the horndog look on my face, God bless her. She’s passionate. She’s smart. She is already turning out to be everything I thought she’d be from the bits and pieces of conversations we had at the coffee shop. I want it.
“I will want to ask journalistic questions here and there.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll want people to feel like they’re learning something as well as spying on you.”
“Yeah. That’s what I want too.”
“Like what are your musical influences? Why this guitar and not that one? Who inspired this song? Were you in love with her? Where is she now? Did you ghost her? I mean, I don’t want it to feel like annoying first date questions. If I’m going to do this, I want to see you in your element. I want to know what drives you. I want to know what moves you. And okay yes, I also want to see you watching TV on the bus in your sweatpants. And brushing your teeth with your shirt off because that’s fun. But it has to be balanced.” She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut while exhaling.
“You done pitching?”
“I think so.”
“Can I hire you yet?”
“Yes. If you really want to.”
“I really want to. Like I said, figure out a salary. My manager’s having a lawyer draw up a contract and my business manager will be paying you.”
“Okay.” A quick nod. Eyes squeezed shut again while she shivers dramatically. “Good. It’ll be good.”
“I think so too.”
“I mean, I still have to talk to my people,” she laughs. “But I think they’ll be on board.”
“Good. I want all of you on board.”
She emits a little squeal, jumping up and down. “I am so excited to work like this again!”
“I’m excited for you.”
She stops. “This is really great of you.” She gives my shoulder a nudge, then turns to face me. “Thank you.”
I put my hands on her upper arms. “It will be mutually beneficial, believe me.”
She holds her breath, studying my face, and then finally exhales. “You do realize that if I’m working for you like this, we can’t—you know…” She gestures back and forth between us.
Fuck.
She continues, “Not that there’s such thing as a truly objective documentary.”
“Exactly. And as you said, it’s not truly a documentary.”
“But I’d still want to be as objective as possible. I want to be able to observe as much of what’s going on around you as possible, without being hindered by my own emotions. And that would be more difficult if we were involved.”
I clear my throat. “Define involved.”
“Physically intimate.”
I place one arm around her shoulder, and we turn to walk back to The 101. “Define intimate.”
“Any kind of physical engagement of a sexual nature, including hand and mouth stuff.” She waves her hand in front of my face, like she’s erasing a chalkboard. “Pretend I just said something cooler.”
“So physical engagement of a spiritual nature is still on the table. Because I’m down for tantric sex.”
“Nico. I take my work very seriously.”
“So do I. Tantric sex is a lot of work.”
Her eyes go wide. “Do you actually do that?”
“I will if that’s what it takes.”
She looks at me, pouting a little. “You are not making this easy for me.”
“I’m just messing with you. I don’t want to muck things up either. I just want you around. I need your talent.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Did you just say, ‘muck things up?’”
I wave my hand in front of her face. “Pretend I said something cool.”
“Okay.”
I remove my arm from her shoulder. “Right. So—friends, then. Friends who’ll be working together.”
She rubs her forehead, and fortunately it seems this arrangement will be as difficult for her as it will be for me. “Yeah,” she says, her voice strained as if she’s in pain. “Professional friends who’ll be working together… But you know… Look into that tantric sex thing.” She punches my bicep. “Just in case.”
Fuck. “You’re making this pretty hard for me too.”
She whimpers and drops her head to rest against my shoulder.
“I mean…you could just come with me on the tour. I can hire someone else to—”
I don’t even get the sentence out before she starts pummeling me and laughing. “Don’t you dare hire someone else! I want this job, Nico Todd. I’m gonna document the shit out of you, so get ready.”
That cracks me up, even though the thought of not being physical with Kat while she’s around me all the time hurts on every level. “Okay, okay. I’ll be ready.” I look ahead. We’re a block from the coffee shop and I have to get home to sleep so I can get up for an early east coast radio show call. “One last thirty-second date before we start working together?”
She giggles, a happy crystalline laugh that warms my heart and breaks it at the same time. “Sure. Bring it.”
We begin our stroll up the block. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you again, ever since you got into that Uber last night.”
She stops giggling and inhales sharply.
“I’ve been thinking about the way you taste and the little noises you made when you were kissing me. The way your hands felt on my body and the way your ass felt in my hands and the feel of you pressed up against me. And I will continue to fantasize about how other parts of you taste…”
“Oh shit,” she whispers, touching her belly.
“And the noises you’ll make when I’m kissing you between your legs. The way your ass will feel in my hands when I’m pressing into you.”
“Nicooooh…”
I shift gears. “Of course, if we were in a bar, I’d be telling you this from behind the counter while mixing you a very special drink.”
She smiles. “What would this one be called?”
“The Lumos. Because it would light up your night the way your smile lights up mine.”
She groans and wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah, that was bad. But the drink would be good. And it would get you exactly the right amount of tipsy.” I stop to touch her arm. “Hey. You like this song?” I sing the opening lines of Sting’s ‘Shape of My Heart,’ because tantric sex. Never done it before in my life and let’s be honest—at this rate I would jizz in my pants as soon as her hands went anywhere near my dick. But for the sake of theme—Sting. “Wanna dance?”
She nods, almost reluctantly, releasing a sigh as I place one hand on her hip and hold the other up for her to place her hand in mine. I sing and hum the rest of the song, at tempo, and it’s cheating because that makes it a lot longer than a thirty-second date. But she isn’t complaining. She’s resting her cheek against my chest and by the time the song’s over, we’re standing perfectly still on the sidewalk and she’s clinging to me.
I curl an index finger under her chin, lifti
ng her face to mine and I kiss her on those pouty cherry red lips, just once. Slow and tender. Sweet and agonizing. Her eyes are still closed when I pull away. She’s wavering. If this is playing dirty, then sue me—I’m a dirty player. I’m still willing to follow her lead but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to sway her.
I take her hand again, leading her a few more feet to the coffee shop entrance, and then let go. “I have to go home. Text me your email address. Let me know what Tate and Louise say.”
She nods, and I see her lips form the word ‘okay,’ but her voice isn’t even loud enough for me to hear when a car drives by.
“Good night. Catch you on the flip side, Katherine.”
KAT’S VIDEO DIARY – June
TATE: Wow! This whole bus is yours?!
NICO: It’s ours. For two months, anyway.
TATE: Wowowooowwww! Everything’s shiny!
LOUISE: Watch your step, Tate. Hold on to that railing.
KAT: It’s okay that I’m not shooting this part for your documentary footage, right?
NICO: Definitely. This is Ricky, our driver. The captain of this road ship.
RICKY: Hey, y’all. Come on up.
TATE: Hey. I’m Tate. Wow there’s so many buttons up here! What’s this one for?!
RICKY: Whoa there—do not touch any of these buttons. Ever. The buttons are off limits to everyone but me. Okay Tate?
TATE: Okay. Sorry.
NICO: Don’t worry, buddy. He said the same thing to me when I tried to touch the buttons. Ricky, this is Louise, Tate’s grandmother. Louise, Ricky. Ricky, Louise.
LOUISE: Hello there. That’s quite a hat. You can call me Lou.
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