The Love Song of Jonny Valentine

by Teddy Wayne

  I made a tiny tear with my fingernail in the thin paper covering the table. “Yeah. But I vomited preshow, like I usually do.”

  “We’ve discussed that. Your singing teacher doesn’t want you to take the antinausea medication because it causes dry mouth?”

  Rog is a voice coach, not a singing teacher. “Right. I can’t sing with it. And if I don’t eat before at all and I vomit, I feel even weaker.”

  “Did you take anything to help you go to sleep last night?”

  I pulled the tear in the paper further, so it looked like one of Jane’s dresses being unzipped in the back. Fussing and fighting, tearing apart.

  “Only when I’m on the road, like we said.”

  “You getting enough rest out there?”

  “Mostly. If I don’t get a good night’s sleep I can always sleep on the bus.”

  Jane did her usual knock on the door, three sharp raps, and Dr. Henson let her in and told me I could get dressed. She said hello and sat down on one of the blue folding chairs. “Did he tell you about the swing?” she asked.

  “What swing?”

  “Oh, just that there’s this machine, like a metal box, that carries him around in the air over the crowd,” she explained. “And something malfunctioned and it dropped him a few feet before the safety devices kicked in. But there are three safety devices and they figured out the malfunction, so it’s not something to be concerned about. Anyway, I wondered if that could’ve frightened him and caused the fainting.”

  He smiled like she was a total moron. Doctors must think about regular people the way I think about people who are tone-deaf. “No, it couldn’t. What could is dehydration, vomiting, strenuous exercise, and both physical and mental exhaustion. This is not what a typical eleven-year-old can handle. Even child actors have far less punishing schedules.”

  “He turns twelve in under two months,” Jane said.

  Dr. Henson wrote something in his papers. “How long has this tour been going for, when does it end, and when’s the next concert?”

  “About two weeks, it ends on Valentine’s Day, and we’re driving to Utah today but the concert isn’t till tomorrow night.”

  “He should be fine for that, if you give him plenty of fluids and food today with little exertion,” he said. “But you’re going to have to find a way to get Jonny more rest. I’m serious about this.”

  If I admitted I took a zolpidem last night, he’d make sure Jane hid them from me. I don’t think he even knew she gave me some of hers.

  “We’ll come up with something,” she said. It was her this-conversation-is-over voice.

  “Jonny, would you let your mother and me speak alone for a minute?” Dr. Henson asked. I said sure, and he high-fived me again but didn’t do the down-low part this time. Jane came into the celeb waiting room a few minutes later. On the ride home I asked what he talked to her about.

  “I had some questions about my period. He’s my doctor, too, you know,” she said. “Stop talking for a while, okay? You need to rest.” I definitely wasn’t interested in hearing what her questions about her period were, and didn’t even make the joke I thought of, which is that if you wrote out a question about your period, you’d end the sentence with a period mark. It was more Nadine’s kind of joke anyway.

  At home she had me lie down on the living room couch and eat a new omelet as her and Walter got ready. She even asked Walter to carry me to the car. I was like, Jane, I’m good now, but she insisted. Walter was cool about it. He threw me over his shoulder and said, “You can carry me next time I’m on a bender, brother.” I didn’t mind him carrying me, once he did it. It was kind of fun, actually, and felt familiar, but I couldn’t remember him doing it before.

  The car service took us to the studio parking lot, where the buses and eighteen-wheelers were still waiting. We weren’t that late, and all of them except the star/talent bus could’ve left, but I guess they needed to make sure I was really going before they took off, because without the star, the apparatus is irrelevant. The EVP of creative Stacy was standing by my bus, typing on her phone. She looked up when we arrived and inhaled and exhaled like I did with Dr. Henson. I told Walter I could walk fine and he shouldn’t carry me.

  “Are you feeling okay, Jonny?” she asked when I came by.

  “I was just tired,” I said. “When we find a way to get me more rest, I’ll be fine.”

  Her eyebrows were worried. “As long as the doctor cleared you,” she said, looking at Jane. “You up for meeting the Latchkeys?”

  “The who?” I was watching Nadine, who’d come out of my bus and was talking with Walter while they both looked over at me.

  “The Latchkeys. Your new opener. They’ve boarded their bus, but I can ask them to come out.”

  I said sure, and she went into the band/vocalist bus and came out with four guys in their twenties. Three of them were unshaven or had beards and wore regular clothes and looked like normal guys, but the one in back was thin and tall and had midnight black hair that almost covered his eyes and a maroon leather jacket that was all scuffed up. It was the kind of look a stylist would never be able to come up with. Or if she did, it would feel like a stylist did it, instead of it being the look this guy had his whole life.

  “Hal, Steve, Tim, Zack, meet Jonny,” Stacy said. “Jonny, meet the Latchkeys.”

  They all shook my hand and wore these goofy smiles that older guys always have when they meet me, because they don’t know if they should be impressed or think it’s silly. People say that girls are hard to figure out, but they’re much easier to handle, even the older ones. Guys are the ones who have to think they’re always in control, so they act the way they want to act.

  Zack was the tall and thin one, and he was the only one that said something more than hi. “Pleased to meet you, Jonny. I’m Zack. We’re excited to open for you.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “I mean, for you guys to open for me.”

  He laughed in a way that made me feel like I’d made a funny joke even though I’d messed up. “Just last night a friend who’s a kindergarten teacher said to me, ‘Have a good tour,’ and without thinking, I said, ‘You, too.’ ” Zack looked at one of his bandmates. “But the thing is, she is going on a huge kindergarten-teacher East Coast tour, so it made sense.”

  They laughed, but it was still early in the morning, so not that hard, and said bye and returned to the bus. After he left his cologne hung in the air. It smelled like the woods mixed with cigarettes.

  Stacy said, “Jane, if anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call my personal phone.”

  “This isn’t creative’s responsibility, right?” Jane asked. “Olivia’s our usual tour liaison.”

  Stacy smiled at me. “Well, I sometimes make an exception and prioritize talent like Jonny.”

  Jane pinched her lips and said bye and walked onto our bus. When I got on, she told me I should sleep on my bed for as long as I wanted, since it was like a twelve-hour drive, and Nadine and I could tutor later. So I took a long nap and didn’t need any pills to fall asleep. When I woke up I felt super-strong. I bet if I was alone I could’ve gotten close to coming.

  I went out to the seating area and told Nadine I was ready for tutoring. But Jane said she wanted to talk to me about something quickly first, and she came into my room and sat down on the bed with me. “Do you feel better?” she asked.

  “A lot.”

  “What do you think it was? We got home from the concert too late?”

  “No,” I said. “I think it was getting home from the party late the night before.”

  She looked down when I said that. “Anyway, I’ve been mulling our options for the next six months or so,” she said. “Even if album sales have lagged, the gate receipts have been respectable. If the live-stream sells well, I think the label would be open to a bigger tour to expand your fan base.”

  “To where?”

  “I’m thinking Asia and Europe both. If there’s ever a time, it’s now, because if we don’t
make a splash at the Garden—” She cut herself off and smiled big, like it’d make me forget what she just said. “But it would mean a lot of work right after this ends. We’d start recording new songs and have to orchestrate a whole new show. The album would drop and the tour would begin next fall, and it’d continue through the winter.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The other option is this.” She fiddled with her silver ring. “We can do a smaller repeat tour on the West Coast next fall, and we record the next album in the summer.”

  “What would I do the next six months?”

  “There’s this school in L.A. that a lot of celebrities and children of celebrities attend. You could just go to school for the spring semester. It starts right after the tour ends, and I’m sure we could pull some strings to get you in.”

  “So I’d be going to school and that’s it?”

  “Basically. We could see how you like it. But remember that going to school full-time can be hard, too.”

  “I know. It’s hard just with Nadine. She’s making me read three whole autobiographies by slaves this unit.”

  “Slaves, huh? Well, you don’t have to decide now. But we need to figure it out after the tour ends.”

  I said okay. Before she left she said, “I bet we could schedule free time in Japan to look at samurai stuff, so when Peter calls you ‘little sensei,’ you’d actually know what he’s talking about, right?”

  “That’d be cool,” I said. But I looked out the window at the side of the highway and thought about what it might be like to not be on tour anymore. I hadn’t been around regular kids in a long time, not including times like at Matthew’s birthday party. All I was around were fans. Me and Michael Carns from St. Louis hadn’t talked since I moved to L.A. I couldn’t hardly even remember what school was like by now. When you live one way for a while you sort of forget how you lived before. Except Jane remembers working at Schnucks. She never goes into supermarkets anymore, not even the fancy organic ones.

  And then I thought about my father maybe getting in touch again with Jane, and how he wouldn’t like the celeb lifestyle, but now that we were having a normal life, he wanted to come back. We’d have enough money to keep Walter on staff and in the bungalow, and him and my father would become friends and lift together and come to my Little League games, so he’d be more like Uncle Walter than my bodyguard, but if anyone messed with me or my father, he’d still be there to provide buffer.

  I’d also be able to sleep in again and not have to spend months recording and rehearsing and traveling and performing. I hadn’t had a real hiatus for two years.

  Nadine came in to tutor, and a million times she was like, “How are you feeling?” and “Do you feel like you need to take a break?” and “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Finally I said, “I feel like you can stop asking me how I feel,” and she laughed and said sorry, she lets her caretaking tendencies get the best of her sometimes. After we played word games at the end, I almost told her about Jane’s offer, but I realized that would mean she’d be out of a job. I didn’t feel so bad about that. She could find other celebs or rich kids to tutor or work at a school, and I bet Jane would keep her on to tutor me part-time if she had openings. But I hated the idea of telling someone they had to leave. Even when someone fucks up like Roberto did.

  During the word games, I told her the period mark joke instead. She gave me credit for a Creative Stroke, but warned me not to repeat it in any interviews.

  CHAPTER 5

  Salt Lake City

  Jane said that me and Lisa Pinto were going to do an exclusive photo op of a staged date for a glossy on our next stop in Denver. I didn’t ask her why she changed her mind. There were always two reasons: Ronald told her she should do it, or there was a lot of money. I didn’t care, though, since I’d get to see how cute Lisa Pinto was in person. You can’t always tell from photos. Sometimes girls are disappointed when they meet me. I’ve read a few blog posts.

  Before I left in the morning, Rog knocked on my door. He seemed twitchy. “Good luck tonight,” he said. “You know the warm-up routine?”

  “Rog, I’ve done it like a million times.”

  “Just let me know how it goes later, okay?”

  “Roger that, Rog,” I said, which he never finds funny.

  “And try to remember the name of whoever works with you. Can you do that?”

  “No, I’m a numbskull who can’t remember anyone’s name. Who are you, again? And who am I?”

  “No kidding, Jonny, as a favor to me. Please.”

  I promised him I would. “Thanks,” he said. “This is a really tough time in the industry. So . . . I appreciate it.” He beat it down the hall, because he must’ve been afraid Jane would catch him. It looked like he had a little limp when he walked fast. It wasn’t hard to see why he was worried about someone younger teaching me.

  When we got to sound check at EnergySolutions Arena, Jane introduced me to this English woman named Patricia and said she’d be helping with my warm-ups. I couldn’t figure out a way to ask her last name for Rog without being obvious. She looked young enough to be one of my backup dancers. Her arms were like toned snakes in her tank top and she had a pretty smile like white piano keys even though she’s from England. The English musicians I’ve met have the worst teeth, except for the young ones who are pop singers. They’ve got American teeth. Jane stayed and worked on her computer while we did vocal exercises in the star/talent room but glanced up a bunch of times.

  The Latchkeys sound checked next, and though I’m supposed to rest up in the star/talent room and drink Throat Coat and I wanted to play some Zenon, I watched them. It wasn’t a full performance, but they had a tight sound, with lots of ambient noise. Zack was what made them different. He was the lead singer and rhythm guitarist, and his musicianship was fine, but his voice was sonorous and had real range. Most male baritones can’t reach the high notes easily or give them any feeling. And he wore a dark green velvet suit. I couldn’t make out the lyrics, but each song had a different girl’s name in it and other words that began with that letter, like “Erica’s Elfin Ears.” I found a copy of their set list to read the names of the others, and one called “Vera’s Vulva” was crossed out and next to it someone had written, “R-rated! Oh, my!”

  When I was back in my room playing, I found myself humming along to their song called “Jealous Julia.” I wanted to hear it again, but Jane was always busy before shows and wouldn’t be able to download it for me. So I asked Walter to escort me to the band/vocalist room. Outside their door I said, “Walter, you can wait out here if you want.”

  He smiled and said, “No problem. Like dropping you off a block from school.” You didn’t have to explain anything to Walter, and his feelings never got hurt.

  I knocked on the door and the bassist opened it, I forget his name, either Steve or Tim. He said hi and invited me in. It was the four of them, and they were sitting around eating food and reading books and magazines that weren’t glossies. Some up-tempo rock was playing with a male singer. Zack put down his book whose name I couldn’t see except for a huge letter U.

  “Stately, plump Jonny Valentine,” he said.

  I looked down at my stomach. The hotel scale that morning said I was maintaining at eighty-six. “It’s a joke, you’re not plump,” he said. “Your sound check rocked, by the way. I listened in.”

  I smiled wide and said I’d heard theirs and wanted to download their songs but I didn’t have the Internet. “There’s no Wi-Fi in your room?” he asked.

  “My mother doesn’t let me go on.” Two of the Latchkeys looked at each other like this was the funniest thing they ever heard.

  Zack took my iPod and plugged it into his laptop. “Not letting children go on the Internet anymore.” He made a tsk-tsk sound. “What is the world coming to? I’ll give you not only our first album for free, but the rough cut of our next one. But don’t leak it to anyone, right?”

  I said, “Right,” and he gave me a hands
hake and said, “All right, I trust you because you’re the man, and because I don’t have trust issues despite what my therapist says.” I stared at the laptop while it was transferring to my iPod. “If you want to hang out and surf the Net, like the kids say these days, feel free. I won’t tell your mom if you don’t.”

  I said thanks and he went back to his book. There were like fifty emails, but it was all spam. That’s what my regular email account usually looked like, too. If you were an alien and looked at someone’s email, you’d think the only merch they sold domestically was prescription sex pills.

  An email in the middle was from “Albert Valentino.” There was an attachment of a photo of a driver’s license with the name Albert Derrick Valentino. I almost said something out loud, and looked up. No one was paying attention.

  The guy’s hair was almost the same chestnut color as mine is naturally, except it was thinner and he didn’t have it in The Jonny, obviously, but more slicked back. His skin was much paler than mine but that’s also from living in L.A. and spray-tanning once a week with Jane at this salon where they serve you sugarless pink lemonade, and his eyes were also blue like mine. He was a pretty good-looking guy, better bone structure than Jane. I got my pug nose from him, and Jane’s right, it’s cuter on a kid than it will be when I’m an adult, but it still worked for him. He was six feet tall. Jane is only five-two, so if it was really my father, I might not be so short, but shorter pop stars are more successful because they’re better dancers and your head is oversized for your body, which plays better on TV, and plus it helps since people love seeing a huge voice coming out of someone tiny. If I was bigger it wouldn’t be so impressive to them.

  He’d turned forty-four years old in November, so he’d had me when he was thirty-two. The license showed an address in Pittsburgh, and it expired over a year ago.

  When you’ve seen a million pictures of yourself, you start to see yourself in other people’s features sometimes. I guess part of it’s because you almost forget it’s you in pictures. Instead it’s the glossy magazine version of you, so you compare that person with other people. And depending on what the picture’s in, like a glossy or tabloid or newspaper or website or teen glossy or whatever, it feels like a different version of you, even if it’s the same exact picture. Most people don’t see themselves so much besides in the mirror, which is the opposite of how you look in real life to others, so when they see pictures of themselves something always feels off. But I see so many photos of myself that I can picture myself in them better than I can picture my own reflection. Except everyone takes a ton of photos of themselves, so they probably react a little more like celebs.