by Ryan Field
He was smiling at his phone now. “Thanks.”
Morton crawled into bed next to him and made a face. “You know I’m not one of those people who get mad when people stare at their phones, and I realize it’s part of life now, but you’re really overdoing it tonight. What on Earth could possibly be so fascinating on that phone?”
Harrison laughed and handed him the phone. “Here. See for yourself.”
Morton took one look at the phone and screamed. He pressed his palm to his chest and said, “I can’t believe you did this.” He took another look and moaned. While he’d been heading to the bathroom a few minutes ago, Harrison had taken a few photos of him. He was totally naked, except for the high heels. There was no full frontal nudity, but his ass was totally exposed. But more than that, Harrison had posted these photos to several of his own social media accounts that had hundreds of thousands of followers, all with the tap of one finger.
“They love it,” Harrison said. “They’re applauding you. Read the comments. They’re coming in by the thousands, and they love you. They’re gonna be lined up to see you perform now.”
Morton took another look and he saw that Harrison had posted the photos with a comment that read, “Come see my new husband perform at Coachella this weekend. Doesn’t he look wonderful? Love you, cutie.” And then he read a few of the comments from men and women and they all sounded positive.
He handed the phone back to Harrison and said, “I still wish you hadn’t done that. Now I feel totally creepy.”
“You’re beautiful,” Harrison said, with a more serious tone. “And I want to make sure people know who you are. And trust me, it’s not gonna last for long. You might as well take advantage of that ass before it falls.”
“But I want them to know who I am for my performances, not for my ass.”
“Let’s look at it this way,” Harrison said. “Do you think Cher would have become as popular as she is if she had dressed like a nun? The woman went to the Oscars one year almost naked. Think about it. She’s a genius.”
He thought about that for a moment and frowned. He couldn’t disagree with Harrison totally, but he also wanted to draw a few lines. “I know what you mean, and I’m not mad. But from now on let me know when you do these things. That’s all I’m asking.”
“But you wouldn’t have let me do it,” Harrison said.
“Probably not.”
“It won’t matter anyway after tomorrow,” Harrison said.
“Why?”
“They’re going to love you, and nothing you post on social media is going to compare to anything you do on stage from now on. That’s your gift and your blessing. I knew it the minute I heard you. You’re a star.”
Morton rested his head back against Harrison’s shoulder and sighed. “I still wish you were performing with me.”
“You’ll be fine,” Harrison said. “And it will be good practice for the tour.”
“What tour?”
“You’re taking over for me next week, and you’re going on tour,” he said. “Sam has arranged everything. He’s working on publicity right now.”
Morton sat up in a panic and gaped at him. “I can’t do that. I’m not ready for a tour. I’ll do it with you, but I’m not doing this alone.”
“It’s already done,” Harrison said. “I’ll help you out. I’ll be around. But I don’t want your name on the same bill as mine. You are going to have a career all of your own. I don’t want you associated with me for your own good. Plus, I don’t want them thinking that you’re a gold digger riding my wave.”
Morton rested back again, and he set his palm on Harrison’s chest and rubbed it gently. He didn’t know how to reply to that because he knew Harrison was right. He’d seen how the media and the fans were turning on Harrison. The only good things they said about him now had more to do with getting married to Morton than music or performing. He’d gotten into fights with photographers, he’d insulted interviewers, and there was talk about him going bankrupt and losing everything he owned. And that was just the beginning, without even mentioning the drugs and the alcohol. But they were married now and Morton felt obligated to make everything right again. He wanted to live happily ever after more than he wanted money, cars or expensive homes. He wanted to change Harrison, but he wasn’t sure he could do that. So the only thing he could do for the time being was to get out there on stage and work as hard as he could. If nothing else, he might be able to save them financially, because he knew if he didn’t at least try, he would be responsible for all that debt now, too.
Chapter Sixteen
After Morton performed at Coachella alone, Harrison knew nothing would ever be the same again. He didn’t mind because he loved seeing the way Morton lit up every time he walked onto a stage in front of thousands of people. While people cheered and applauded, Morton smiled and bowed in thanks, and that’s because he truly was thankful. Harrison knew that feeling of elation at the end of a performance first hand and he wanted nothing more than for his husband to experience it. It was the ultimate payback for any artist to know they were loved and appreciated.
The Coachella performance pushed Morton right into the spotlight and he took over the rest of Harrison’s tour so smoothly no one would have known he was doing all this for the first time. This was probably because he had so much experience, and he was trained and disciplined. The people didn’t seem to mind Morton’s unusual brand of drag, and they accepted his gender bending ideas the same way they’d accepted other performers who had come before him. No one cared that Prince wore high heels or that Liberace wore sequins and rhinestones. It only made him more interesting. In short, they found Morton’s see-through mini-dresses and spiked high heels provocative and unusual because he had so much talent and so much style. They also picked up on his goodness and his ability to exude love and emotion no matter what he did. As long as he continued to sing and entertain them with his whole heart and every ounce of energy in his body, people didn’t care if he walked out on stage wearing plastic garbage bags.
In the first few cities where Morton performed, Harrison joined him on stage for a few songs to help him get adjusted, and to play it safe just in case the audience expected to see Harrison. After all, it was his tour and they’d paid to see him, not Morton. The majority didn’t seem to mind. They’d heard all about Morton through social media and they now expected to see him perform. They also seemed to take pleasure in feeling sorry for him because he was married to Harrison. Morton was so good and decent and honorable, and Harrison was nothing more than a decrepit caricature of what he once was. They now perceived Harrison as a drunk, a drug addict and a badly behaving rock star who lost control when he didn’t get his way.
Harrison didn’t mind. He’d always had criticism. They either loved him or hated him. He followed Morton from city to city and the tour became a huge success. With each performance, Morton grew more confident and professional. It didn’t take long for one of his songs to reach the top of the charts, and it took even less time for the offers to start coming in. Within months, his name became a household word, and when people referred to him as Morton Starr-Parker. It was as though all of his names became one full name and no one called him just Morton. Kind of like the way people refer to Elton John with both names, instead of just saying Elton.
As the offers and the money started rolling in for Morton, they stopped almost completely for Harrison. If Harrison hadn’t gambled so much and he’d paid more attention to how he’d spent his money, he wouldn’t have been in so much debt. He owed back taxes to the government, all the property he owned was mortgaged, and he’d been living on credit until he married Morton. He’d been on the verge of losing everything, including the cars and the plane. And that was the ultimate irony of Harrison’s life. He’d been worried that people would think Morton had married him for his stardom and his money, and now it was Morton who was paying off his debts and making him whole again.
One reason Harrison allowed Morton to ta
ke care of him financially was because he loved him so much. If it had been anyone other than Morton, he would have refused and gone into bankruptcy. He’d never cared about money in the first place. But now that they were legally married everything was different. He didn’t want Morton to be legally responsible for his debts. He just sat back and smiled while Morton paid all the bills and pretended their lives were perfect.
The only problem with that was he knew Morton wasn’t stupid, and it was as if Morton read his mind. One morning while Morton was away doing a concert in the Midwest he phoned and Harrison answered on the last ring. “Where were you?” Morton asked. “I was starting to get worried.”
Harrison forced a smile, as if Morton could see him through the phone signal, and said, “I’m fine. I was in the studio. Everything here is fine.” He’d finished off a bottle of vodka the night before and it felt as though he had a piano resting on his head. He tried to sound as upbeat and happy as possible in spite of the strong urge to vomit.
“You’re not drinking too much, are you?” Morton asked. “You’ve been so good lately.”
He didn’t want to lie to Morton, so he asked, “How’s the tour going? How’s Nico doing? I miss that guy, and I miss you.” Even though Nico could have stayed with Harrison in New York, and there were plenty of people who would take good care of him, Morton refused to travel without his dog. So Nico followed him from city to city, from concert to concert, resting quietly backstage while Morton worked.
“Nico is good. The tour is going well. I just wish you were here, is all. I miss you and it’s not the same without you.”
“I know, cutie,” Harrison said. “But I had to do this interview. Sam said it was important. It’s not as if I’m well-loved anymore. We’ll be together soon enough.” In hopes of reviving his career, Sam had booked him an interview with one of the most popular satellite radio shows in the music business. Harrison had been doing these interviews for years and he wasn’t worried about it at all.
“Are you prepared for the interview?” Morton asked. “Did you get an outfit ready and practice answering questions they might ask you? Are you well-rested? You can’t take these things too seriously, you know.”
Harrison laughed at his innocence. “I know, I know. I’m ready and it’s all going to be fine.”
Someone called Morton’s named, and he said, “Look, I have to run now. They want me to do this promotional thing here. I’ll talk to you later. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Harrison said. “Go do your promo thing and forget all about me. I’ll be fine. Love you, cutie, and I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Love, you.”
When they hung up, Harrison climbed out of bed so he could look for something in the bathroom that would help with his hangover. He stumbled a few times, and stubbed his big toe on a chair next to the bathroom door. He wondered if Morton fooled around with other guys while he was on tour. They’d had a long conversation about this the second week they were married and they’d agreed to have an open relationship in some respects, but not all. Morton wanted stipulations and rules, and Harrison agreed to all of them. Morton said he didn’t mind doing three-ways with Harrison or even group sex if Harrison was there. However, he flatly refused to entertain the idea of them having sex with other people alone. They had to be together to have sex with other men, or nothing at all.
On that particular morning, Sam was on tour with Morton and Harrison had to take care of himself. He wasn’t used to that either. Sam usually handled everything for him. So he took something for the hangover and that kicked in an hour later, and then he showered and put on fresh clothes for the interview. The interview he was doing was not far from his studio downtown. When he left the apartment and set out to get a taxi he thought he was an hour ahead of schedule. He thought he had plenty of time to get downtown for the interview, so he took his time getting there to avoid waiting around in a lobby.
When the taxi finally did drop him off in front of the radio station, he still thought he was 20 minutes early. His hangover was almost completely gone by then, the sun was shining, and he felt better than he had in weeks. He was actually looking forward to this interview and hoping to salvage what was left of his career. He was planning to announce a new song he’d been working on that morning during the interview and hoping that it would pull him out of the professional rut he’d been in for so long. He wasn’t getting any younger and he knew it. He’d made a lot of mistakes and he knew that as well. As he stepped into the elevator and headed to the floor where the radio station was located, he vowed this would be a new beginning and he’d never go back to his old ways again.
When he reached his floor and the elevator doors opened, he turned right and headed to the end of the hall so he could wait to be introduced. Everything still looked the same since the last time he’d been there, from the expected gray walls to the cheap abstract art on the walls. The chairs in the reception room were the same beige modern barrel chairs, and the receptionist sitting behind the fake wood desk was still the same young woman with purple hair and a small hoop ring in her left nostril.
He walked up to her desk and smiled. “I know I’m early. I’ll just wait over there in one of those chairs.”
She flung him a look and said, “Early? You’re over an hour late. We had to keep the first interview going over time because you didn’t show up. And Rocco is not happy about this.”
Harrison rubbed his beard and smiled. “I thought I was early.” He laughed. He must have mixed up the times again. Sam usually took care of these things for him. “I guess it was a small mix up on my part. But I’m here now and it’s all good.”
The receptionist with purple hair didn’t smile or laugh with him. She frowned and stood up. “Let me go tell Rocco you’re here and see what he wants to do.”
Harrison continued to smile. It wasn’t the first time he’d been late to one of these interviews. In the past, no one had complained and they’d always accommodated him. He was the star and he believed they should be thrilled to have him there. It wasn’t as though he was about to give an important political speech on Capitol Hill that would end world hunger.
A few minutes later the receptionist returned and said, “I’m sorry. Rocco says he’s too busy to speak with you, and your manager can reschedule something else at later date.”
Harrison felt the blood rushing to his face. He jerked his head and said, “Oh is that so. Well I’ll show Rocco how busy he is.”
He turned and stormed through a door that would lead him back to the studio. While the receptionist called after him, he ignored her and headed toward the glass booth where Rocco always did his broadcast. His fists were tight and his jaw set. How dare that creep turn him away? He’d helped get Rocco some of the best ratings he’d ever had, and some of the best publicity. He’d already been a rock star when Rocco was just starting out in satellite radio and he’d done one of Rocco’s first interviews as a favor to help him out. And this was the thanks he was getting?
As if it wasn’t enough to be turned away by a receptionist, he approached Rocco’s glass booth and saw him interviewing all of Harrison’s band members. They were all laughing and joking around with their backs to the window, and he couldn’t understand why they were even there. He hadn’t been in touch with them for month, and Sam had formed a new band for Morton to keep things fresh. Harrison had worked with these guys for years and he’d always treated them as if they were family.
Rocco looked up and he saw Harrison standing outside the booth. He raised his hand to Harrison as if to tell him to wait there and all the guys in the band turned and saw him.
Harrison barged into the booth and looked at the band. “What’s going on? Why are you all here? I was going to contact you later this week about some new material I’ve been working on.”
Before any of the guys had a chance to say a word, Rocco looked at Harrison and said, “Well, well, look who decided to show up and grace us all with hi
s presence, His Royal Highness, Harrison Parker.” He spoke with his radio voice because they were still broadcasting live.
“Shut the fuck up, Rocco,” Harrison said. “I asked these guys a question, not you.”
The guys all looked down; no one wanted to face him.
Rocco said, “I guess you haven’t heard yet, Harrison. They formed a new band, a new name, and they’re going out on their own without you. You’re all washed up, Harrison. Haven’t you heard? No one wants to put up with your bullshit anymore. Now turn around and get the hell out of here, loser. There’s the door.”
Even though Harrison knew they were on the air, and he knew it was live, he couldn’t control himself. He lunged forward and jumped over the desk. As he reached for Rocco’s collar with both hands, he shook him and said, “You sneaky little fucker.”
Before he had a chance to actually hit Rocco, the guys in the band grabbed him from behind and pulled him off Rocco’s desk. A moment later, building security showed up and took him to a room where they sat him down on a steel gray chair and made him wait for the police. By the time the police came and put him in handcuffs, the media was downstairs waiting to see him leave the building. He kept his head down and said nothing. A crowd had formed and people were screaming his name and calling him every pejorative there was. Many said that Morton was too good to be his husband, and he said nothing in return. He was starting to think the same thing, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Morton or his career.
Chapter Seventeen
When the news broke that Harrison Parker had been arrested in New York for assaulting a radio show host, the media descended upon Morton to get his reaction first hand. They didn’t seem to care that Harrison was the one who’d been through the ordeal. They cared more about getting a statement from Morton about his husband’s bad behavior, as if they were waiting for Morton to turn on Harrison in public. Morton didn’t even bother to check the Internet for the story. He knew from past experience that social media would exaggerate and blow it all out of proportion. He’d learned to expect that. He’d also learned that people tend to believe what they choose to believe.
