Whilst Jamie waged battles against letters, his brother David discovered a talent for figures. By the age of seven, he was managing the family's budget. His memory was nothing like Jamie's, but David could reduce every whole into intricate parts and see each detail separately. For David, the world was filled with absolutes. He tried to diagram Jamie into basic categories, but he failed. Jamie scared him. He would not be categorized, and therefore he was uncontrollable. He disliked walking Jamie through the public markets, but he did it because he was the only one for the job. For one thing, Jamie always wandered off. He found Jamie in the oddest places: sitting on a stranger's lap and chattering about birds; tugging a lady's hand and asking to see inside her handbag; and, once, in the middle of the street singing "Jailhouse Rock" in his one piece fire engine red pajamas with reinforced footies. The Elvis incident occurred during a two-month phase when Jamie refused to wear anything but those pajamas.
Jamie's penchant for disappearing was not the principle reason that David hated taking him out. The main reason was the way people acted around them. If Jamie felt distress that he was an illegitimate child, he betrayed the feeling to no one. For David, though, the regret was central to his existence. Fleeting glances he caught from strangers reinforced his belief that he and Jamie were not connected to each other. The people remembered David's father Thomas Grant, the whirlwind wedding, and his dashing smile. They looked at David with a pity so vivid that he walked with his eyes glued to the path before him so he would not have to acknowledge it. Jamie, though, was stared at and whispered over. David caught patches of conversations, whispered behind hands as the boys passed. The mumblings were easily interpreted. Jamie was a mistake. His mother's mistake with an unknown man. Sometimes David agreed, but mostly he tightened his hold on Jamie's hand and forced him through the market faster. Jamie was usually too busy smiling and waving at everyone to realize they were talking about him.
Jamie was not oblivious to his effect on people, despite what David thought. The first and so far, only, time Jamie indicated any type of feeling about it was in an interview with Junior Beat Magazine the week of sixth November, 1988 after his third single charted at number two on the British popular charts.
Junior Beat: Is going home different now? Do you get stopped? Do people stare at you?
Jamie: People have always stared at me. So, nothing has changed.
JB: Sounds like they knew you were destined for greatness.
Jamie: I don't know. Maybe they thought I was destined for something, but I doubt it was greatness.
JB: So, I guess fame doesn't seem too strange to you.
Jamie: Everything is strange to me, but I get used to it.
Chapter Ten
I woke up when the phone started beeping and returned the receiver to the cradle. It was cold and I'd left the lights on. I took off Russell's shirt and pants, which I had fallen asleep wearing, and changed into a sweatshirt. What was I doing, getting stressed over Jamie? He would never care for me, not like I did for him. 'Sorry Andrew, I'll see you later. I'm off to have an orgy.' I would hear it every night.
Someone knocked on the door. I knew it was Jamie. There was something about the slow knock, as if he needed to think about it. I went to let him in. No matter what I told myself, as long as he came, I knew that I would always let him in.
"I'm here," Jamie said.
I looked at the alarm clock beside the bed. It was not yet four in the morning. "I'm going back to bed. You coming?"
He followed me into the bedroom. "Aren't you going to ask me about my night of L'Amour?"
"No. I absolutely am not." I lay down and smashed the pillow over my eyes.
Jamie sat beside me. "I missed you."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be. What happened to your wrist?"
"What?" Before I could prevent it, Jamie grabbed my arm.
"Why is your wrist purple? Andrew, why are both of them purple? What the fuck happened?"
Shit. They must have bruised up while I was asleep. "It was an accident."
"Drew, one is an accident. Two is you being a liar."
I yanked my arm out of Jamie's grip. I winced from the resulting pain. "Don't worry about it."
"Is this why you didn't want me to go tonight? Did Jeff do this?"
I leaned up on my elbows. "You came to that conclusion pretty quickly."
"What did he do to you?"
"I never said it was Jeff."
"What did he do to you?"
"Nothing."
A wisp of a smile appeared beneath humorless eyes. "It's Jeff, Andrew. Tell me. Now."
I sat up. "You were right, okay? He thinks I'm pretty."
"Did he force you?" Jamie moved to my side. He pushed on my shoulder until I had to look at him.
"No, he didn't force me. I… told him he could kiss me." Jamie pulled his lower lip into his mouth as if he were holding back an emotion. I wasn't sure if it was rage or sorrow. I had to look away because I couldn't stand the way it made me feel, like I was sick, wanting to curl into myself, but at the same time needing to scream to get the bad things out of me. I was responsible for putting that look on his face. Me, who had sworn never to hurt him. Good fucking job. Way to keep a promise and all that. "I'm sure it was an accident, or he got carried away. I don't know. He sort of… held them at one point."
Jamie lay down and put his hands over his head. "Like this?"
"No. By my side."
"Show me," Jamie said. It was not a request.
I hesitantly crawled over him. "Sit up." I straddled Jamie's lap and placed my hands over his wrists, pulling them up to his chest as Jeff had done.
"Then what?" he asked.
"He…" I didn't think I could be more embarrassed if I tried.
"Show me," he said again.
I leaned forward until Jamie's back was against the headboard, just as mine had been against the cab's door. I thought about replicating Jeff's part in the kiss, but I didn't want to…I didn't think I could be anyone but myself with Jamie. Closing my eyes, I kissed him. Jamie sighed as I sucked in his lower lip. Still holding his wrists, I hesitated for a fraction of a second before lightly running my tongue over Jamie's teeth. Jamie's soft lips took over as he flattened his hands over my chest. My head spun. This was nothing like the vodka-sponsored kiss Jamie had pressed upon me at our first meeting. This kiss was full, and sober, and passionate, and so much better than my imagination. Jamie slid a hand free. He buried his fingers in my hair and gently traced behind my ear. With his hand that I still held, I interlaced our fingers, trying to get closer to him in as many ways as I could. Jamie pressed on my knuckles as I discovered the rough spot on his inner cheek with my tongue. He shifted his legs, and I dropped more completely onto his lap. I pulled our hands free so I could push my chest against his.
"Andrew…" I thought he was telling me stop and started to pull back, but he was still clutching my hair, still holding on.
I ran my hand over his hair and across his forehead and down his cheeks as I resumed kissing him. I hoped that I was doing it right. Then Jamie swirled his tongue over mine, and I forgot about everything else. Jamie traced my spine through the thick fabric of my sweatshirt from the nape of my neck to the hollow of my back. I shuddered as he rested his hand on my neck. Sliding my hand beneath Jamie's head, I pulled him from the headboard.
Jamie's lips traveled to my ear. I felt him breathe hotly against it. I rocked against him, hard, and he pulled me closer, hands on my back keeping me tight against him, encouraging me. He whispered my name, making it sound like a promise. A bolt of warmth and pleasure shot through my body as I sucked on Jamie's neck.
I shuddered against him, and he held me as I came down. Through his jeans, his cock was hard against my thigh. I looked down, wanting to see, and instead saw my own state—the head of my cock had fallen out of the slit in my shorts and was slowly drooping back to normal. My come was all over his shirt.
"Oh." I leapt off him and scrambl
ed to the end of the bed, looking for a sock or something to clean him with.
"Yeah," Jamie said, looking down. "Looks like you enjoyed it."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"It's okay; it's not the first time," Jamie said.
I didn't answer him. He dabbed his chest with the sheet. "I'm sorry," I said again. "That didn't happen with Jeff."
"Good," Jamie said.
I had to agree. It felt like I'd been purified of Jeff.
He scooted next to me and put his arm around me. I laid my head on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you," he said, finally.
"Maybe you won't have to find out," I said. My heart was pounding. Maybe it was the adrenaline from the orgasm, which, frankly, I hadn't had with another person since I became single, but I had to jump on the chance he seemed to be offering.
"What are you saying?"
"I care about you." The words came as easily as breath. They hung in the air. I could almost see them, daring me to suck them back in. But the confession calmed me and lifted my spirits. I was not about to retract it.
Jamie's arm slipped from my shoulders. Instead of falling completely, his hand stopped in the middle of my back. "I know. But I'm not worth it."
"You are, believe me," I said. "Please, Jamie, just give me a chance."
Jamie glanced at the clock. "You've got an hour."
I twisted around to see if he was serious. "What? Why?"
"That's when I'm leaving for the airport. I'm going back to London today. You knew that."
"So that's it?" I asked. "You're off, like that?"
"It's not like I just decided to go. This is how it's always been. It's got nothing to do with you. Anyway, aren't you leaving today, too? Wasn't that the whole point of you staying, so we could leave on the same day?" He was on the edge of patronizing.
"Oh, what? You're allowed to pitch a fit when I tell you I'm leaving, but I have to sit here quietly and let you go? And I'm not leaving until this afternoon."
Jamie smiled and pulled my head towards him. He kissed my forehead. The chasteness was almost insulting. "You don't know what you're getting into with me. Besides, you already came on me. It's all downhill from there." His smile didn't go anywhere.
"Fuck," I said. I could laugh if I wasn't trying so hard not to cry. There it was, my life: departing backs and slamming doors.
Jamie got up. Instead of leaving as I expected, he walked to the outer wall on the other side of the bed and pulled the heavy brown curtain open. He stood looking out the window. "Did you know it never gets dark in New York? Even if they turned every light off, you could still see. It's the light pollution, hovering in the molecules up there." He made a circular gesture with his finger, pointing upwards.
I moved cautiously over to him. "Yeah," I said. "I think I heard that." When I reached the window I stood next to him, and we both looked down at the headlights snaking their way along the streets, the stoplights, and the Park. The office buildings around us were lit up from top to bottom.
"I hate not being able to go down there," Jamie said.
"We could sneak out," I offered. I pictured us finding a back staircase, slinking down eighteen flights unnoticed and bursting forth free onto the street.
"Bob would kill me. You should have seen him after I did that runner in Milan. I don't want to get you on his bad side."
"You know, it's kind of touching that you care," I said. "Bob is a very large man who could hurt me badly." I smiled, but Jamie looked serious.
"There's something about you, I guess. You're probably the least jaded person I know."
I got the feeling that he wasn't talking about my status with Bob anymore. I remembered how he'd told me all about myself on my first full day when we'd gone out to eat. Now, knowing that he was going to leave without giving us a chance and was still analyzing me pissed me off. "You hardly know me at all. In fact, I haven't understood why you've wanted me to stay or why you keep coming back to me when you—"
He reached over and brushed a stray hair off my forehead, cutting me off before I could say, 'when you seem not to notice that I want you with me.' His finger felt wet on my skin. "I know you enough," he said. "I know your songs. You're good, you know? A good person."
I caught his hand as he moved it off my face. He didn't object when I pulled it down between us and held it loosely. He didn't need my anger. "Michael keeps me grounded. Otherwise I really would be all over the place."
He chewed his lips as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to say whatever he was about to say. "Are you in love with him?"
"No." I debated telling him that he was far from the first to ask, but decided against it. I didn't really want to talk about Michael. "I love him. I'm not in love."
"You're lucky, though," he said. "Having someone like that. Someone who can stop you from going overboard."
I looked over at him. He was staring out the window. His face was reflected in it, looking serious and a little sad. "You're really fucked up, you know that?" I tried to say it lightly, so he'd know that I didn't mean he was a lost cause.
His hand tensed in mine and for a second I thought I'd misjudged how to do it, but then he started laughing. He dropped his head against the glass and laughed until he was shaking. "God, fuck," he said. "I know." He tugged me closer to him, turned and put his head on my shoulder. I pulled him into a hug as he vibrated against me.
"I am, too," I said against his hair. "I've just got better coping mechanisms."
He pulled back. "You mean you've got Michael. What would you do if you didn't?"
I shrugged. "I'd take care of myself. I'm almost thirty. I'm not going to fall into a pit of immaturity or self-destruction. I'm too old for that."
He shifted away, but he was smiling. "I tell myself that every day."
"You think I'm safe, don't you?" I asked. "That's why… all this…" I made my own circular gesture, figuring he was astute enough to know what I meant—everything that had happened over the past few days.
"I think you're honest," he said. "And, yeah, I feel safe with you. Or, I feel like you're not going to lie to me. I've felt that way for a while, though, ever since I first heard the first song you sent me. Meeting you like this just confirmed it. You know, when I told Paeder to hire you, I told him to meet you in New York. He was going to have you go to London, but I had Audrey arrange a recording studio for him here and set up other meetings as well."
I had to take a moment to process what he was saying. Paeder had wanted to see me in London? Jamie had manipulated everything so I would be here, where he was, because he wanted to know me better? Because he wanted to see if I was the person he had imagined based on my lyrics?
"Oh," I said. I didn't make any movement away from him, but he must have felt something change in my stance because suddenly there was an inch of space between us as he looked at me with a sheepish expression that was so different from his usual confidence or even the shuttered anguish that I'd seen during his night terrors. "So, you could probably be a criminal mastermind if the rock star thing got old?" I asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere again.
He grinned. "Second choice career, definitely. So, you don't mind, then?"
"Honestly? Screwed up as these past four days have been, I'd choose it over a week writing in London any day. I doubt it would have been nearly so exciting. Never would have found out about Paeder's love life, for one thing. Or about yours."
Jamie looked unfazed. "Whole fucking world knows about my love life."
"Don't. Don't do that. I'm not talking about the world. I'm talking about me." I wanted to touch him, poke him, snap him out of the studied nonchalance he had drifted into. I made my words sharp, though, and that seemed to shake him enough to know he wasn't standing next to someone who was just going to nod at him.
"How long were you with your wife?" he asked.
"Married for six years. About twelve years all together, but I had a crush on her since second grade."
"You're
loyal," he said.
"Loyalty is for dogs. Humans are committed."
"You don't have any trouble with it, I meant."
"No. No trouble at all," I said, "not that it's helped me any."
"I kind of envy that."
"You just haven't found the right person," I said and immediately felt stupid. Jamie's problems with commitment hardly boiled down to a bad match.
"Maybe," he said, as if he were considering that possibility.
"Have a good time with Jeff?" I asked, wanting to change the subject and saying the first thing I thought of. Unfortunately, my resentment came with it. I tried to keep it out of my voice, but I could hear it creeping in. I was sure he could, too.
"Are you angry?"
"A little. You didn't have to, you know… you said he's not good for me and then you go off and—"
"Do you think he hurts me?" Jamie looked at me with amused interest. "We're mates, you know, me and Jeff. No reason for you to be jealous."
I didn't know what he thought I was jealous of, since it was clear to me that our friendship wasn't going to become the world's greatest love affair. At least, not as long as he was ending his nights celebrating with someone else. "You know I saw him with Paeder," I said, "and he knew that I was watching. He wanted me to watch. You can't tell me that's something a sane person would do."
Jamie gave a half-smile. "I never said Jeff was sane. He is what he is."
"So how did you, you know, end up with him?" I was almost afraid to ask, but it seemed like a blank space that I needed filled in.
"He did a photo shoot of me right after my brother quit as my manager. I wasn't in the best state and he… he helped me forget." I could imagine how Jeff had done this. I pictured him pushing Jamie against a wall, as he had done to Paeder, knee between his thighs, tongue and fingers opening him, leaving him shattered and needy.
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