Pop Life

by Ryan Loveless

  Jamie nodded. "Right. Got it." He pulled me inside the building. As soon as the door closed, his demeanor changed into his public face as he smiled and nodded at the guards who had betrayed him to Bob.

  "Where's the loo, do you think?" he asked once we were past them.

  "Haven't you played here before?" I asked.

  "Well, yes. But I was high that night." Jamie bounced from one foot to the other. His hand fluttered over his crotch. It was more acting. "So, ah, loo?"

  "Oh. I think there's one just there." I barely finished pointing before Jamie was racing down the hall. I sprinted after him. As Jamie disappeared behind the door, Jeff strolled around the corner, or whatever passed for a corner in a round building. He smiled toothily.

  "Are you chasing someone, Andrew?" Jeff asked.

  My eyes flashed to the restroom door. "No." I tried to sidestep him. Jeff blocked me.

  "Someone in the toilet?"

  "N-no. I just felt like having a run." I gritted my teeth, disgusted with my stammering.

  He arched an eyebrow, looking amused.

  "Look, Jeff. I'm worried about Jamie right now, so if you could just stop, I'd appreciate it."

  His demeanor changed immediately to one of concern. "What's wrong? Is he all right?"

  "I don't know."

  "He's in there?" Jeff stepped around me to knock on the restroom door. "Jamie? You all right?"

  The door opened. Jamie stood there. Water was running down his face and hair.

  Jeff squinted at Jamie. "Have you been crying, James?"

  "Yes, Jeff, I have been crying," Jamie said. Jeff stepped towards him. Jamie leaned into the approach.

  "Perhaps you are in need of some absolution?" Jeff asked. He purred the words like a priest with porn star aspirations.

  Jamie nodded, once, looking straight at Jeff.

  "Jamie, I think you should come on with me," I said. I moved off the wall. This was not good at all. Jeff was the last thing Jamie needed. He had me now, he didn't need to keep sinking down to Jeff.

  "Andrew, weren't you going for a run?" Jeff asked. His gaze was locked on Jamie.

  "No, I wasn't."

  "Go on," said Jamie. He sounded like he was telling me to go play.

  I ignored the insult. "Jamie, you can't do this." Positioning myself directly in front of him, I poked him in the sternum.

  Jamie blinked at me. "No one asked you. Now go on."

  I drilled my finger into Jamie's chest. "No one has to ask me. It's my business now."

  "Go!" Jamie lunged towards me. That got me moving. I ran. I looked over my shoulder to make sure two six-foot-two inch Britons were not chasing me and saw Jeff pushing Jamie back into the restroom and the door closing behind them.

  I stumbled down the corridor. Jamie had been doing better and now this… Fuck. I prayed that it wasn't the setback that he wouldn't recover from. I wanted to collapse in the middle of the hall. Let the backing singers step over me. Let the techies move me out with the speakers. Whatever. Just let me be.

  "Andrew!"

  My knees buckled.

  "Drew!" Strong arms grabbed me, steadied me. My head swam. I felt myself being leaned against a wall, felt four hands on me, two on my face, pushing back my hair and touching my forehead. Two others gently fanned over my ribs, checking for injury.

  "You all right, Drew?"

  "Michael? My head…" I squeezed my fingers against my temples.

  Michael patted me. "I know, I know. Here." He handed me a water bottle.

  "Thanks." I drank. Russell lowered me to the floor. I pulled my knees up to my chest.

  "What happened?" Michael asked.

  "Just another day in the life of a fuck-up."

  Michael put his hand out for the water bottle. "You're not a fuck-up, Drew." He took a sip from the bottle and handed it back to me.

  "We were actually just coming to find you," Russell said. "Paeder's doing a press conference. It's 'impromptu', which is Paeder-speak for planned with military precision, and he wants us to put in an appearance."

  "I don't think I can go," I said. I wanted to go back to the restroom and camp out so I could be there for Jamie when he came to his senses—or else to smack some into him myself.

  Michael offered a hand and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, mate. It'll be all right."

  Russell threw an arm around Michael. "Let's get this over with, lads. One press conference featuring Ireland's self-appointed finest awaits."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Keelin was absent at the press conference. I waved when Paeder acknowledged Michael and me, somehow managing to make our writing credentials sound not just impressive but awe-inducing, which had the assembled journalists gathered around to push us for details of Icon's next album when Paeder finished. I saw Jeff slip into the room with his camera and start quietly snapping pictures.

  Jamie wasn't with him, and there were too many people around to ask Jeff where he was, since I didn't want to give away that he was there at all, so when it ended, I sprinted back to the restroom. A crumpled cotton towel on the floor was the only indication that anyone had been there. I picked it up. It smelled like Jamie—reeked of his cologne and sweat. Parts of it were wet, and there were specks of crimson on it.

  I stumbled away.

  I forced myself to go carefully, to listen, and to check the rooms. My vigilance paid off. A closed door muffled a loud crash. Opening the door, I saw Keelin standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by shattered ceramics.

  "Making a mosaic?" I asked. Keelin hurled a vase at the floor.

  "Yeah, a big one." He stepped over the pieces and threw himself onto a tattered couch. Waving me in, he swung his legs over an arm of the couch, lying down so his feet could dangle.

  I wrapped my arm over my chest. "You weren't at the press conference."

  "Nope." Keelin sat up and planted his elbows on his knees. His hands drooped between his legs.

  "Did something happen?"

  "I'm too demanding."

  "What?"

  "If I'm going to be with Paeder, I have to learn not to be so clingy. I'm trying to, I am, but he could at least make an effort." Keelin pushed back his bangs, revealing a rueful expression that was a distant cousin to the bashful smile that had caused millions of young girls to put him on their walls.

  "Keelin, I hardly think asking him to stop screwing around makes you clingy."

  "It's not that. I tried to hug him in front of people and he freaked out."

  "I still don't see how he can justify calling you clingy." I hoped that my impatience wasn't showing. Jamie was God knew where, but I couldn't just leave Keelin like this. I had to get going, though, and find Jamie.

  Keelin continued like he had not heard. "I shouldn't have thrown a fit in here. I'm just being selfish. I can't believe I'm ruining his big night just because he wouldn't hug me in front of his road crew."

  "Don't apologize, Keelin." I said. "He should have hugged you."

  "I'll go find him. It'll be all right," Keelin said, more to himself than to me. "What time is it?"

  I shrugged. "About six, I think."

  "Good. I've got two hours."

  "For what?"

  "To make everything right again. It's gonna work this time, Andrew. I know it," he said. He tugged his shirt cuffs.

  "I hope so, Keelin. For you. Look, if you see Jamie, tell him I'm looking for him, okay?"

  "I will."

  I started to leave.

  "Andrew?" Keelin asked.

  "Yeah?"

  "I hope you find him."

  "Me too." With that, I left. I could hear Keelin humming as I walked on. Around another corner, down another hall, and I heard Michael's voice. I walked a bit faster. Michael was sitting on the floor with a blonde woman. He gesticulated idly as he spoke.

  "…and I was with Priscilla the longest. That was really tough when we broke up. But, you know, some things just aren't meant to be, I guess," Michael said.

  The woman no
dded and smiled sympathetically. "I know exactly how it is."

  "I see you've found a confidante," I said. Michael smiled at me.

  "Dianne, this is Andrew; Andrew, this is Dianne, Paeder's wife." I shook her hand.

  "I saw you at the press conference. It's nice to finally meet you. He's not bothering you, is he?" She had been sitting unobtrusively in the back. I hadn't even realized who she was.

  "Not at all. I think he's rather charming."

  "You're not the first, believe me."

  Dianne laughed. "I should hope not. Someone like Michael shouldn't be a secret. Everyone should know about him."

  "Oh, stop." Michael scratched his knees, but the smile stayed on his face.

  "Well, I'm just looking for Jamie," I said, taking the focus off Michael before he sank through the floor in embarrassment. "You haven't seen him, have you?" If Michael had been alone, I'd have told him what had happened, but I didn't want to say anything in front of anyone else.

  They shook their heads.

  "Well, will you tell him I'm looking, if you see him?" I asked.

  "I'll bring him to you if I see him," Michael said.

  "Thanks."

  "Andrew? If you see my husband, could you tell him I need him?" Dianne asked.

  "Sure."

  "Or Keelin," she added.

  I paused and looked at her, but her face was absolutely blank.

  "You…?" I asked.

  "Have known for years, so you'll tell them?"

  "Yes."

  I left them and walked down the hall into another large room. Couches and coffee tables were neatly aligned with the wall and spacing of the room. Champagne and water bottles chilled in ice buckets. An allotment of apples and honeyed tea were arranged on either side of the tables. A television showed the stage where techies dragged cables and tested wires. The room's sole purpose was to facilitate waiting. I stood in the doorway, watching the two men in the back of the room.

  I had found Dianne's husband. I had found Keelin's lover. And I had found Jeff—up against the back wall, Paeder the aggressor here, pinning him, kissing the nape of his throat, and Jeff moaning and grabbing Paeder. I shoved up between them and pushed Paeder back. For a second, he looked guilty, but the expression was quickly shuttered and replaced with anger.

  "This is none of your business," Paeder said.

  "Where's Jamie?" I asked Jeff, ignoring Paeder as he vibrated beside me.

  "Went home," Jeff said. He was focused totally on me, as if he put Jamie above Paeder, too. There was a scratch on his neck. I wondered if that explained the crimson specks on the towel.

  "Thank you." I turned my back on both of them and walked out. As I did, I saw Keelin entering, looking angelic in his baby blue shirt that made his eyes glow clear blue and his white trousers with their double-tied drawstring that were rolled three times and still overly long. I thought about stopping him, but maybe if he saw them like this, he'd come to his senses and finally dump Paeder for good.

  And besides, the only person I cared about saving from hurt right now was Jamie. So, I let Keelin go past me. When the shouting started, I was already running in the opposite direction, headed for the exit.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When the cab stopped outside Jamie's house, I threw a twenty pound note to the driver and bolted without waiting for change. The front door was unlocked. Ignoring the immaculate main floor, I sprinted up the stairs and into the bedroom. Nothing had changed from that morning. I moved on.

  A search of the other room, a small study, revealed nothing, either. Jamie had to be in the house. The sound of water hitting the window turned my head towards it. The sun had been out when I arrived. In fact, it was still shining outside the other window. It was positively beaming. I tugged the latch as another downpour began. Pushing the window open, I stuck my hand out. Pulling it back in, I licked my fingers. The 'water' was Vodka. Leaving the window unlatched, I raced to the end of the hall, looking for an exit to the roof. Finding a ladder leading to the attic, I scurried up and ran the length of the cluttered storage space, dodging discarded toys and ancient photo albums. I propelled myself through an open window onto a landing. Jamie sat cross-legged in his gray cotton boxers.

  His clothes were scattered across the roof. He had at least twenty bottles lined up beside him. He tossed a newly emptied one over his shoulder. Somewhere behind us it shattered. He grabbed another.

  "Jamie?"

  "What?"

  "What are you doing?"

  "What does it look like?" He screwed the cap off and started pouring. I almost dropped with relief when I saw that he wasn't drinking it. Small favors, I thought.

  I inched closer. Heights really were not my thing. "You have to stop blaming yourself. That woman was insane to act like it was your fault."

  "Was she?"

  "It was an accident." I had the feeling that my talking was doing as much good to convince him as flapping my arms would do for making me fly.

  "Yeah," Jamie said. "Sure." He shattered another bottle, which confirmed my suspicions.

  I folded myself to my knees. "Look, maybe you should put your clothes on."

  "Maybe you should take yours off."

  "The neighbors."

  "I'm sure they've seen worse than this. I have no idea what I do when I'm drunk, remember? You know the real me. Lucky, lucky you." He grabbed another bottle.

  "Yes, lucky me," I snapped the words back at him. "I actually do mean that, you know. Lucky me. I know you like no one else does, and I want you to stop doing this."

  Jamie tossed the bottle. Then he grabbed me. Before I could stop him, my shirt was over my head. Jamie threw it off the roof.

  "That's better," Jamie said.

  "Maybe I should take my pants off, too?" I glared at the shrub where my shirt had landed. It was cold. My skin was pebbling already.

  Jamie shrugged. "If you feel like it." He stood up.

  I grabbed his ankle, intending to tell him to sit back down because it wasn't safe to be standing so close to the edge of the roof. However, when I looked up, my eyes were level with a fresh bruise on his thigh, just below the bottom of his shorts. I stared at it, thought about Jeff putting it there, punishing him, Jamie probably encouraging it, and I let go of his ankle and scooted away from him.

  "You let him touch you," I said. Bile rose in my throat. "You let him touch you." I repeated it, letting the accusation soak into my tone.

  Jamie had turned around and was looking at me, perhaps with confusion, perhaps with concern. I had to blink a few times to get my focus back on him and off the way rage was broiling up inside me. He had a bruise on his chest, too, right in the center, as if Jeff had shoved him backwards with too much force. I'd probably see another one on his back where he had hit whatever he'd been shoved into. The thing that was making it hard to breathe, though, was the knowledge that Jamie had let it happen, had wanted it to.

  "Get inside," I said.

  I must have sounded serious enough because after a moment, he obeyed. I crawled through the window after him, and he was standing there waiting, looking at me curiously. I ignored his soft smirk. If he thought he had my number, he was so fucking wrong.

  "Downstairs, now."

  With an arched eyebrow, as if he thought it was a game, he obeyed again. I clambered down the ladder to find him waiting again. I grabbed his wrist. He winced, and I realized I'd accidentally clamped my hand over another bruise. I loosened my grip. Hurting him was the last thing I wanted to do; he already had too many people who did that.

  As we passed through the bedroom, he made a comment that we'd waited long enough. I ignored it and shoved him into the bathroom. There was a spa-size hot tub, but I aimed him at the shower stall. "Inside. Leave your shorts on if you want."

  He locked his legs against my pushing, and he turned around. He towered over me, taking full advantage of the four inches he had on me. I stared up at him, standing my ground. He wasn't going to intimidate me out of this. I didn't
think he really wanted to, anyway. After a second, and without once taking his eyes off me, he stripped out of his shorts and threw them into the hamper. Then he stared at me for another moment before taking a step backwards and getting into the stall. He crossed his arms as if to say, "Now what?"

  I reached in and turned the water on. The cold blast hit him hard. Spluttering and swearing, he tried to escape it.

  "Snap the fuck out of it." I shouted over the sound of the high pressure spray.

  "Fucking hell," he shouted back.

  I adjusted the temperature up to a more comfortable level. He had backed into a corner, but was still close enough so I could reach him. Picking up the shampoo, I gestured for him to come closer. He looked at it and at me with caution, but gradually stepped forward. I turned him around and moved him beneath the spray. I knew he thought that I was going to hurt him, or yell, because that was what he asked people—Jeff—to do, and it was upsetting that after all we'd been through, he still hadn't figured out that I wasn't like that. However, that discomfort was nothing compared to how I felt as I realized that he was going to let me hurt him. He didn't say anything as I got his hair wet and pushed the shower head away so I could shampoo it.

  The shampoo smelled like mint. It was strong enough to make my fingers tingle as I rubbed it into his scalp. I did this for a few minutes, long enough for him to go slack and start pushing his head against my fingers. "You have to stop," I said. He stilled, as if he thought I was talking about what he was doing at that moment. "I'm going to keep you safe now," I promised. "It's not fair to me if you keep running off to Jeff, if you keep hurting yourself. You're better than that. I know you don't think so—" I moved my massage down to his shoulders when he started to pull away. Digging my thumbs into the base of his neck, I kept him there.

  "You don't know," he said.

  "You are better," I said, "and I don't care what anyone else says about it. You have to believe it. I'm here to help you. You're a good person. No one has the right to tell you otherwise. But if they do, I'll tell you that they're wrong, and you don't have to go off and get yourself punished or fucked into oblivion."