by Jessica Ashe
After three hectic, sweaty days spent with Damon, the two of us sit down and agree to go public with our relationship. Katrina has a few off the record conversations with journalists which of course immediately end up getting leaked. In less time than it would take to roll a condom down Damon’s large cock, most of the world knows I’m dating an English guy who works for my tour group. I still haven’t officially confirmed it, but at some point we’ll appear in public together and that will be that.
After a week, there’s a break in the tour and I get three whole days off from performing. Any hope of spending that time with Damon immediately evaporates when Katrina reminds me I’ve already made a commitment to attend a charity function in New York. I ask Damon to come with me, but he insists on staying in England. Emma is starting at her new school and he wants to be there to take her in the morning and pick her up in the afternoon. How can I argue with that?
I’m vaguely aware that transatlantic trips are stressful for most people, but the private jet makes things fly by a lot quicker, both literally and figuratively. I’m so exhausted that I manage to sleep most of the way and I wake up in New York just before the wheels hit the tarmac.
The next few hours pass by in a blur, and before I know it, I’m walking into a museum in an evening gown and wearing jewelry that costs more than most people earn in a year. I have to give the jewelry back after the event, which in this case comes as a blessed relief. The necklace is thick and heavy, with a large green gem sitting just above my breasts. It’s disgusting. I’m probably being paid to wear it, or at least I should be.
I’m here on my own, assuming you don’t count Katrina, Lance and his team, and a stylist on hand for any fashion emergencies. They stay in the background while I stand on the spot and shake hands with a continuous flow of people who come up to meet me.
The organizer of this function reminds me we are raising funds for ‘the arts’ which sounds suitably vague. It could be anything from maintaining historic paintings to paying for amateur actors to put on plays in Central Park. I’m struggling to remember why I agreed to attend when a strikingly good-looking actor—who happens to play one of my favorite superheroes on the big screen—walks up and shakes my hand. Now I remember; I’m here to meet guys. Katrina probably set this all up before I met Damon, or at least before we got serious.
I’ll give him his due, this ‘superhero’ looks just as striking in person as he does on the screen in a dark blue suit and red cape. However, once he opens his mouth he’s not quite so interesting. He’s well-spoken and polite, but I’m not sure I want well-spoken and polite anymore. I want Damon. This actor’s been on the scene long enough to realize when something isn’t working, and he quickly moves on to one of the many other talented young women here.
“I’ve been told to come over and speak to you.”
I spin around and see a man standing there holding a glass of champagne and looking a little nervous. We shake hands and he introduces himself as Matthew.
“What are you working on at the moment?” I ask. It’s a tactful way of asking what he does because I don’t recognize him. In normal social circles, it’s quite acceptable to ask someone what they do for a living. If you do that here, you risk offending that person by insinuating that they’re a nobody.
“Don’t tell anyone, but it looks like I’m back on the superhero scene.”
Ah, he’s another actor.
“Why is that a secret?”
“Because I’m switching allegiances.” He smiles when he notices my confusion. “I’m going from Marvel to DC. Switches like that can start wars. Fan wars.”
I laugh and nod my head in agreement. “They can get carried away sometimes.”
“Listen, my agent said I should come over here and talk to you because... you know….”
“Good for publicity.”
“Exactly. Anyway, this isn’t public knowledge, but truth be told you’re not exactly my type.”
I laugh again and offer him my arm which he links with his own. “In that case, you are just the person I want to speak to all night. Please don’t leave my side.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “With pleasure. Do I take it that the rumors are true?”
“Rumors?”
“Don’t play naïve. I’ve seen the pictures of that naughty British stud you’ve been hanging around with.”
“We’ve been spending time together,” I say coyly.
“He looks like trouble. I’m jealous.”
“He’s fun.”
“I bet he is. Okay, let’s go get a drink. I want you to tell me everything.”
“Can I trust you to keep things to yourself?”
“Not all gay guys like to gossip,” Matthew says with mock offense. “It just so happens that I do like to gossip, but I’m still offended by the stereotype. Now, the real question is whether you really want me to keep it a secret.”
“The guy in question likes his privacy.”
“Thing is, I happen to be working with a certain ex-boyfriend of yours on my next movie. Goes by the name of Kenneth Carney. I couldn’t help but notice the way he rather unceremoniously ended your relationship. Surely it wouldn’t do any harm if I let slip a few details of your new boyfriend to our mutual friend Kenneth now would it? For example, if this new guy happens to be well-endowed….”
“Oh Matthew, I think the two of us are going to have some fun tonight.”
* * *
I’ve had too much to drink. I’m not in that falling over drunk stage, but I am more talkative than I should be. That’s not a good state to be in when I’m about to see my mother for the first time in months. The second she smells the alcohol, she’ll do her best to take advantage and get information out of me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop her.
The charity function finishes at eleven and usually I’d head back to a hotel. However, my mother stays up late anyway, and she only lives half an hour from the city. Mom loves looking after people, so having Katrina, Lance, and me to look after tonight is her idea of fun.
“I couldn’t help but notice you got on well with Matthew,” Katrina says in the limo.
“And I couldn’t help but notice that this whole thing was a pretense for me to meet single men.”
“I set it up before you and Damon got serious. And don’t avoid the question. Matthew’s a nice guy, right? If you and Damon don’t work out….”
“Matthew’s a lovely guy. And if Damon and I don’t work out, then I’ll be sure to give him Damon’s number, not mine.”
“Oh, gotcha. Good thing you’re already in a relationship then I guess.”
I know it’s late, but she couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if she tried.
“I really like Damon,” I say firmly. “I know he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s a great guy when you get to know him. In other words, stop trying to set me up with other men.”
“Alright. Just be careful, please. One of the good things about dating celebrities is that their past tends to be public knowledge. Do you really know everything about Damon?”
“Of course I don’t, we’ve only been dating a week or so officially.”
“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
Katrina’s never asked me to be careful before. She usually encourages me to have fun with guys. “What are you trying to tell me?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Katrina, whatever is, I can handle it. I’m a big girl now.”
“I don’t want to tell you yet, because I don’t know the details.”
“Details about...”
“Damon’s ex-girlfriend.”
“He told me she died.”
“Did he tell you how?”
I shake my head. “We haven’t talked about it. Why? If you’re about to tell me you think he killed her or something equally silly then I suggest you keep quiet.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. Look, I don’t really know what happened, but I’m working on it. Like I said
, I just want you to be careful for the time being.”
“Fine.”
I’m not in any position to criticize Damon for not telling me the full story about his ex-girlfriend. I’ve lied to him about Dad’s death after all. I’ve lied to everyone about that, including Katrina. Only Mom and I know what really happened, and it’s going to stay that way for the foreseeable future. There are some things I can’t talk about—not even with Damon.
Katrina and I don’t talk for the rest of the journey to Mom’s house, but my mood immediately picks up as we head up the drive to my childhood house. The limo isn’t exactly subtle—it barely fits on the driveway—and Mom is there to greet me at the door.
“You look tired,” Mom says after a few pleasantries. “You want a cup of coffee?”
“No, I’ll be up all night. How about a cup of tea?”
“Oh God, you’ve gone British already? Speaking of being up all night, how is this new man of yours?”
“You don’t waste any time do you?”
“I’ve been waiting to get the details from you for over a week. I’ve waited long enough.”
Mom and I sit down over a cup of green tea—which is all she has—and I tell her everything about Damon that is safe for a mother to know. Plus, a few things that aren’t. I’m expecting her to be skeptical. We’ve had this conversation many times over the past few years and my relationships have barely lasted three months on average.
She’s not skeptical; she looks happy for me.
“You’re grinning,” I say to Mom when I’m finished talking.
“And so are you,” she points out. “You were smiling the entire time you were talking. I’ve never seen you do that before. You like him.”
“Obviously I like him.”
“You know what I mean.”
“We’re not there yet, Mom.”
“Why don’t you take a few days off and go for a dirty weekend away?”
When did my mother start using terms like ‘dirty weekend?’ Oh my God, does that mean she’s been on dirty weekends? There’s a thought I’m going to have to shake from my head before I go to sleep tonight.
“I can’t just cancel tour dates because I want to spend the night in bed with my boyfriend.”
“It would do you a world of good. You work too hard as it is.”
“I don’t work hard. You and Dad worked hard. What I do is nothing in comparison.”
“Your father and I worked hard so you didn’t have to. He wouldn’t want to see you running yourself into the ground.”
“I’m fine, honestly, Mother. Long residencies are meant to be tiring, but it’ll be over soon.”
“And then you’ll start recording a new album, and the cycle will begin again.”
“I tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. After this residency, I’ll take a break before recording a new album.”
“And what do I have to do as part of this deal?” Mom asks.
“Stop worrying about me. Oh, and never mention ‘dirty weekends’ again.”
“Deal. Now, tell me more about Damon. What’s his accent like? English accents get me all weak in the knees.”
Chapter Fifteen
Damon
I’m starting to understand why Naomi is so hooked on her notifications feed. I’ve never bothered with social media, but when you know people are on there talking about you—or in my case, my girlfriend—it’s hard to resist poking my nose in and having a look.
I’m not naïve; I know the internet is a nasty and vicious place at the best of times, but even so I’m surprised at some of the vitriol thrown in Naomi’s direction. Most of it comes from guys who seem to think the best way to get her attention is to call her a whore and other less pleasant adjectives.
I want nothing more than to send a few replies of my own to these basement dwelling keyboard warriors, but Naomi would kill me.
Fortunately, for every nasty insult or death threat, there are hundreds of nice messages from fans who like her music, her performances, or just the clothes she wears. I see Naomi replying to some of them. People cry when she sends them a personal response. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but it’s incredible to see how she can change someone’s life with just a short message.
I also suspect the messages tear her up inside. Hidden among all the nice and nasty messages, are requests for charitable donations or personal visits for sick fans. Naomi can’t possibly respond to them all, and she certainly can’t visit everyone who’s sick. How does she deal with that? There are even messages asking her to visit terminally ill children. She can’t realistically respond to every request, but I know she sees the messages. I also know she hates not being able to do everything her fans want her to do.
Looking at her notifications feed isn’t something she does to massage her ego; it’s something she does to torture herself. It’s a constant reminder that she needs to be grateful for what she has and not take it for granted.
Before I can get too depressed, my own little bundle of joy bounces into the room and jumps on the sofa next to me. Usually the first thing she does when walking into the lounge is turn on the television and put on crappy children’s shows. I’m relieved and nervous in equal measure when she doesn’t.
“Have you had fun with Nanny and Granddad?” I ask.
“They bought me ice cream.”
“Did they now?”
That explains the energy.
“I like my new school.”
“Good.” Because it’s costing a fucking fortune. “Are you making any friends?”
“I have three friends already. And I think tomorrow I’ll have four because I think Paul likes me too.”
“Paul? That sounds like a boy’s name.”
“It is a boy’s name, Daddy. He’s not my boyfriend though.”
“Pleased to hear it.”
“I want Sean to be my boyfriend.”
“Ah. Well, I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“There’s a school disco at the end of the month. Would you like to come, Daddy?”
“I think I’m a little too old for school discos, sweetie.”
“They might play some of Naomi Price’s songs. You like Naomi Price, don’t you?”
Emma stares up at me as the picture of innocence, but I’m convinced she’s on a fishing expedition. Mum once told me never to underestimate the intelligence of children, and I’m beginning to believe her.
“Naomi’s nice,” I reply. “But I think I’ve had enough of her songs for the time being.”
“Oh. What if she came and played her songs at the disco?”
“Darling, I think Naomi is a little too busy to come and sing at your school disco.”
“I’m sure she would if you asked her.”
“You’re just going to have to settle for dancing to her songs normally.”
“Okay then,” she says before grabbing the remote and turning on the television. And here comes my punishment.
Mum and Dad arrive a few minutes later for some much-needed adult company. Unfortunately, it’s not just Emma who wants to discuss Naomi the entire time.
“Don’t you think you might be getting in a little over your head?” Mum asks. “No offense, son, but you’ve never been great in front of the camera. Even as a small child you used to frown at me whenever I tried to take a picture.”
“Trust me, I’m doing my best to stay out of photos. She has people following her around all the time. I don’t know how it doesn’t drive her mad.”
“That’s what I mean. Are you sure you want that?”
“Of course I don’t want it, but it’s the price I have to pay. There are some advantages to dating Naomi and I can assure you they more than outweigh been photographed a few times.”
“I bet,” Dad says knowingly.
“Hubert,” Mum scolds. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“I was referring to the fact that she’s rich,” Dad says innocently. “Must be nice going around in limos all the ti
me and staying in nice hotels.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “I can definitely get used to that, even if it means being photographed more than I’d like. Plus, she’s great in bed.”
“Damon,” Mum yells, reaching forward to cover up Emma’s ears even though she’s too transfixed on the television to hear anything we say. “You’re as bad as your father.”
“Where do you think I get it from?”
“What about all these other men of hers?” Mum asks. “There’s a lot of them from what I’ve read.”
“Mum, I’m about to tell you something that will shock you to your very core. Here goes—brace yourself—I’ve been with quite a few different women myself. I know, I know, this must come as quite a surprise, but it’s true.”
“Yes, I know dear. Trust me, I’d like to forget your ex-girlfriends, but they left quite an impression. What I meant was, her boyfriends are massive A-list celebrities. You’re… not.”
“Without going into details you probably don’t want to hear, let’s just say I’m not all that intimidated by her ex-boyfriends.”
“It’s not just the ex-boyfriends,” Mum continues. “There were a load of photos of her flirting with some actor in one of my magazines. This was just a week ago.”
I know which actor she means. I also suspect that Matthew is gay because of the way Naomi talked about him, but I can’t tell Mum that. I love my mother, but she’s an awful gossip. She won’t spread rumors about Naomi and I, but if she gets the dirt on anyone else you can be sure half of England will know about it by the end of the week.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Mother. She was just being friendly, and you really shouldn’t believe everything you read in those magazines. In fact, other than the TV listings, you shouldn’t believe anything you read in those magazines.”
“I told you,” Dad says smugly to Mum. “Those women’s magazines are full of rumors and gossip.”
“Don’t get all high and mighty with me, mister. You and the lads at work get all your information from The Sun. The news in there is as real as the breasts on page three.”
