“Yep. Inquiring minds want to know, and I think this photo is trending…as my kids say.” Myron chuckled.
“What?” Johnny’s jaw tightened. He typed furiously into his phone, grumbling in frustration.
“Don’t worry. It’ll go away. Publicity ploys die a natural death,” he assured my lover sagely before gesturing between us. “One more question. Are you two…together? Like together?”
“No, we’re just friends,” I replied quickly.
Maybe too quickly.
I thought I detected a flash of hurt cross Johnny’s face, but he turned abruptly to field a new round of rock and roll questions from his manic Zero superfan.
An hour and a half later, Myron had covered everything from Johnny’s personal influences, favorite bands, best clubs to play in LA, favorite Zero song, memorable moments on the road, and the craziest experience with a fan…evidently not realizing that being grilled by a high-powered, middle-aged businessman over French toast and mimosas while being surreptitiously eye-fucked by curious patrons in a crowded bistro might rank on his list.
When we finally said our good-byes, Myron was practically levitating, Darren was pleased, though slightly bored, Harry couldn’t wait to go home, and Johnny seemed distracted.
Me? I was…bemused.
Hey, I knew Zero was a popular band. I’d been to a few shows and had watched them grow from a ragtag group with nothing to their name except a big dream. However, I hadn’t been prepared for the frenzy Johnny’s presence had caused. If it had been a few twentysomethings, I might not have thought twice about it, but Myron was a middle-aged adult, for fuck’s sake. And he was straight. He didn’t romantically lust after Johnny. He simply loved his music and admired his talent.
They all did. Every gawking, wild-eyed fan in that bistro wanted a piece of him. They wanted a contraband photo and the chance to say they were in the same room as a rock star. That had to feel so strange.
“Are you okay?” I asked, checking my rearview mirror as we coasted along the 10 freeway toward LA. “You had quite the fan club there.”
“Yeah. Weird brunch. I’ve never had that happen so…intensely. Not when I’ve been on my own.” He leaned forward to adjust the volume on a Bill Withers song and hummed along, beating a tattoo on his knees.
“Did you text Charlie about the Instagram post?”
Johnny sighed. “Yeah, he has no idea how it got leaked, but he doesn’t think it’s a big deal. You know, if you hadn’t warned me about Clay, I would never think twice about a leaked photo of my fucking arm. In fact, I’m sure I would have laughed. I’m actually pissed about it now. I’m not sure what’s changed.”
“You’re famous.”
“I’m just me, Sean.”
We were quiet for a moment. I wasn’t sure where his head was, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the rabid gaze of some of his fans today. It was…unsettling.
“All that…adulation.” I released my right hand from the steering wheel and circled my wrist for emphasis. “All that praise. Does it feel strange?”
He swiveled in his seat to face me. “I don’t pay attention to it. Look, it’s nice to have people tell you that your work means a lot to them. It’s more than nice. It’s meaningful. But the fans who love you today might not love you tomorrow. I’ve learned to take the praise with a grain of salt. Myron likes the idea of me and Zero, but he also likes that we may make him some money. I’m assuming your friends feel the same way. They looked relieved that Myron didn’t care about the Instagram pic. I guess it comes down to free publicity and money. See? It’s all business. And I’m a commodity. Hell, my arm is a commodity. How fucking strange is this world?”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Very strange.”
He waited until the song on the radio ended to continue. “I’m curious about something.”
“What is it?”
“Why did you tell them we’re just friends? I understand the ‘friends’ part, but you put a lot of emphasis on the word ‘just.’ It was italicized and in bold print. And your tone was very sharp…the way you get when you don’t want anyone to question you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I squinted against the sun’s glare on the broad window of the Suburban in front of me and changed lanes. Stupid move since the traffic was even slower.
“Liar,” he huffed. “It’s cool. You’re not ready.”
“That’s not true. There’s just a fine line between needing to protect you and your privacy. You saw those people. The last thing you need is someone asking who I am and what you’re doing with an old guy.” I aimed for light and breezy but failed.
“I’m not the one who needs protection, Sean. Not me. But you should know that I’m not going to drag you into something you didn’t sign up for. Don’t worry. I’ll protect you too.”