They all nodded but I shook my head, and Rhys slid his hand to my thigh.
“You know Nicky Z?” he asked, half-joking.
“Yes, thank you, I don’t actually live under a rock.” But I grinned at him, because I basically did.
“Two years ago Nicky Z did this album of acoustic versions of some of his songs, and a few covers, and for some reason recorded it in NY instead of LA.”
“Had to be a PR thing,” Theo said. “Right? His manager wanted him to look like a serious-ass artist or something and thought New York might have that effect?”
Caleb snorted. “Yeah, well it just had the effect of making him look like a serious ass.”
“So, Tara got the gig because she’s the best, and because they wanted a zither or some damn thing and she plays everything in creation. She was in the studio with him for about two hours before texting me that he’s completely incompetent. Not that it was news.”
“I think his voice is okay,” Theo offered generously. Caleb reached for his hand.
“Okay, fair,” Rhys said. “So, the third or fourth day in the studio, Nicky Z has a fit because his guitar ‘won’t tune’—read: He cannot tune his guitar—and storms out to take a break. Tara’s sitting in the studio with everyone, and they all get bored and wander off one by one. But Tara decides that she’ll tune Nicky’s guitar so he doesn’t pitch another fit when he gets back. She tunes it, and he’s still not back, so, because she’s Tara, she starts playing some ridiculously complicated classical guitar piece, just chilling with her eyes shut in the corner. And one of the sound techs who stayed in the booth records it.”
“You have to look it up, Matty,” Theo said. “It’s amazing.”
“It is,” Rhys agreed. “The sound tech put it on YouTube and called it ‘Studio Musician Makes the Most of Nicky Z’s Acoustic Guitar’ or something. Of course within hours people are freaking out about it because the day before he’d posted a video of himself, like, strumming a Bob Dylan song or something, grinning like a fool cuz he managed three whole chords.”
Caleb and Theo both snorted in amusement, their fingers tangled together.
“Man, I’m so happy for Tara. About damn time.” Rhys pulled out his phone and shot off what must’ve been a text to Tara.
I liked hearing about talented people getting a shot at doing what they loved. I wasn’t under any illusions that we lived in a meritocracy—far from it. But the stories of people who worked hard for years and were finally recognized always got to me.
“Oh shit, speaking of awesome people,” Theo said, leaning forward excitedly and dragging Caleb with him in the process since they were holding hands. “This band I saw the other night? Amazing. It was at this little spot in Greenpoint.”
“How do you go to these shows?” I asked. “Don’t you get mobbed?”
Theo’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
“I go in disguise. I’ve just figured it out. The perfect disguise.”
Caleb shook his head but smiled.
One of the things that had made Theo so miserable before he left Riven was not being able to go anywhere without being recognized. He missed just wandering around the city or going to the movies—and he especially missed being able to see shows without pulling focus.
I had total sympathy. Being famous—like, recognizably famous—seemed like a nightmare. All those people looking at you and judging everything you did. Theo said that for a while he just didn’t leave the house since if he did he could end up in a magazine for wearing a white T-shirt instead of a black one. People really had too much time on their hands.
Caleb thumbed up a picture on his phone and showed me. In it, Theo had his long black hair teased so it hid half his face. He was wearing brown contact lenses so his signature silvery-gray eyes couldn’t give him away. And his whole face looked . . . lumpy.
“What did you do to your face?”
“Okay, so I was reading about the dazzle camouflage that they used on ships in World War I,” Theo said. “And it wasn’t about trying to make the ships blend in and disappear, but to make it so people couldn’t really tell which direction they were going in or how far away they were. Super fascinating. Wikipedia it. Anyway, I was like, people recognize me when I try to disappear, because my disappearing just is . . . wearing regular clothes with my face. So, I decided to be visible, but have my visibility distract from the things that would make me recognizable!”
He finished with a flourish, and I squinted at the picture.
“But . . . what the hell did you do?”
Caleb laughed. “He got three different colors of cover-up—”
“Foundation, excuse you.”