Perfect Imperfections

“See? That’s what I mean.” Jeremy took a bite of his banana and kept talking while he chewed. “Everybody I’ve dated says they want to come on tour so they can be with me, but you know what? They don’t. What they want is to do the things they enjoy. The red-carpet stuff they’re all over, but the rest of it bores them, and being with me alone bugs them, and then they get pissy and resentful, and I don’t need to deal with that while I’m working. It’s hard enough being on stage night after night, yeah? When I have to do the stuff I hate, I need someone to help me, not someone I have to watch or apologize to or whatever. And I need downtime on my downtime.” He took another bite. “You know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh.” Reg chewed on his upper lip. “I guess.”

“With you, it’s different. You’re not coming so you can get something else. The thing you want is to be there. Plus, you’ll smile pretty for the cameras, but you won’t get mad when you’re not the one they’re focused on. You’ll bullshit with the journalist people, who, by the way, will eat your whole tattooed-muscle-boy thing up with a spoon, but you won’t get pissy when they don’t write anything about you in the article.” He grinned, the banana smeared on his teeth. “It’s perfect.”

Reg nodded and considered what Jeremy said. “You do realize I’m not a woman, right?”

Looking him up and down, Jeremy arched his eyebrows and said, “Uh, yeah.”

“And you’re okay with the world thinking Jeremy Jameson is gay just so we can drink a few beers and I can run interference for you with annoying press people?”

“Sure. Why should I care what they think about that?”

“Some people care about that kind of thing.”

“I’m a musician, not a, uh, I don’t know….” He grabbed the bagel and bit off a big piece. “What jobs give a shit who someone’s fucking? Politician? Whatever.” He shook his head. “You know who my parents are. If my mother can be divorcing husband number seven—that’s still on the DL, by the way, so keep it to yourself—and my father spent most of his life high, then got so coked up he died in a hotel room with a bed full of women, and my stepmother still showed up at his funeral red-eyed and depressed, getting condolences—I can be gay.”

“All right.” Reg got up and went to the kitchen. “If you’re good with it, I’m in, man. Tell me when we’re leaving, and I’ll pack my duffel and hit the road.” He grabbed his least chipped mug, filled it with liquid heaven, and then brought it to Jeremy.

“First show’s a week from tomorrow in Minneapolis, but you should probably come to LA first so we can go together.” He took another bite of the bagel and a big gulp of coffee. “Mmm, that’s good.” Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he said, “So you’re in?”

A week wasn’t a lot of time, but then again, the only things Reg had to do were stuff his clothes in a bag, tell his boss to find someone to cover his shifts, and let his landlord, mother, and brother know he was leaving. A week was plenty long enough to do that.

Holding his fist out, Reg grinned and said, “I’m in, man.”

Jeremy smiled back and bumped his fist. “It’s on.”

Chapter 3

“JEREMY, YOU’RE Hollywood royalty. You can’t be gay.”

Having grown up around business agents, public-relations experts, and managers, nothing surprised Jeremy anymore. Even so, he thought his manager’s latest comment was more absurd than the usual nonsense he heard.

“Does that make sense in your head, Bill? Because out loud it sounds stupid.”

“You understand what I’m saying,” Bill replied, looking frustrated.

“No, I don’t.” Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his chair back, making it teeter on two legs. He’d seen Reg do it a few times and thought it seemed fun; it was harder than it looked to stay balanced. “Explain it to me.”

Flicking his disapproving gaze from the chair to Jeremy’s face, Bill gave a long-suffering sigh. “Your grandfather directed three Oscar-winning films. Your mother has the same number of gold statues on her mantle, and at fifty-three, she’s still carrying movies. To this day, people say your father was the greatest rock legend of all time, and the anniversary of his overdose is practically a nationwide mourning period.” He paused and looked at Jeremy meaningfully. “You are the top-selling musician in the world. You cannot go from dating swimsuit models and whatever starlet the magazines are getting hard-ons over that week to telling the world you’re with a guy.”

Slamming his chair completely back to the floor, Jeremy said, “I’m the top-selling musician in the world. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”