Perfect Imperfections

“I wasn’t running myself down. You know it’s true. You’re never the one who’s tired; it’s always me.”

“I’m not the one sharing his passion on stage and having to talk to strangers about things I don’t enjoy and getting my picture taken by a bunch of assholes everywhere I go.”

“I’m so sick of that.”

“Which part?” Reg knew it couldn’t be the performing part. Jeremy glowed when he was on stage.

“The paparazzi.” Jeremy’s muscles tensed under Reg’s hands so he rubbed harder. “They’re relentless. I’ve never had to deal with them this much.”

“Really? But this isn’t your first tour or big album. You’ve been in the spotlight forever.”

“Right. I’m not saying I’ve never dealt with them, but it was usually only during public events where they knew I’d be, or if I got unlucky and they happened to spot me somewhere. This time it seems like they’re everywhere. I might as well have sent them my itinerary and a road map for my colon given how thorough they are at being up my ass all the time.”

That comment made Reg laugh hard.

“Quit it.” Jeremy lightly smacked his hip. “You’re making my pillow shake.”

“A road map for your colon?” Reg laughed harder.

“It’s true! They figure out every hotel we stay in, every place I have an interview, every coffee shop we stop in.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Reg ruffled Jeremy’s hair and smiled at him. “They almost never find us when we’re getting coffee.”

“I’ve taken pictures in at least three Starbucks and four independent coffee shops this week alone,” Jeremy reminded him.

“That’s because we both have caffeine addictions, and you’re nice to your fans. Don’t tell me the college girls who squealed and texted their friends after you smiled at them are being hired by magazines.”

“Fine,” Jeremy grumbled. “That wasn’t a good example. But the rest of it’s true. Those assholes are coming out of the woodwork, and they’re way too aggressive. I think I’ll call Bill about it again tomorrow.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you.” Jeremy moved his hand up and down the side of Reg’s thigh.

Reg wondered whether Jeremy was aware of it or if touching Reg came so naturally now that he no longer noticed he was doing it. “I don’t think I had a chance to ask you what your mom said on the phone earlier. By the time you hung up, we were at the Garden.”

“Nothing worth knowing. She mostly talked about a few projects she’s considering and how much they want her for them and how perfect she’d be for the roles, but how she can’t possibly have time to do them all. Oh.” Jeremy paused and then looked up and smiled conspiratorially. “This is interesting. So you know her divorce from my latest stepfather is almost final, and she’s been spending time with that new guy—Harold West.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, he wants her in his movie, and even when I was over there visiting before we left LA, I knew she was just stringing him along. So while she was telling me about all these movies she’s considering—none of which are his—I could hear him in the background asking about his movie, and she completely ignored him. I mean she didn’t say a word to him. She just kept talking to me like she couldn’t hear him, which is impossible because I wasn’t even in the room, and I could hear him.”

“That’s no way to treat people. Especially someone you’re supposed to care about.”

“My mom doesn’t care about some barely on the radar indie director,” Jeremy scoffed.

“You said she’s dating him, right? Has been for several months. Isn’t that reason enough to care? What does his career success have to do with it?”

“It doesn’t, really. What I meant was that my mother doesn’t care about anything or anyone other than her career. She likes to keep a guy around at all times, and Harold West is good-looking and attentive, so he landed the part. But she would never trust him with a role that actually matters to her.”

Wanting to make sure he understand the backward logic, Reg said, “So you’re saying she cares more about whoever is directing her in a movie than whoever is sharing her home?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jeremy said without hesitation. “She always has.”

“I don’t understand your world.” Reg shook his head. “Jobs come and go. I went to school for five years to be an accountant, ended up as a bartender, and now I’m”—he waggled his eyebrows and grinned—“a personal assistant. What does it matter? The only thing that stays constant is family. My brother and his wife have been together through who knows how many jobs. Shouldn’t your mother care more about a man who she might marry and spend the rest of her life with than a job that’ll only last for a short time?”