“Right,” she said, yet she still looked confused. “Guess I’d better get back to it.”
“Thanks for dropping by,” said Marcel, flashing his palm in a stationary wave. She left without saying another word and, once out of earshot, Marcel started chuckling. “Ah, man, you just crushed that girl’s dreams.”
I felt my brow furrow. “What do you mean?” I’d been polite, hadn’t I?
“She wanted you to like her, dude,” Dalton piped up. “She came in here to meet the Hugo Hayes, probably couldn’t believe she got to share the same air as you, and you…well, you were just you. Don’t worry about it.”
What’s that supposed to mean? “Was I an arsehole?” Hadn’t meant to be.
“Nah, man,” Marcel said, still wearing that weird grin. “Just a little…curt. Like he said, don’t worry about it.”
But…I did worry about it. I would worry about it. I would never upset anyone intentionally. The conversation replayed in my head, and I started to wonder what I should have said instead.
“Let’s get back to work,” Marcel said, interrupting my imaginary conversation with Amber Key. “I think we should try it again. Sounded a little strained on the belts.”
I knew it. “Yeah.” I nodded. “I caught that, too.” Still troubled by the unexpected encounter, I shook my head, tried to toss the thoughts and torment to the back of my mind. No doubt, I’d go over them again later. Maybe tomorrow. Next week. And on a random day three years from now.
Session over, I engaged in obligatory pleasantries and exchanged goodbyes with the extended crew before heading home. Conversation came easier with Marcel, and others who I classed as ‘my’ people, or those who I spent a lot of time with, such as Ezra and my now-manager, Drew. They knew me, mostly. Kind of. Life felt like a performance for everyone else. Since childhood, I’d found myself roleplaying dialogue and potential scenarios in my head before entering new situations. It’d got better, especially after hitting my twenties. Mostly, I could hold my own in a random, unforeseen conversation with a total stranger nowadays without my brain completely shutting down, or my mind mocking how I’d handled it for the rest of the fucking month.
You should have told her you’d love to, but you’re really busy just now. And would a smile have hurt?
Like I said…mostly.
‘My’ people understood, now at least. They didn’t take offence if I shrugged away, or think I was a conceited arsehole if I said the wrong thing… or said nothing at all. The media thought I was arrogant. I’d seen the gossip columns and trending hashtags back in the day. I didn’t look anymore. Social media and I had had a brief relationship early on in my career, which quickly ended when I became overwhelmed. It’d seemed great initially. I could finally talk to people, take my time, consider my words, only communicate when I felt ready.
But it was never good enough. I was never good enough. It felt like the entire world wanted my time and they wanted it now and, if they didn’t get it, they were awfully quick to tell me how badly I’d let them down. They’d turn on me or even each other. I just wanted to share my music, my excitement at the incredible journey I’d begun, but instead I’d found myself waist-deep in a cesspit of contrived drama and vitriol. Throughout my life I’d made a conscious effort to steer clear of ugly behaviour, and the fact it was occurring behind a screen made no difference.
Truthfully, there were good people out there. Thousands. Millions, probably. Fans whose support of me was unwavering and empowering. I had seen some awesome comments online. I’d seen random members of a group that referred to themselves as Hugonites create cool collages, artwork, and poems. I’d watched them defend me to the ends of the earth against other equally random strangers who’d posted negative comments about my life or my music, which had felt weird yet lovely at the same time. In fairness, the supporters likely outweighed the bad. Unfortunately, sunshine left fewer steaks on a window than shit. Bad had a way of sticking, of climbing inside my head and taking root in my subconscious.
Personally, I didn’t have the kind of mind that could process it all, separate the bad from the good. I was better off without it. The accounts were still up. As far as I knew, Drew took care of them, or employed someone else to.
Speaking of Drew, I had a meeting with him tonight. It’d be nice to catch up, I thought as I made my way over to my car, which shone brightly under the California sun. The interior was hot as shit when I climbed inside, so I started her up and blasted the aircon for several minutes to avoid third degree burns from the steering wheel. Once I set off, I switched to open windows, turned up the music. There was something about driving along the coast with the rush of the wind in my face. I didn’t know what it was. I felt alive. Free. Like not a care in the world could find me.