Griffin’s first live performance is scheduled for nine pm. He’s greeted with free water bottles, soda, wine, beer, snacks, hugs, and a full-on mouth kiss from a woman who appears to be part of the studio’s official staff. A few minutes after, he’s given a full-on mouth kiss from a man who also appears to be part of the studio’s official staff. The man asks him to sign a neon-blue CD-R with a marker. Griffin does so while grinning widely, and then asks if the man wants my autograph.
He doesn’t.
The bodyguards walk the studio again and again, silently staring down anyone and everyone who crosses their path. Devon, though he smiles and greets everyone with handshakes and pleasant words of introduction, glances around nervously more often than usual.
As Griffin is swept away, I catch Devon’s arm and lean in close to him. I’m still a bit shaken after the Kyran incident, though I had insisted we stick around long enough for Kyran to wake up, just so I could be sure he was all right. Thankfully, he’d been fine, other than having no idea who we were and walking away muttering about how annoyed he was to have been stood up for a meeting. “Is something going on that I don’t know about? Everyone’s acting really weird.”
Devon’s eyes follow Griffin and the three bodyguards who leave the room with him. “Oh,” he says, as if he’s forgotten I was there at all. “Oh, well, we’ve been here for a few days now.”
“Are you worried about his crazy fans?”
“No, Daisy. No, it’s… it’s nothing to worry about.” Devon pulls away from me and chases after Griffin, leaving me no choice but to follow.
When I finally catch up to Griffin, I hear him saying, “Tech? Oh, oh… well, I have just a few things out in the vehicle.” He motions at the bodyguards. “Go get my stuff, would you?”
Two of the bodyguards take off and return with a cool white Telecaster and a few other odds and ends that vaguely resemble musical instruments. And an oversized snare drum.
“I want Wanda and Devon to join me for the interview,” Griffin says to the producer, who looks like she needs another cup of coffee and some under-eye concealer.
“Are they in the band?”
“Dev’s my manager and Wanda’s very important to me.” Griffin pauses for a moment, wiggling his eyebrows. “They’ll join me.”
“We were only expecting to have you on the couch, Mr. Valentino.”
“You can fit all of us on the couch!” Griffin says, snapping his fingers.
“Sure, sure, we’ll fit all three of you. Whatever you need, Mr. Valentino. Your interview segment will be five minutes, and then your performance will be four minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Griffin smiles, and then stifles a yawn. “Nah, that’s good. No, wait, I changed my mind. Dev here loves your coffee drink. Can he have some coffee? I’ll have some, too.”
“Help yourself to all the coffee you’d like at the catering table. You look a bit tired. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can get you?”
Griffin waves her away and turns back to Devon and me. “This will be my first live performance, so I must impress everyone, of course, but the interview segment provides me an opportunity to set up anticipation for our big event. I’ve decided it should be a concert.”
“Don’t you think you should see how this goes first?” I whisper. “I haven’t seen you perform yet. What if you’re not any good?”
“I’m good at everything,” Griffin says, then wanders off to help himself to some coffee and snacks and to oversee his equipment set up.
Just as I’m being mic’d for the show, my cell phone buzzes from deep within my purse. The incoming call name is Mom and Dad, which means my mother has probably finally caught wind of a famous pop star chatting amiably in public about casually sleeping with me.
Might want to skip that call for now. Or maybe forever.
The makeup artist spends a few minutes cleaning up my hastily applied makeup from earlier, attempting to tame my frizzy flyaways. It’s not exactly supermodel treatment… no, that’s reserved for Griffin, who seems to have attracted a herd of giddy admirers from the studio. They ring around his chair as his dark hair is touched up. When he insists on wearing eyeliner, several offers ring out to help him apply it. Ultimately, he tells them he’ll do it himself, since I’ve ‘taught him how.’
We’re ushered into a holding room with purple walls, all the while watched closely by a man wearing a headset and a nervous expression. The bodyguards line the room like grim-faced vertical furniture. I’m so nervous that I stare at one of the bodyguards for a long time and then giggle a little when I catch the scowl he’s shooting me.
“Twenty seconds,” the man with the headset says. “By the way, I love your song.”
Griffin smiles widely. “Thank you.”
The man motions us to follow him through a dark hallway, onto the set, and just before we step into the light, he says, “I love you” to Griffin.
Griffin just smiles and continues on, welcoming his screaming audience member admirers by waving his arms wide and then pressing his hands to his lips so he can blow kisses at them.
Devon nudges Griffin with an elbow. “Go sit down,” he says, but he’s laughing.
I attempt to sit at the end of the couch, furthest away from Johnny Bardo, the host, but Griffin motions for me to sit in the middle, and then perches beside me on the couch.
“Well, well, well. Tonight we have a very special guest… a worldwide sensation! Only two days ago, Griffin Valentino took over the known universe with his incredibly catchy song, and now he’s sitting here with us, ready to perform that song for the very first time on national television,” Johnny Bardo says, his voice sounding a bit higher than I expected.
I’ve watched Johnny Bardo’s show enough times for this whole situation to feel surreal, even without the alien connection, so I sit in stunned silence as Griffin cheerfully speaks about his music. Johnny Bardo’s signature black hair swoop looks shinier in person, and I can’t quite decide if he’s actually handsome after all, or if it’s just his thick layer of tan makeup and a hint of blue mascara mesmerizing all the viewers at home.
“Now, you’ve brought a couple of people with you, this evening… your girlfriend, Wanda Kirkwood, and your manager, Devon London,” Johnny says. “Devon, what do you think of Griffin’s overnight success?”
Devon struggles against a toothy smile, all golden hair, warm skin, and charm. “Aww, I dunno, Johnny. I think maybe Griff’s just a little special.”
“I’d like an Oscar,” Griffin interjects.
“You’re an actor too?”
Griffin considers this and glances at Devon. “No, but I’d like an Oscar anyway.”
The audience laughs, and Johnny looks at me. “And we’ve heard a lot about you, Wanda. How does your family feel about you dating the man behind the most downloaded song on the Internet?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, my mom’s probably a little worried. I’m okay, Mom!” I say, turning my head to look into the closest camera. “I promise! I’m alive, and I’m alright.”
“How nice, the girl wants to send a message home to her mother! I guess even fame doesn’t change some things, like mothers worrying about their daughters.” Johnny pauses. “Well, Griffin, how does your mom feel about the people saying you’re in a special marriage with Wanda and your manager, Dev? Because, apparently, your fans are convinced of this fact.”
Griffin’s laughter is unbridled, surprised but delighted. “Is that what they’re saying? I’m married?”
“Are you married? To Wanda and Dev? Or maybe just to one of them?”
“I’m not sure,” Griffin says.
“Not sure?” Johnny smiles into one of the cameras. “Now if that’s not something a rock star would say, I don’t know what is!”
The audience laughs, and at least two or three people let out a wolf whistle.
“Can you give us some details about this special marriage? Your fans
want to hear more. Do all three of you share a room…?”
Devon clears his throat. “Griff, do you want to tell them about that big concert we’re planning?”
Griffin sits up straighter, nodding. “We’re going to create a spectacle, a concert like nothing you’ve ever seen before. And the concert will be free! So… everyone’s invited!”
“Free?” Johnny says, raising an eyebrow in his trademark ‘surprise’ manner. “You know your fans will happily pay to see you, right? Especially if they think they have a chance of getting in on your special marriage.”
“I don’t need their money, just their adoration.” Griffin stands up, holding his arms out wide. “You’re all invited, all of you! Everyone!”
“Where exactly is this free concert?” Johnny asks.
“That will be announced soon. And we will, uh, what’s the word? Stream it, online. You will be able to attend this concert, no matter where you live, directly from the comfort of your home, if you can’t attend in person.” Somehow, I didn’t anticipate this whole streaming thing, but there’s nothing I can do to stop him from saying it. I just hope he has some way to magically make that happen with his finger-snapping alien powers.
“Ambitious, but exactly what I’d expect from a man who’s taken on the music scene in such a hurry.” Johnny motions to us. “And you’re about to perform your single for us…?”
“Yes, yes.” Griffin waves to his audience and then walks to the other side of the set, where all of his weird equipment has been set up. A few of the bodyguards rush toward him, picking up instruments and holding them at awkward angles.
The music is every bit as over the top, ridiculous, and catchy as on the recorded version that I’ve heard pouring from stores, cars, and restaurants since Devon and Griffin came into my life, but the ‘live performance’ is somehow even more colorful and outrageous. I know, even though I can’t explain how, that no instruments are being played. Nothing we hear is organic or real; no one’s hands make contact with strings or percussion. The Telecaster hanging from Griffin’s body by its black strap might as well be a toy, for how useless it is.
The audience goes crazy, Beatles-style, and I see at least four girls sobbing with abandon into their tightly curled hands. Griffin alternatively plays coy and flirtatious with the cameras and the audience, all half smiles and inviting hand gestures, which only serves to ramp up the frenzy even more.
Through all the strangeness, I have to give Griffin one thing—he really does have a great voice. That, at least, isn’t manufactured through his alien powers.
As the song fades away, Griffin bows to the audience, and I can see from the pink in his cheeks and the shine in his eyes that he’s truly ecstatic. When Johnny approaches to shake his hand and say a few words before the commercial break, Griffin holds his hands up in the symbol of the Origin Collective.
Devon’s already on his feet and headed toward Griffin before I can even stand.
“Was I good? Was I good?” Griffin asks, between ear-shattering yawns. “Devon, was I good?”
“You were great. Hey, let’s get out of here. You need something to eat.” Devon wraps his arm protectively around Griffin’s shoulders.
“Do you want to stay and sign a few things?” Johnny asks. “We have some members of the audience who would really like your autograph.”
Devon shakes his head, even as Griffin is nodding. “Not this time. Thank you for everything, Johnny, but we need to head out.” Devon glances at the bodyguards. “Come on, let’s gather everything together and leave.”
Griffin pulls away from Devon, bouncing over to his audience with his arms open wide, even as the bodyguards hurriedly snatch up all the strange set equipment. As soon as everything’s in hand and ready to go, Devon links arms with Griffin and drags him away. Surprisingly, Griffin doesn’t fight him, and thanks to all the scary-looking bodyguards, no one stops us as we make our escape into the night.
Dating an Alien Pop Star Page 14