by Mae, Amelia
It’s the kind of look that usually icks me out. But this time, it doesn’t. It’s sweet.
I feel this little… I don’t know… stinging feeling. Jealousy perhaps. I look at the floor willing it to just go away.
“How did you two meet?” I ask.
Kelvin smiles. The man could get away with murder with that smile. Men and women alike get all swoony over those fucking dimples.
Dean starts laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Kelvin answers.
“Actually, we’ve met several times,” Dean says with a smirk. “Turns out we hooked up, what… like, a year and a half ago at a Pride party.”
“And then once before that at a Katy Perry concert.”
“And, actually, we found out that we’d hooked up for the first time about seven or so years ago,” Dean concludes.
“You were living at that crappy little studio in the valley,” Kelvin supplies. “Kind of near that bar you used to work at, Jane.”
“Oh.”
It’s been awhile since I thought about that bar. It closed down a few years ago, leaving me out of a job.
It also happens to be the place where a certain currently-famous blonde front man walked into my life for an night and left without even saying goodbye.
“So you’re going to hang out here all night?” I ask Dean.
Kelvin pours his boyfriend a pint of Killians Red and opens a bottle of cider for me.
“Cold drinks. Hot man,” Dean answers. “A boy could do worse.”
“You flatter me,” Kelvin laughs.
“God, that accent,” Dean seethes.
He pats the stool next to him and I sit down.
“Okay, I don’t understand,” I say, taking a sip of my cider. “How can you, you know, have sex and not remember each other at all? Like, so that when you meet again, you’re strangers.”
“I’ve had sex with a lot of people,” Kelvin says with a shrug.
Dean nods in a me too kind of way.
I shake my head. “Still don’t get it.”
“What’s not to get?” Dean asks.
“I don’t get how you can have sex with someone and not feel… attached to them afterwards,” I say. “Like, this person is in your home and in your bed and, like, literally inside your body and then in the morning, you just forget about them.”
Kelvin and Dean look at each other. I don’t think they get it.
Maybe it’s different for guys.
“Sex just isn’t… like, a super emotional thing for some people, Jane,” Kelvin finally says.
“But, don’t you feel used?” I wonder.
“Maybe a little. But, then again, I used him too,” he adds.
I take another long drink of my cider. Usually, I like the crisp apple flavor, but at the moment it tastes heavy and syrupy. It’s kind of upsetting my stomach.
I hate conversations about sex. I don’t have too much to say, for starters. And then everything I do say sounds clingy. Needy. Too emotional. Too stereotypically girly.
It’s kind of why I stopped having sex altogether. I wanted to stop wanting.
“Want another one, Jane?” Kelvin asks.
“No thanks.”
“Stick around,” Dean says. “Hang out with me. I should get to know my boyfriend’s bestie, right?”
I snort. “Okay, but I can’t stay out too late. I have class tomorrow.”
“What kind of class?” he asks.
“Art,” I reply. “Figure drawing.”
“Like the kind with a nude model?”
“Exactly the kind with a nude model,” I tell him.
“Interesting. What’s that like?”
“It’s equal parts amazing and awkward. I love doing portraits and stuff, but…”
“The vaginas…” Dean supplies, making a face.
“There are male models too. But the nudity in general is uncomfortable,” I say. “I mean, the models are totally cool with it, of course. I’m just… I don’t know.”
I stop talking before I lose track of my thought and have to scramble for words. I can be kind of weird with people. Kelvin calls it ‘terminally uncomfortable.’
My therapist calls it social anxiety disorder. But Dean and I aren’t there yet.
Dean and I chat a bit more about my art classes and his work as a choreographer-slash-Lyft driver until I feel like I need to retreat to my apartment for the night. I hate how much I look forward to watching sitcom reruns, sipping tea and working on my novel.
My graphic novel.
The story is still lacking a bit, but the artwork is on point. If I do say so myself.
I set my sketch pad and charcoal pencils out on the desk and get to work.
Before I know it, it’s well after midnight and I have to pry myself away from my project. I shower, change into an oversize tee shirt and boy shorts and set my alarm for the next morning. I climb into bed, arranging my pillows the way that I like them and pull the light blanket up as high as I can tolerate it. It is the end of June in southern California after all.
My phone goes off with a google alert: Say Yes to Conclude International Tour with Final Show in Los Angeles.
Yes, I have a google alert for Say Yes even though I hate them. And I hate that they’re playing a probably sold-out show so close to me. Well… in my city anyway.
I hate knowing that I could be in the same building as the tall, tattooed devil himself and that I could push my way to the front and watch him sing and sweat and rile up several thousand women who all wish they could find their way into his pants after the show ends.
I hate that I know what it feels like to have his hot, muscled body on top of me. I know what’s like to get naked with him and let him make me come. Over and over again. With his hands and his tongue and his big, hard cock.
I sink deeper into the mattress, hugging a pillow tightly to my chest.
I also hate that I know what it feels like to wake up in a cold, empty bed after being absolutely ravished by Dylan Cotter, never to hear from him again. And I hate that after all this time, I still think about it.
A lot.
2
Dylan
“Thank you, Los Angeles,” I howl into the mic.
The crowd has been amazing tonight. They applaud, stomping, and cheering for more.
I can’t help but smile like a moron. It never gets old, looking out over a sea of faces singing your lyrics while you rock out with your band on stage.
“Want one more?” I shout.
They get louder.
“I can’t hear you,” I taunt them.
Well, I guess it is true. They’re deafeningly loud. It’s awesome.
I look over at my bandmates. Shawn fiddles with his bass. Jack waves at the crowd. Ian wipes his brow with the hem of his tee shirt. The lot of us are sweaty, grimy and spent, but we’ll go all night if they’d let us.
“All right. You asked for it.”
I look to my left, cueing Shawn to lead us in with the bass solo. Then Ian kicks in with the drums and Jack takes over the melody on guitar.
And I come in with the vocals, singing the lyrics I wrote all those years ago. I love this song. It still gets some radio play, but it’s been eclipsed by some of our more recent hits.
But I’ll always love playing it and give it everything I have. It’s the best thing I’ve ever written, and I think it always will be.
The crowd sings along with me. They know every word.
“I see her name. I see her name in stars.”
When we finish the songs, the crowd roars and I let out a deep sigh.
That song will always eat my heart out a little.
Jack and Shawn hand their instruments off to the crew and Ian tucks his drumsticks in his back pocket. We congratulate each other on a good show and head backstage.
Cora, Ian’s wife, wraps him up into a big hug. I wave at her and she smiles back. Aya, Shawn’s girlfriend, is on him like a koala be
ar, wrapping her arms and legs around him and kissing him like her life depends on it. I shake my head in mock derision and real jealousy. She’s like that after every show.
I see a very blonde woman pass by. “Hey, Nikki,” I call to her.
“Hi, Dylan,” she says cheerfully. “Where did Jack go?”
“Dressing room.”
She nods. “Thanks.” Then she heads off to find her man.
I find an assistant who hands me a few bottles of water. Thank fuck. I down one quickly and start on the second. Then I look around for the guys, wondering if any of them are down for a little after-party somewhere.
Probably not.
Ian and Cora are in some deep conversation, huddled pretty closely together. Aya and Shawn are permanently glued together at the lips. Nikki and Jack emerge from the dressing room looking… tousled.
Fuck, things have changed. It used to be that as soon as the encores were over, the four of us would hit the bar and party till we met someone to hook up with. Now, everyone in my band is coupled up.
Except me, of course.
Shawn has always been a relationship guy, but he chose the wrong women over and over again. Until Aya. Ian had been carrying a torch for Cora since they were teenagers and once fate brought them back together again, that was it for him.
Seeing Jack in a relationship has got to be the strangest one, though. I never thought I’d see the day when Jack Cordero gave up his whoring ways to be with one woman Especially since that woman, Nikki, is not only a member of our management team, but is also Ian’s younger sister and Jack’s very best friend.
“Plans tonight, Dylan?” Nikki asks as they pass by.
“Don’t know yet,” I reply.
I want to ask if maybe they want to go for a beer with me, but they’re looking at each other like they want to go home and continue with whatever they were up to in the dressing room.
By the time I’m done changing, the others are gone too. I’m about to head out when I hear a familiar voice calling my name.
“Dylan,” he calls. “Sorry, man. Security was giving me a hard time. Thank fuck your drummer remembered me from that party last time.”
“Dean,” I greet him happily. “I thought you were gonna bail.”
“Nah. Just got a little caught in traffic. But I’m here now.”
“Well, thanks for coming.”
And I mean it. I’m really happy to see him. Dean is some of the only family I speak to anymore, and he’s my only relative on the west coast. And while it’s not the same as having a beautiful woman there to meet me when I come offstage ready to blow off some steam, it’s still nice to see a friendly face.
“No worries.”
“I thought you were bringing… what’s his name?”
“Kelvin,” he answers. “He ended up having to work. But if you want to go meet him, he’s tending bar at a place in North Hollywood.”
“Honestly, I don’t feel like driving.”
“Me neither,” Dean says. “There’s a place around the corner. It looks like hipster paradise, though.”
“Fuck it. Beer is beer.”
Apparently, no it’s not. Dean and I survey the beer menu trying to find something remotely recognizable. I mean, I like craft brews and things like that, but I can’t stand it when people try and get too fancy.
“Killians,” Dean orders.
“And for you?” the bartender asks. She’s very pretty. Like, model pretty. She’s quite tall, though, that may be the shoes, with big blue eyes and blonde hair.
To this day, every time I sit down at a bar. Any bar. Anywhere. I always wonder if a slight redhead with a thick brogue is going to appear. I hope for it actually.
But she never does.
“Same.”
The bartender looks at me like she’s sizing me up.
“Are you Dylan Cotter?” she exclaims.
“I am,” I answer. It’s flattering to be recognized, even when I’d rather not draw attention to myself.
“Oh my God. Arielle, get over here.”
Dean sighs.
Several minutes later, Dean and I have beers and the bar staff have my autograph.
“Don’t let me cramp your style,” Dean tells me. “You want to go home with those girls, go right ahead.”
I shake my head. “Not in the mood.”
“Really?”
I shrug.
“Okay, man,” he says. “Just saying… three-way with the hot bartenders or drinks with your cousin…”
“Tell me about Kelvin,” I say, changing the topic.
Instantly, Dean looks like he’s about to start spouting cartoon hearts from his eyeballs.
“He’s amazing,” he gushes. “So hot. He’s a bartender now, but he wants to be a screenwriter. Of course, he should probably learn how first.”
I laugh.
“Um…” Dean continues. “He’s Irish.”
Irish. Jane was Irish.
“Are you listening to me, Dylan?”
“Huh?”
“You went off somewhere,” Dean tells me. “I mean, if you’d rather not talk about Kelvin… well, too bad. I like talking about Kelvin.”
“It’s good. Talk away I’m glad you’re happy.”
“I am,” he says. “Really happy.”
“Awesome.”
Dean hasn’t had it easy, being the only gay person in our Catholic family. His relationship with his parents and siblings is pretty strained. My own relationship with my parents and siblings is pretty inexistent too nowadays, for different reasons, though. But we’ve bonded over that.
Dean deserves someone good.
“I want to meet him,” I say. “Make sure he’s good enough for you.”
“I want that too,” he laughs. “We’re at the point where we’re starting to, like, meet each other’s friends and all. I met his best friend a couple days ago. She’s super cute, but kind of strange.”
“Maybe we should have a party,” I suggest.
“A meet the cousin’s boyfriend party?”
“There are way worse excuses to throw one,” I tell him. “We can do it at my place if you want. Invite Kelvin and the cute but strange girl.”
“Jane.”
Jane. Jane’s name was Jane.
My phone dings with a text message, snapping me out of my Jane-induced reverie. I blink several times when I see who it’s from.
My sister Viv.
When I made the decision to cut my family off, Viv was the person most affected by it. Still, it’s been several years, and she hasn’t reached out to me until right now.
Viv: Hi, Dylan. How’s life?
“Dylan, you’re drifting again,” Dean tells me.
“I… I mean… Sorry,” I stammer. “Invite Jane.”
3
Jane
That Friday night, Kelvin and I are behind the bar together. The owner of Rourke’s hopes that the start of the weekend will bring in customers, but there’s been no one here for the past hour.
“Please,” Kelvin begs. “Please, Jane, you have to come.”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Dean’s got loads of friends coming. He’s got his dancer friends and the guys he hangs out with at the gym.”
“You’ve got loads of friends too,” I remind him. “You don’t need me there.”
“Yes, I do. Come on. You’re my Jane,” he playfully whines. “You’re my person.”
I grumble.
“Broken leg pact,” he whispers.
I close my eyes, sighing. If he’s invoking the broken leg pact, I can’t say no.
Kelvin is my person, and he has been since we were kids. Sure, we’re completely opposite people and on paper, no one would think that the two of us should get along, but we’ve been bonded like puppies ever since we were little.
The only time in our lives that was spent apart was the first six months after Alastair and I moved to Los Angeles, and Kelvin was so miserable back in Cork without me
that he followed me here.
Of course, he claimed that he wanted to come to California anyway to live in a place that was warm and sunny and study to be a screenwriter.
But I don’t buy it. Kelvin has never written a page in his life. It was for me.
“It’ll be fun,” he says, “and I promise not to leave your side the entire time, lest you be forced to introduce yourself to strangers. Except of course when Dean needs me. I mean, that’s kind of the point of this thing.”
“True.”
“But I promise to appoint someone in my place to ward off any awkward interactions.”
I smile. I know he’s really trying here. Kelvin does his best to make me feel comfortable in social situations so that I don’t overthink and chicken out of going.
It doesn’t make me want to go. But it does remind me why I love him so much.
“Fine,” I tell him. “I’m there.”
“Great.”
He gives me the address. Somewhere in West Hollywood off of Santa Monica in the kind of building I used to dream about living in when I first got to L.A.
Some dreams die slow, painful deaths.
“Is it fancy?” I ask.
“It’s no big deal,” he says, shrugging it off. “Dean’s cousin’s place. Should be nice. You should wear your green dress.”
“Oh, so it’s like a dress up thing?” I ask, wondering if I seriously had to wear my one and only dress.
Fuck, there was a time in my life when a party at a WeHo address and an excuse to dress up would have meant the world to me.
But now…
“It’s informal, but you should wear it anyway. It brings out your eyes.”
I scoff. “I probably won’t,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
“I look weird in dresses.”
“You do not look weird in dresses.”
“Yes I do,” I argue. “People stare at me.”
“People stare at you because you’re beautiful, Jane.”
I don’t want to look like an asshole who can’t take a compliment, so I don’t fight him on it, even if I don’t agree.
“I’ll think about it,” I reply.
“Good,” he states. “Tomorrow night. Should start around eight, but feel free to come early.