All the touring I’d done lately was causing havoc with my sleeping pattern. Most nights I hadn’t gotten more than a couple of hours, either because I’d then be on the road again or I couldn’t get to sleep when I put my head onto the pillow. But to fall asleep in my food? Ugh.
“Are you all right?” said Tate, finishing wiping my face. Soup on my face must’ve been a great look. And of course it would happen on the rare occasion I actually made an effort.
I nodded. “Excuse me a minute.” Before anyone could say anything, I left the table and found my way to the bathroom.
I was so out of my depth. I was hanging around her posh parents at a posh restaurant surrounded by posh people. Even the bathrooms were posh. At least they didn’t have an attendant. I couldn’t compose my thoughts with someone hovering awkwardly over me, asking if I wanted a spritz of cologne.
I needed to get myself together. I needed to find a way to wake up. If her parents planted a seed of doubt about me in her mind, there was no way she’d keep me around. And there was no way I could impress them by falling asleep in my food.
But why did their opinions even matter to me? They knew me. They knew what I was like.
Because I needed Tate, that was why.
Weak as I was, I took my hip flask from my pocket and finished off the contents of it. That was why I was shaking so badly. It was the other part of why I was so goddamn exhausted. I’d tried to go cold turkey again and the withdrawals had ruined me. Why was I bothering to quit drinking? No one understood how hard it was. It was like a gravitational pull toward alcohol. It was all-consuming. Every part of my body ached for a drink. When my body started fluctuating between shivering with cold and sweating from the heat, it just got worse. My body was so dependent on it that trying to cut out alcohol lead to me shaking uncontrollably. And apparently falling asleep in my soup.
I punched the edge of the sink. I hated how much I wanted Tate around. I couldn’t not think about her. She permeated my thoughts. Everything that happened in my life went back to her. What was wrong with me? I’d never felt like that before, and it was unnatural. For me, anyway. I didn’t form attachments. Attachments were asking for trouble. They were asking for something to go wrong.
But I was drawn to Tate and I couldn’t let that go.
I hated myself for it, but what could I do? Deny myself someone that made me feel like I was special? Someone who made me feel better than any drug ever had? I drank and took the occasional drugs to numb the pain. I knew that if I numbed myself too much I couldn’t feel the good stuff too, though. It was that thought that had kept me going through the night. Well, that had stopped me from reaching for anything the night before. An internal war had raged in my head all night about whether I needed a drink or not. All that had happened was that my indecision had frozen me to my bed, which was as close to a decision as I’d gotten in the end. It had also led to me looking and feeling exhausted.
I stared at myself in the mirror. A parsley leaf was still stuck to my forehead, just below my hairline. I removed it and washed it down the sink, then looked up at myself. “Right Jack. Don’t fuck this up. Again.”
Then I went back to the meal with Tate’s family.
They were kind and courteous and they made me feel welcome, but I still felt like an outsider. Tate had grown up in a world of fancy foods and expensive restaurants. I’d never set foot in one before. The way people looked at me, it was like they knew I didn’t belong there.
But then, when you’re the only Black guy in a restaurant of rich white people, it’s hard not to stand out. I was in the most expensive clothes I owned, but they weren’t designer or anything. I didn’t care for labels, I just cared for what I liked. I’d never been aware of how my clothes looked around other people before, but seeing them next to outfits that had probably never been worn before and likely never would again, it was clear that they’d been washed more than once. I’d never felt more ashamed about who I was than when I sat in that restaurant.
*
“Thank you for coming tonight,” Tate said, kissing my cheek when we were finally alone in her apartment.
I gave her a sheepish smile.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Just tired, that’s all,” I lied. What was the point in telling her what was really wrong? She wouldn’t get it. That was her world. And I’d never belong in it.
She stroked my cheek. “Let’s get you to bed.”
She took my hand and guided me into the bedroom. I’d been staying over so much I had some basics like pajama bottoms and a toothbrush there. Most of my free nights were spent there, and the fact that she welcomed me made me happy, but deep down, something told me it wouldn’t last.
“Seriously sweetie, what is it?” she asked as she unfastened her dress.
I sat on the bed and sighed. “I really wanted to impress your parents. And I fell asleep in my food instead.”
She suppressed a giggle. “They understand.”
“What is there to understand? As far as they’re concerned, I’m the fuckup that triggered the press to hate you.”
She stopped getting undressed and pursed her lips. “Firstly, the press doesn’t hate me. Secondly, their opinion of me isn’t your fault.”
Based on some of the stories I’d read lately, it definitely seemed like the press was turning on her. She wasn’t their golden girl anymore. The rose-colored glasses they’d once worn when talking about her were gone; everything she said and did, they found fault with. On a scale far worse than anything I’d ever been on the receiving end of. It worried me. When she was already feeling low, stories like that wouldn’t help her feel any better. It was bullying, plain and simple. But nobody would ever see it that way.
Moxie scurried into the room, ran around the bed, ran out, then back again. Tate giggled.
“What’s she doing?” I said.
“Zoomies,” she said. “She does it every so often when she’s hyper. It’s so cute.”
Moxie finished her zoomies and sat at Tate’s feet, panting. Tate picked her up and put her on the bed. Cuddles from two cuties when I was struggling to sleep? How could I say no to that?
40
Tate
When you left me, my light was gone
Was I strong enough to carry on?
I know it’s what you’d want
So I’ll keep going even though you’re gone.
— “Eclipse,” Tate Gardener
Usually, I loved recording music videos. It combined, singing, acting, and modeling. What wasn’t there to love?
Except this time, I was recording the video for a song that had been written by Trinity and that was the reason for our friendship breakup. She’d said such horrible things to me the last time I’d spoken to her. Did she really mean them? Had she been bottling up all that hatred for me, or had she been so quick to turn on me because she was worried I’d hurt her more? And did she really mean that I wasn’t as feminist as I thought I was? What did it even say about me that I went to the men in my life for advice and not the women, when they were the ones that had been by my side the whole time, not the men? Mike had been around a lot, but he hadn’t been my manager from the start. Mom and Trinity had been around for more. Maybe she was right.
I sank onto the sofa in my dressing room and started to cry. Thank god they hadn’t done my makeup yet. There was no one else around, which meant that I could cry in peace. Jack was joining me for moral support but he was probably still asleep as he hadn’t arrived yet. I didn’t know how he felt about the Trinity situation. He was usually pretty forthcoming with his opinions. When he wasn’t, it was a sign he knew there was something about how he felt that I wouldn’t like. That meant that he probably wasn’t a great person to talk to about the situation after all.
Mike was probably just thinking about all the money he’d lose out on if my contract ended. Sure, he could train someone else, but it would take years for them to earn him as much money as I did.
And Daddy didn’t know the music industry; he was a movie producer. Trinity had been right. I’d gone to completely the wrong people for advice.
I cried so hard someone walking past probably would’ve thought someone had died. I’d never cried so much in my life. But it gave me a sense of relief. Like I’d finally let go of everything that had been weighing me down and holding me back.
Filled with resolve, I washed my face then went to hair and makeup. Lacy was already there setting up. Their face beamed when they saw me. “How’s my favorite superstar?”
“How’s my favorite makeup artist?” I kissed their cheek, then sat in the chair in front of them.
The idea for the music video was simple: I’d sing in front of a green screen. The background would be added in after. It would be of a moon, eclipsed by the sun. It would be removed by the end of the song, which would have a happier ending than the version Trinity had sung. The new ending was more saccharine and I wasn’t sure about it as I felt it took away from the song, but it wasn’t up to me.
All these changes to songs that made them sound and feel younger were starting to piss me off. Why couldn’t we sing about sex? Or depression? Or anything even remotely serious or grown up for the whole duration of a song? I’d heard of some people with much worse rules, where they couldn’t even imply that they were alone in a room with someone of the opposite sex. Those rules boggled my mind. What did they do about LGBT couples? How could you sing a love song and not even have characters in the same room, let alone kiss? Why would someone be that controling? I tried not to think too hard about it. There was nothing I could do to influence other people’s careers but plenty I could do to influence my own.
“Tate, we’ll be ready for you in five,” said the director’s PA through the door.
“Thanks,” I called. I turned to Lacy: “I’d better go get dressed.”
They finished adding some powder to my T-zone, which was always oily. “You’re good to go.”
“Thanks,” I said. I gave them a quick hug then went to my dressing room. Jack was there, reading a magazine. I ran over and hugged him. “Why didn’t you come to hair and makeup?”
“I still have nightmares from when we recorded your show. You look beautiful.”
“Lacy does such a good job. I’m so glad I found them.” I took off my robe, then removed the yoga pants and T-shirt I’d worn underneath.
“Now that’s a nice view,” said Jack.
I winked at him. Why couldn’t I just curl up with him and watch TV? It would take my mind off everything way better than recording a music video for a song I didn’t want to release. But I had to do what I had to do. So I took the Alexander McQueen the video from the rail at the back of the room and began to put it on. “Can you zip me up?” I asked Jack.
“Do I have to? I’d much prefer to unzip you,” he said.
“You can unzip me later too,” I said with a wink.
“I’m holding you to that.” He hopped over the back of the sofa and walked over to me. He ran his fingers along my back. The zipper was tight and fiddly, so I’d left it until the last minute for a reason. Something tickled my shoulders. Jack’s fingers. Then, his lips caressed my neck. I moaned. His lips were gentle, soothing. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation of his fingers stroking my arm. His other hand tucked my hair over my shoulder. He then kissed farther up my neck, then up to my ear, which he gave light butterfly kisses to. I giggled. “That tickles.”
“Good or bad?” he said.
“Good. Very good,” I said, still giggling.
He smiled, kissing my ears some more. His fingers caressed my back as they pulled the zip up. He planted one last kiss on my neck, then put my hair back into place.
“Tease,” I said, turning to face him.
He smirked. “You’ll get more later if you behave.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll get even more.”
41
Tate
Those things you’re saying
You think I’m playing
When I challenge you
To come here with that attitude.
— “Attitude,” Tate Gardener
Filming the video was uneventful but painful. I spent the whole time picturing Trinity every time I closed my eyes. At one point, I thought I saw her walk past, just behind the camera. I ended up messing up the lyrics because I was so distracted.
If anyone on set knew why I was reluctant to record the song, they didn’t let on. Then again, why did it matter to them? So long as they were getting paid, wasn’t that the most important thing?
After I finished recording the video, I went to bed and tried to stay there. I was so done with the outside world. Recording the video for “Eclipse” had totally drained me and I needed some alone time to process what I’d done and how horrible of a person I was.
Unfortunately, I had to get up with Moxie to take her outside to the bathroom. Sometimes she used her indoor toilet, but I wanted her to know that her main toilet was outside. Having to get dressed and put on some makeup just in case I got recognized took all the strength I had.
My parents and Jack came and helped with Moxie sometimes, but I think it was more because they wanted to check up on me and try to coax me out. It didn’t work. Moxie was almost old enough to go for a walk, although she couldn’t go more than five minutes down the road because she was so young and so tiny. That worked for me. It meant I could get back to bed faster.
After a week of my wallowing, Jack decided it was time for us to go out properly. I really didn’t want to, but he insisted. So I picked out a power outfit, did my makeup, and begrudgingly went more than five minutes down the road.
Jack had even called ahead and arranged for a bodyguard to join us. Given how much he hated them, that was a big deal. He tagged along a few feet behind us.
Jack took me shopping at some of my favorite stores, my bodyguard dog sitting while we went in. Jack even offered to buy me stuff. It was clear he was trying to distract me. I appreciated it, but I really just wanted to be left to mope. I’d lost my best friend, been rejected by my birth mother, and found out I had a disgusting person for a sperm donor. I’d lied to people. I was a horrible person.
My shoulders slumped but my hand clutching Jack’s, we started to head back to my apartment. That’s when I heard someone sobbing. I stopped. Who was crying?
Moxie tugged on the leash. I turned around and found her comforting the source of the crying. Curled up in a bunch of waterproof blankets was a woman with scruffy hair bawling her eyes out. Moxie licked at her face. The woman stroked the little dog and her crying lessened. When she saw us watching, she removed Moxie from her lap and curled into herself.
“It’s OK,” I said. I picked up Moxie and placed her back on the woman’s lap. “Her name is Moxie.”
The woman’s eyes widened in recognition. She looked at me, then to Jack, then our security guard, and back to me. Then all she said was, “She’s cute.”
So she knew who we were but didn’t care. Interesting. I liked her already.
“Isn’t she? She’s a good listener,” I said.
“So’s her owner,” added Jack.
I looked up at him and flashed him a smile. My bodyguard hovered nearby, eyeing the woman warily.
“I’m Tate. What’s your name?”
“Madeline,” said the woman, her cries lessening some more as she continued to pet Moxie. I was reminded of the stories my birth mother had told me about how horrible life on the streets had been. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Madeline had been through.
“Madeline. Like the French cartoon?”
“Yeah.”
“I like it,” I said.
She gave a small smile. “Sorry for distracting your dog.”
“She’s only a puppy. She doesn’t know any better. Or does she?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I said, she’s a good listener. Maybe she wants to listen to what y
ou have to say.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
“Maybe she wants to help,” suggested Jack, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“What could she possibly do for me?” she asked, gesturing to her numerous blankets and rucksack full of stuff.
“If only dogs could tell us what they were thinking,” I said.
“They may not be able to talk, but sometimes they have a way of guiding us toward something we need,” said Jack.
*
We took Madeline to a café nearby. It was summer and we had Moxie with us, so we sat outside. My bodyguard sat at a table beside us and drank an Americano the size of his head. How was he so calm with so much caffeine in his system?
Moxie sat on Madeline’s lap, licking her hand whenever she stopped stroking her soft puppy fur. It was cute. Did she just like the attention, or did she like Madeline? She was still only a few months old, so it was hard to tell.
“You didn’t have to do this,” said Madeline.
“You really don’t like accepting help, do you?” said Jack.
“Pot kettle,” I mumbled.
Jack stuck his tongue out at me.
Madeline giggled. “I feel like I’m interrupting your date.”
“We’ll have plenty more,” said Jack.
I squeezed his hand under the table. We would.
I turned my attention back to Madeline: “What happened to you? How did you end up on the streets?”
Jack cleared his throat.
“If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
He’d always told me to mind my own business, but I couldn’t help Madeline if I didn’t know what her situation was, could I? And I was determined to help her in any way I could.
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