by Teddy Wayne
I was lucky that so much more of my life now was recorded than a normal kid’s, so in the future, if I ever wanted to think back on something, I could find footage or an article about it. But there were some moments that no one was recording, and it was up to me to remember them, and maybe sometimes you had to tell yourself to freeze a moment in your brain or else it would just file it away with all the others. Most people would remember how it felt when they were about to debut at Madison Square Garden, but I told myself, Remember what it’s like to walk around these tunnels with Walter when no one else knows you’re there. When you’re not Jonny Valentine the singer. When you’re not even regular Jonathan Valentino. You’re not anyone, in a way.
And this could’ve been my last big show, if the label dumped me or I went back to school. Then I’d be not anyone again, in a different way. It could be nice, like walking in the tunnels the rest of my life.
I was happy Walter was with me, though. It’d be scary down there if I was on my own.
After what I guess was an hour, Walter told me we were due back. If I didn’t have my show, I bet he wouldn’t have minded walking around for a lot longer. I know he’s paid to hang out with me, and if I wanted to keep hanging out he basically had to until a certain point, but you never worried about wearing out your welcome with Walter. If he didn’t feel like talking, he said he was tired, brother, but he never needed to go away for alone time.
It took us a little time to find our way back to the star/talent room, and we ended up on the opposite side of the entrance in another hallway and I thought we had to go all the way around, but Walter noticed there was a back door into it, and he found a maintenance guy to unlock it. That’s something Walter’s good at, figuring out what to do when your first option doesn’t work, especially for building entrances and exits to avoid crowd interference. I should do those walks before all my shows, but not every venue has an underground level that’s hidden away like that.
My sound check was strong, and even Jane, who usually doesn’t say a sound check went good because she doesn’t want me to get lazy, said it was my best one yet. Before I went back to the star/talent room, she bent her knees to talk in my face.
“I know this has been a rough tour,” she said. “I want you to know I’m very proud of what you’ve done on it. And no matter what happens tonight, that’s what matters.” Her voice cracked at the end and her eyes crinkled up.
“I know,” I said, and I hustled away to the star/talent room before she might cry. That was the last thing I wanted to see before the most important night of my life.
On the hundredth level of Zenon, every character I met told me how the Emperor was on this level and was this invincible tyrant that no one could defeat. It was only a game, but it was sort of intimidating, the way they talked about it. I had a few hours until my start time, and if I didn’t play I’d get worried about if my father had made it and how I’d see him, which I still hadn’t figured out, since Jane was popping into my room every twenty minutes to make sure I had everything I needed, so I got into the Jonny Zone for Zenon. The Jonny Zenone, where you’re in a Zenon zone because you’re no one. I’d tell that one to Nadine for a Creative Stroke credit if she wasn’t already in Paris with her boyfriend.
Soon I’d worked my way through the level and up to the entrance to this dungeon where the narrator announced that the Emperor lived, which surprised me. First of all, I hadn’t found the level’s gem yet, but maybe the protocol was different since it was the last level, and second, I expected it to be a huge dungeon that takes days to find your way through, but it wasn’t. After you climbed down into the dungeon, there was a door right there, and when you walked a few feet in, the Emperor was in the middle of a room. He was just a normal-size soldier with a giant halberd in his hands and covered everywhere in armor. I couldn’t believe they’d make the Emperor this easy to get to. It’s funny how the tunnels under the Garden were more complicated than the final dungeon in Zenon.
But I soon figured out why. The second I ran up to the Emperor, he deflected my two-handed-sword attack, and with one swing from a halberd damaged me enough to depart the realm. I started over from my saved game and tried again, but the same thing happened. I tried casting spells, using invincibility potions, everything. He blocked my attacks or they didn’t affect him, my potions didn’t do anything, and he damaged me to zero percent with a single halberd stroke. Not everyone had a Major Vulnerability, but everyone had at least a Minor Vulnerability, except this guy. He was like Tyler Beats is as a performer, only Tyler does have a Minor Vulnerability, which is food and his metabolism, and also picking at his acne.
Before I could get too worked up about it, Walter knocked and told me 3 Days Dead was finishing up and it was time. I was sort of glad the Emperor was so tough, because it really did distract me, but once I remembered I had to give a show on live-stream to a ton of people, including maybe my father who I was somehow supposed to meet without Jane interfering, and if it wasn’t a ton of people then that was even worse, my stomach got queasy again and my legs shook like they were postcardio. Walter walked me to backstage, and he must have noticed, since before Jane came over, he said, “Who gives a fuck, right?”
Walter had a way of saying the opposite of what I was thinking and getting me to believe it. “Right,” I said.
Jane brought me over to Bill, who handed me the mike and had me do the last-minute microphone check. I was saying, “Microphone check one-two-one-two,” over and over as he fiddled with the sound device. Jane went to talk to the guy helping with the heart-shaped swing, like she did every show now. I quietly said into the mike, “Microphone check you like being my little slut.”
Bill jerked his head up, with his eyes narrow and wide at the same time. “What’s that?”
“Microphone check one-two-one-two.”
He stared at some equipment a couple seconds and chuckled and made some final adjustments and said I was all set. “Break a leg,” he added.
“If the swing messes up again, maybe I will,” I said, which was stupid, because he probably could screw the swing up if he wanted and make it look like an accident, but it wasn’t worth him getting sued and losing his job and ending up in jail and getting raped by adult predators who were more muscular than him. Maybe he didn’t leak Jane doing cocaine to the press, either. It was probably just some lower-tier staff. People will sell anyone out for money, whether they work for them or not.
I could tell the house lights dimmed as the countdown timer ticked to zero and I heard the announcer go, “Now, what you’ve all been waiting for—”
The crowd buzzed and the tech guys backstage were more worked up than usual since it was the Garden and it was going to be seen everywhere, and I bet even that asshole Bill was getting excited and wanted the show to go perfect.
“—on his last concert for his Valentine Days tour, singing tonight on the day of the year dedicated to love and romance, please welcome . . .”
“Go!” Bill said, like we’d practiced, and I ran out through the entrance.
“Jonny Valentine!” the announcer boomed, but I hardly heard it because my fans were already chanting my name and the piano of “Guys vs. Girls” was louder than usual since the audio engineers expected the ambient noise to be so high. It’s got a strong instrumental buildup, eight bars where the crowd gets more and more amped to hear my voice, and by the time I get to the first verse, they’re insane. Musical foreplay, Rog used to say. Stroke the crowd. It’s easier live, when you can dance and use your charisma, but the best songs find a way to drive the listener wild with anticipation in the studio version, too.
So I danced in place while waiting for the lyrical explosion, and sniffed the candy in the air mixing with that sweaty arena smell, and thought about the iconic concerts that were held here and now I was part of that, and felt the hot spotlights on just me that were saying, You’re the most talented singer and dancer in the world, everyone loves you, and I unleashed my instrument:
/> Girls and guys, burgers and fries
All gets ruined with a coupla lies
They couldn’t even hear me sing, I’m sure, but it didn’t matter. My blood was pumping hard and I was as excited as I was on my first tour, not the nervous excitement I normally get but the kind where you’re like, I can’t believe three years ago I was busking in the Central West End and now I’m singing at Madison Square Garden. A few things can still do that.
The same way I wanted Zack to somehow see me with that girl Dana, I wanted my father to be there to see this. Even if we didn’t meet, I hoped he saw what I’d become, and not just on the Internet, but in person.
When it was time for my banter interlude, they’d written me some stupid lines I really didn’t want to say, so instead I was like, “New York City! Will you be my valentine?” They all said yes, and I got down on one knee, like I was proposing to the crowd, and said, “I’m so in love with all of you, but it’ll break my heart if you’re not in love with me. Are you?” They hollered yes again, louder this time, so I said, “Then let me know . . . by sending an—”
I held out the mike and together we all went, “ ‘RSVP (To My Heart)’!”
A lot of times when I told girls I picked out in the crowd that I loved them, I’d get caught up in the moment and convince myself I did, but I never believed it when I told a whole stadium that I loved them. This time, I sort of did. Like, for a few seconds I had this crazy idea of what it would be like to be in love with twenty thousand people and have them love you, if we all lived together in this stadium and ate the vendor food inside it and wore the clothing merch and every night I’d sing to them and we’d all sleep out here wrapped up in Jonny Valentine beach blankets. We’d never have to leave the stadium.
I kept telling the crowd how I loved them during the interludes and that I’d dreamed about performing here since I was a little kid, which was a lie because I only heard about the Garden before my first national tour when Jane was trying to book it, and I almost told them about the fantasy of us all living there together, but I checked myself. Even my most rabid fans would probably be like, Um, Jonny, we can’t spend all our time with you, we have to go to school and see our families.
If it wasn’t my best work of the tour, it was close to it. But about halfway through, I realized for the first time that every single one of my songs makes me sound like a real loser. In all of them I’m either asking a girl if she likes me or sad that a girl turned me down. Even on “Summa Fling,” it’s a fling because the girl wants it that way, not me, and she dumps me at the end when school starts. It’s never me telling a girl I can’t be with her anymore or saying I’m sorry for breaking up with her. I guess most songs are like that, and it helps craft my one-girl image for my fans, but still, it’d be nice if in one song I sounded like a cool guy who was fighting off girls and kept moving on to the next one. That’s what every song is like in Mi$ter $mith’s library. I didn’t want my father to go from thinking his son was this famous singer at the beginning to a lame whiner whose songs were all about girls telling me I got served.
I was getting near the end of the show and I had no clue, even if he was there, how I’d be able to meet him. Just saying “Al” again wouldn’t work, because there was no way he’d have gotten a front-row seat at the Garden. It was such a stupid idea, emailing him. It could’ve been a child predator who made a fake ID on his computer, or anyone else faking it, and if it was my father, we could be breaking the law by writing to each other. And it was all Jane’s fault. If she’d let him see me, or even talk to me, I wouldn’t have to do it this way. I could just meet him, like taking a regular business meeting.
Then I knew how to do it. It would mean Jane would figure out I’d been in contact with him, but it was the only way. And I realized I didn’t even care anymore if she knew. Stacy wouldn’t like it, either, but who gives a fuck. I was just another client to her.
When it was time for the final medley, right before I stepped in the heart-shaped swing to sing “U R Kewt,” I ignored the interlude banter I was supposed to say as the swing descended. “I’m looking for someone,” I said, which was a mistake, because a line in “Summa Fling” is “I’m looking for someone, someone I can crush on,” so the crowd sang, “Someone I can crush on!” even though I already sang “Summa Fling” earlier in the show. But crowds love repetition, the way really young kids do.
“No, seriously, I am,” I said. “I’m looking for Albert Valentino. If your name is Al Valentino, please show your ID to security and come onstage.”
Everyone in the Garden started talking and looking around. Not everyone would know or piece together that Al Valentino was my father’s name, so that was a smart move. Except Jane would be pissed. If my father was there, he could get onstage at least while I sang the medley.
I scanned for him, but it was too dark and the lights were all on me. The swing lifted me up and I had to focus. I got through “U R Kewt,” but I kept worrying that if my father was trying to get up onstage, Jane would intercept him. Or if he was there, I bet he was in the cheap seats and it would take him forever even to reach the floor.
So after “U R Kewt,” to buy some more time and to make sure the security people knew what to do, I forced an interlude, which I’m not supposed to do to keep the momentum going, and said again that security should let a guy named Al Valentino onstage. I sang “Roses for Rosie,” and I threw all the petals down. Some of them could have been falling on my father’s head as he walked toward the stage.
There was still no sign that he was coming when I finished it. I switched to “Guys vs. Girls,” and I was looking down the whole time to see if anyone was coming up onstage. No one was, not even any impostors pretending they were named Al Valentino, though there weren’t many guys at the show anyway, and the ones who were were probably child predators and the last thing they’d want to do is offer themselves up to security. I got annoyed, which constricts your vocal cords, that he’d made me all worked up for this and hadn’t figured out a way for us to meet. I was eleven years old, it shouldn’t have been up to me and I definitely shouldn’t have had to interrupt the biggest concert of my career, he should’ve just called Jane and worked it out with her instead of making me sneak around on computers.
The swing set me down with no sign of my father. The dancers and singers and I took our bows, but instead of going offstage with them before coming back for my encore, I stayed where I was and let them go, because I didn’t want to run into Jane. “I’m gonna sing an a cappella song to y’all,” I told the crowd, even though the set list called for me to do “Love Is Evol” and “Kali Kool” as encores, so that the band wasn’t with me and I could sing as long as I wanted in case he showed up. I launched the first verse of “Crushed”:
Like an empty can of pop
Like snow and sleet and slush
Girl, with you I can’t stop
From feeling like I’m crushed
And when I was about to switch to the chorus, four security guys walked as a group in the darkness of the stands toward the stage. They got closer, and I waited a few seconds as they came down an aisle, but I couldn’t make anything out. My breathing and heartbeat sped up, which was bad since this song had slow pacing and I could feel myself rushing the lyrics. I sang the chorus:
I got a crush on you, it ain’t funny
Got a crush on you, under your pinkie
You do what you want, girl, it’s plain to see
I’m not on your mind, but you’re crushing me
People think good singers are just born with strong pipes, but the best singers are creative interpreters, too. Like with the last line of the chorus, I emphasize the hard c in crushing, like ka-rushing, so it’s like the pain when you first get hurt, then I soften and draw out and deamplify the rest of the word, ruuusssshing, like, This is what’s left of me, this gooey inside that you’ve beaten up, and so I whisper me where you can’t hardly hear it, because you’ve destroyed me and you probably don’t e
ven think about me anymore.
By the time I finished it, they were at the base of the floor, where all the other security guys were lined up, and one of the four new guys discussed something with one of the guards who was lined up. There was a person in the middle of them, and just enough light from the stage that I could make out the purple bags under his eyes. Our purple bags.
I stopped singing. “Let him come up,” I said into the mike.
My father’s face was still in the shadows. One of the guards put his hands on his back and walked him around the stage to the little stairs and past a set of security guys, over to my elevated stage and through another line of security, up a last short flight of stairs, and finally over to me. The Garden has top-shelf security.
“I have to stay here between you,” the guard said to me. I nodded. I don’t think I could have spoken right then if I’d tried.
The crowd was talking now, and I was in danger of losing them if I didn’t sing again soon. But I couldn’t do it yet. I had to look at the guy standing four feet away on the other side of the security guard.
He was better-looking than he was in his driver’s license, which most people are. His chestnut hair was thin but he had all of it, which was good for me even though Jane says what matters most is what her father had, and he went bald young, so we’ll explore medication for me eventually. And he dressed kind of cool, with these beat-up black boots and a brown leather jacket that was sort of like Zack’s except more rugged and warmer and not as stylish. He looked like someone who could hitchhike anywhere and be fine.
I got nervous over how bad it’d be if Jane interrupted the show and how not only was my father watching me perform, but he was in the performance. I blocked it out the best I could and picked up the second verse of “Crushed” as if nothing major had happened and I hadn’t met my father for the first time in years and an entire stadium plus an Internet live-stream audience had watched it happen. It was almost like doing it in front of thousands of people was easier than if we’d met one-on-one in a room for face time by ourselves.