Pop Life

by Ryan Loveless

  Jeff stretched. He started putting his camera into its case, unconcerned that everyone else was dismissing himself.

  "Stay here a minute, Andrew," Paeder said. "I've got some time to talk about the album."

  "Sure," I said. About time we got down to business.

  After the door closed, Paeder came over and put his hand on me on my shoulder. It didn't feel friendly.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  Well, if he didn't know, how was I supposed to tell him? "Talking to you about your album. That is why I'm here, isn't it?" I said.

  "Ostensibly, yes," Paeder said. "I was referring, however, to your other intentions."

  "I'm going to my cousin's wedding. That and you are my only priorities." Paeder never struck me as one who needed reassurance. Maybe I was wrong. "Your album is in good hands."

  "What about Keelin?" Paeder squeezed my shoulder. I was right; definitely not friendly. I moved away.

  "I don't know whose hands Keelin is in. Look, if you're trying to confuse me, you've done it."

  Paeder moved so he was standing in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. It might have been paternal if he was twenty years older and not a conceited ass. "It's not good for him to be seen with you. Not good for his image, I mean."

  "His image?"

  "Ever since he came out we've done an excellent job of marketing him as the ideal best friend for every mother's daughter. Little girls who should have cried over the loss are sending him cards." His hands made gentle circles as he spoke, lending a gauche calmness to his words.

  "That's a great way to talk about your friend." I wanted out of the room. To spend another second with this man…

  "Don't be like that. You know how this business works, especially in a band like ours. A band that's ninety-nine percent image, and one percent talent."

  "Oh, and no guesses where the talent comes in?"

  "Not the point," said Paeder.

  "What is?"

  "If someone takes a picture of you and Keelin and that picture gets into the papers, suddenly everyone thinks Keelin's got himself a man, and we have trouble on our hands. As long as his adoring public thinks he's single, he remains an unthreatening gay man, and we keep selling records."

  I almost laughed. Did he honestly think that photographers were laying in wait for Keelin? Here in New York? Where a hundred American celebrities lived who were all more popular?

  "Paeder, that is the most ridiculous thing you could… Based on your logic, Michael and I have been dating for years. I need to let him know he owes me seven years of back anniversary gifts. I won't be the only man Keelin goes out of doors with, Paeder. Are you going to lecture all of them or just me?"

  Paeder poked me in the chest once and then, possibly remembering that he was not in a roadhouse film, dropped his finger and said, "You can laugh all you want, Andrew, but you haven't been around the media like I have. You watch your step, or you'll be Keelin's boyfriend by the end of the week. I know you were married and you're supposedly not gay; I don't judge about things like that, but you've got a feminine air, and they'll pick up on that. It only takes one caption to get a rumor started."

  Feminine air? "I think—" I brushed the dent of Paeder's finger out of my shirt "—that there are worse things than being accused of loving someone."

  Paeder's lip curled into an impersonation of a possessed Elvis. "Like what?" he asked.

  "Like being an ass."

  Paeder replaced his automatic physical reaction—flared nostrils, pinched lips—with a blank innocence that he could not quite pull off.

  "You don't know everything. Try to remember that. You're here to work, not to babysit Keelin. Do you understand me?"

  I reminded myself of Michael's reason for taking on Paeder: Because he is paying us, and this is what we do.

  "Yeah," I said, forcing my words. "I get it." I grabbed my notebook and strode to the door. "We'll talk after I get back if you're in the mood."

  I almost left without waiting for his reply, mimicking what he had done to me the previous night, but I caught myself. I was not him. I would not behave like a jerk simply because I had the opportunity. I stopped and turned around.

  "All right?" I asked.

  "Fine," he said. "I'll let you know."

  I left and almost whistled as I walked down the hall. I had stood up to Paeder. This day was looking up.

  * * * *

  The New English Herald

  Publicist Blasts Webster Bio

  By Ralph Hammond

  Published 18 August 1997

  London.

  Jamie Webster's publicist has decried the publication of a recent unauthorized biography that portrays Mr. Webster as a bisexual drug abusing sex addict. "This book is malicious and was written with vile intent," said Jennifer Greene. "It does not characterize Jamie honestly. Mr. MacGregor is basically calling him a male slag. It should be pulled from the shelves." Ms. Greene has represented Mr. Webster, thirty, since his career began in 1987.

  Hamish MacGregor, author of Jamie Webster: Unmitigated Honesty said, "Everything in that book comes from eyewitness reports, from journals, from things Jamie himself has said. To accuse me of fabricating portions of this book is insulting."

  Mr. MacGregor is a professor of History and Media Culture at King's College University. This year he will introduce a new course: "If a Celebrity Crosses a Street and Celebrity Spy Isn't There to Document It, Did it Really Happen?" The course examines the role the media plays in shaping Celebrity Personas in the public eye. Mr. MacGregor says that Mr. Webster will have a strong role in the class. "I don't see how he couldn't, considering. It won't be just him. There will be footballers as well, and Spice Girls. Basically whoever is in the news, we will discuss."

  Mr. Webster could not be reached for comment.

  Chapter Five

  Alfred was standing near the altar when Keelin and I entered the cathedral. White lilies cascaded from the balconies that extended lengthways up the sanctuary. The altar, lodged a football field away, was an immaculately carved table with sparkling gold candelabras, an embroidered white cloth, and, above it all, a giant cross with a wooden Savior stretched across it. His face bore an eerie serenity. Behind the cross a backlit rose window cast a golden halo around Christ's bowed head.

  I waved. Alfred waddled towards us, brushing aside lilies that got in his way.

  "You're late, young man."

  I jogged forward to meet him before he ran out of breath. "Sorry, Alfred," I said. "We had a slow start." I lost my words as I was crushed to his chest. "Al, I can't breathe."

  Alfred laughed and let me go. "Come on and meet Rachel."

  "Wait, I want you to meet my friend…" I turned around and saw that Keelin had dipped his fingers into the basin of holy water and was making the sign of the cross. "This is…"

  "Keelin!" Alfred said. "What are you doing here?" He threw his arms around Keelin and lifted him off the ground. Keelin wheezed on Alfred's shoulder.

  "Alfred, please tell me you guys know each other?" I said. I pried his arms apart. Having relatives crushing my clients would not help my career.

  Alfred set Keelin down. "I'm Icon's legal representative in the States. Their consigliore, if you will. Honestly, Keelin, it's an absolute delight to see you."

  Keelin grinned. "Likewise, Al. Congratulations on your wedding. Andrew, you should have told me Alfred was your cousin."

  I threw up my hands in protest. "Hey, I don't know who his clients are. I'm too busy writing songs to pay attention to him! Besides, I'm just glad you guys know each other. I'd be in big trouble if you started randomly squeezing the breath out of strangers, Al."

  "And before you tell me that I should have mentioned Andrew, I might point out that I am too busy practicing law to pay attention to him," Alfred said. We all laughed. "Let's go meet my bride." He put his huge arms around both of us and together we walked into a sparsely decorated room near the rear of the sanctuary.

  His fianc
ée, a delicately plump brunette, was standing next to a rectangular folding table binding bouquets. She looked up and smiled when we entered.

  "Isn't she great?" Alfred asked by way of introduction.

  "Hello, I'm Andrew," I said. "And this is Keelin."

  "Cousin and client, respectively," Alfred said.

  "I'm Rachel. Pleased to meet you." Rachel held up a twist-tie. "Would you mind? I have a ton of these to do."

  "Not at all." I took it and wrapped it around the stems of the flowers she held out.

  "Darling, you have seven bridesmaids. Why are you doing this on your own?" Alfred asked.

  "Because my seven bridesmaids are running around buying up every lily in town. It seems a certain groom had to have them. And as for your groomsmen… I can only imagine what you have them doing, sweetheart."

  A logic-induced coughing fit seized Alfred. "Ah. Well. Good work then."

  "Thank you," Rachel said. She had a glow that lit her heart-shaped face. I shook another tie loose from a pile on the table. I bowed my head to hide my smile.

  Alfred rubbed his beard and addressed Keelin. "Let's see, if I recall your schedule correctly, Paeder and Russell are in town as well."

  "Correct as usual," Keelin said. He had picked up another bunch of flowers and was wrapping them on his own.

  "Then you should all come tomorrow. I insist on it."

  "I'd love to. Probably Russell, too. Paeder is working, but I'll ask him."

  "Did I hear that he's calling his album Truly, Paeder?" Alfred asked. "That couldn't be right, could it?"

  That was the title? It had to go. Michael and I would have a talk with him.

  "You, uh, did hear that, yes." Keelin sounded like he was trying to decide if he should agree with Alfred or defend Paeder. I had invited him out for a break from Paeder, and here he was doing public relations for him.

  "I see. Well. That's Paeder." Alfred shook his head as a wry smile worked his mouth.

  "Yes, that's him," Keelin said. This time he was abrupt, evidently deciding that Alfred had come as close to insulting Paeder as Keelin cared to sanction.

  "Ah, we tease in fun," Alfred said. "I love all of you equally—Paeder included."

  "I know," he said. He didn't look convinced. "We, uh, we love you, too. I mean, you're a really good lawyer."

  Rachel touched my hand as I tied the twist-tie too roughly, and it cut into the stems. I knew I was an outsider to the mess that Icon had going on right now and couldn't know the whole story behind the animosity I'd seen back at the hotel, but it still chafed me to know how Paeder treated Keelin and Russell, especially when they took it all with such good humor.

  "Andrew? Are you all right?" she asked. The bouquet we both held forced us into intimacy, eight inches from stem to bloom, from my chest to hers.

  "Fine," I said. The word was exhaled on a breath of anger, but so quiet that Keelin and Alfred continued their conversation without noticing.

  "Are you sure?" Rachel asked. I picked up another tie. I wouldn't let this upset me. Keelin was his own man. If he wanted to defend Paeder, he could. God knew I defended Michael if anyone said something about him. Of course, Michael deserved defending.

  "It's nothing," I said.

  A priest appeared in the entranceway and gestured to Alfred. A tall brunette woman stood beside him. She looked like the priest's daughter, and I thought she was until I remembered that it was impossible.

  "Father Perry, may I introduce my cousin Andrew Brennan and our mutual client and friend, Keelin Nolan," Alfred said.

  Immediately the good Catholic boy, Keelin set down the bouquet he was tying and stepped forward to shake the priest's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Father."

  "Hello," I said. I followed Keelin's example and shook hands. I avoided a title. I never knew how to address priests. Were non-Catholics allowed to call them 'Father'? Was it the same as calling someone 'doctor' whether they treated you or not? He gave me a raised eyebrow. My uncertainty seemed to amuse him.

  "You can call me Carl. It's my Christian name."

  "Oh. Thank you." He had saved us both from a day of awkward pauses. Anyone who could stop me from embarrassing myself was automatically my hero. I contemplated converting as a way of saying thanks.

  Alfred then pointed my attention to the woman standing with Carl. "Andrew, this is Nicole. You'll be escorting her up the aisle." Nicole smiled and extended her hand.

  "Hello, Andrew."

  "Nice to meet you, Nicole."

  "Nicole is Rachel's sister. She flew in from Iowa for the wedding." He turned to Nicole. "Andrew is my cousin from California."

  "I did my post-graduate work at UCLA," Nicole said.

  "I grew up in Belmont."

  Before she could speak again, the missing bridesmaids and groomsmen entered in a wave of laughter and lilies, and Alfred asked if we could get started.

  "We're just waiting for the organist," Carl said.

  "I can sit in," Keelin offered.

  "You play?" Rachel asked.

  I was thinking the same thing. Keelin hadn't told me that he had any talent in that area. However, I had also never asked. As a group, Icon was vocally centered. Even Paeder had never mentioned any other abilities. It was a concert cliché for a boy band to say to the fans: "You all know we can sing, but did you know we also play instruments?" However, Icon never squeezed themselves behind drum sets or strapped on guitars like noisy children bidding for attention. They knew their focus, and they stuck to it.

  "Keelin is a musician, my dear," Alfred said. He had such an enthusiastic look, close to parental pride, that I was certain that if I asked Alfred if Keelin could play the oboe, he would say, 'Of course! He's a musician!'

  "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, Keelin. I hope I didn't offend…" Rachel blushed.

  "Not at all. I'd be delighted to play for you," Keelin said.

  "Well, young man, we're glad you're here!" Carl said.

  "Thank you, Father," said Keelin. He followed Carl into the sanctuary.

  "Your friend is very helpful," Rachel said.

  I watched as he disappeared behind the organ. "Well, I don't think he has many chances like this. So, he probably takes them when he can."

  "Perhaps we should ask him to help with the clean up tomorrow," Alfred said.

  Carl returned and instructed us on lining up. I took Nicole's arm as the music started.

  "Ready?" I asked.

  "Ready." She patted my fingers.

  I waited for Carl's nod, and we were off, right foot forward.

  We went through the whole routine four times. Keelin played throughout. He was very good, and as I listened to Alfred practicing his vows, I started planning the album I would write for Keelin if he asked me. I might do it even if he didn't ask. The thought of writing for organ excited me.

  Afterwards, Keelin and I opted out of the rehearsal dinner. It was almost evening when we walked back to the hotel. We agreed that the rehearsal had been nice and that Rachel and Alfred made a good pair. I told him of my surprise and pleasure over learning that he played the organ. "That's a difficult instrument. You should be proud of yourself."

  Keelin jumped ahead of me and kicked a chip of asphalt off the curb. "Ah. Now you're thinking maybe Icon is two percent talent, aren't you? Might be able to make something of organ boy, eh?"

  "Keelin, I am trying very hard to erase the mental picture I have of you in a leotard with a liver-shaped emblem emblazoned on your chest." I chuckled, but something about his face made me stop.

  "Organ Boy. Cute. I would have gone with the appendix, personally."

  "Why?"

  "It's totally useless."

  "Keelin, you're not…" I step-skipped to catch up to him. I hated hearing him talk like this. He stopped and faced me.

  "It's totally useless until it acts up. Then it's more pain than you've ever known in your life."

  I wanted to hug him. "I seriously doubt you could ever be like that."

  "I know what Paeder says about
Russell and me. You don't think you're the only one he's told that 'Icon is one percent talent', do you?" He mimicked Paeder's Northern Irish intonations.

  "I don't… I don't know." The realization hit me with blunt force—Keelin knew why Paeder had wanted to speak to me privately earlier. More importantly, Paeder actually said that crap to Keelin. As if Keelin didn't have enough pressure from constantly shielding his private life, he had to put up with Paeder bringing him down.

  "Trust me, Andrew, the stuff he says to you—the stuff he says to anyone else—is nothing to what he says to us."

  If I were him, I would have left Icon ages ago. I would have risked starting over to get away from Paeder. Keelin, however, almost seemed amused. Maybe if you put up with Paeder long enough, you had to be in order to deal with him.

  "I don't know how you and Russell have put up with him as long as you have. Either of you could have your own career. I could help you if you wanted. You just say the word and I'll write for you." I waited for him to say yes. Just one word and he'd be free.

  Keelin's lips twitched and stopped short of a smile. He pulled his hands out of his pockets. "He wasn't always so, ah, whatever." He started walking again. I fell into step beside him. "Paeder's… I'm not sure how to explain it. He's got a way about him. If you stay with him long enough, you'll see it. He just hasn't shown it for awhile."

  "And you're sticking around until he does?"

  Keelin stepped around a bag of trash. "Or until his appendix bursts."

  * * * *

  The New English Herald

  Jamie Webster Under New Management

  By Ralph Hammond

  Published 20 July 1989

  London.

  Following months of speculation, it was confirmed today that Jamie Webster is no longer managed by his brother David Grant. Rumours that changes were in store began circulating in March, following the abrupt cancellation of the final dates of Mr. Webster's first national tour. At that time, Mr. Webster was admitted to the hospital for fatigue.