Pop Life

by Ryan Loveless

  Then Paeder stopped singing and said, "Hey, Nigel, what's up with the backdrop?"

  "We've just about got it, Mr. Brogan," a burly man said. He tugged on a rope and dropped a flag that was the largest I had ever seen in my life, Irish or otherwise. If fireworks had come shooting out of it, I would not have been surprised. I said as much to Keelin.

  "How did you know about the finale?" Keelin asked.

  I turned away to roll my eyes. Keelin trotted down the aisle to the stage.

  "Isn't this grand, lads?" Paeder called from the stage.

  "Oh, yeah, it's great, Paeder!" Russell yelled back.

  "Look what I've done, Keelin," Paeder said as Keelin perched on the lip of the stage.

  "Some might say we'd all done it," Russell said.

  "We're on telly tonight, lads!" Paeder said.

  "Here we go," said Russell. He dropped his head onto Michael's shoulder. "Now he'll never stop." Michael patted Russell's cheek.

  "Ireland's had a great year!" Paeder announced. He spread his arms wide before the flag.

  "It has?" I was uncertain what to make of this declaration.

  "Paeder feels if he has a good year it incrementally affects the state of the nation," Russell said, briefly raising his head from Michael's shoulder.

  "Well, that makes sense, I suppose," I said.

  "If you're Paeder," said Michael.

  "Right. Yes."

  I watched Paeder with a mixture of fascination and disdain, which was roughly how I felt about clam chowder—a comparison I would not be sharing with Paeder anytime soon. Paeder was nodding to himself. "The first Irish singer to be broadcast live out of the Royal Albert Hall. It's a great year!" he said.

  "You're not the first, babe," Keelin said. He pulled his bare feet into his lap and wiggled his toes.

  "Not now, Keelin." Paeder stooped to ruffle Keelin's hair as he passed. "Do you think the leprechauns are too much?"

  "Yes!" Russell yelled.

  "Okay, we'll cut them. Cut the leprechauns!" he said to a woman with a clipboard. She scribbled something and indicated that the leprechauns were gone. The troupe of little people left the stage.

  "Leprechauns?" I asked.

  Russell put up a hand. "It's best if you don't ask."

  "Well, Keelin seems to be enjoying himself," I said.

  "They've been fawning over each other ever since we got back here," Russell said. He watched Keelin beam at Paeder. He turned to Michael. "There's a NASCAR race on telly now. Come watch it with me?"

  "Absolutely. Are you coming, Drew?"

  "No, I'll be here. This is too good to miss," I said. On the stage Paeder was directing be-frocked children around a pan-pipe playing woman.

  "Yes, I can see why you'd want to stay," Michael said. He and Russell almost fell over their feet in their haste to escape.

  I waved absently at them. I slid into a seat next to Jamie, who was enrapt.

  "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

  Jamie shook his head. "Never in all my life and I've been on stage with strippers dressed as ostriches."

  We watched in wonder as the spectacle unfolded. Streamers, dancers, lute players, and a shepherd tromped across the stage. There was a sheep.

  "Okay, everyone," Paeder said.

  Jamie and I quickly ascertained that we were the only "everyone" Paeder could possibly mean. As such, we sat up to give him our full attention, less for Paeder's sake than because we did not want to miss it if the sheep head-butted him.

  Paeder nodded briskly to indicate that he recognized our attention. "Okay, everyone," he repeated, "we're doing the finale now, so you'll have to take yourselves elsewhere. Have to preserve the surprise, after all."

  "Do you think I should tell him that I've already guessed it?" I asked.

  "Not if you want to live to tomorrow," Jamie said. He stood. "C'mon. Let's go for a walk or something."

  "I'm right behind you."

  As the door closed behind us, I heard Keelin say, "I already know the ending, Paeder, and I'm not going anywhere. I want to be here when you blow yourself up."

  * * * *

  Watching the rehearsal, Jamie had looked almost as happy as if he'd been performing. "A fucking sheep," he said, still marveling over it. He looked at me, and I nodded to confirm that the entire spectacle had actually happened.

  "He certainly outdoes himself," I said.

  Jamie shook his head, eyes wide and mouth frozen into a flabbergasted smile.

  I wanted to ask about us as we walked down the hallway, me with my thumbs hooked into my pockets to stop myself from grabbing his hand, and he with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Even though neither of us had raised the subject, I was fairly certain that we were an 'us' now. It seemed crass to ask, though, with everything else that had been going on with him. It wouldn't be fair to make him think about starting a relationship when he should be focusing on making himself better.

  "This way," he said, striding confidently in the wrong direction if he was aiming for the exit. I increased my pace to keep up with him. His hand brushed mine and I thought, maybe, but it was just the normal swing of his arms and not an attempt to touch me. At least, I thought so until he didn't move to put space between us and did it again.

  It didn't do me any good not to know where we stood. I didn't stay up talking for hours on the phone to just anyone, and I knew some nights he hadn't slept at all in favor of talking to me, despite my telling him to sleep. He probably knew everything about me because of those conversations. I'd given him ten minutes worth of laughter when I told him about the ant farm I'd unsuccessfully kept as a child. In return, he gave me stories of his childhood, what it was like to grow up feeling different—something I'd identified with—and his first kiss, which was with a boy, not a girl as he'd said in interviews.

  I squeezed his hand as he brushed it past mine again. He looked over, seemingly surprised. "It's good to see you again," I said. He probably thought it was a strange thing to say, but I hoped he understood that I meant it as more than the usual casual greeting. I meant that I'd been terrified that I wouldn't, ever, and that he should never scare me like that again.

  "You too." He squeezed my hand as he pulled his away. Before I could miss the feeling of having a warm palm in mine and the fleeting connection it gave me to him, he said, "You shouldn't be running off anymore. You can write from anywhere." With a small, teasing smile, he tossed the words I had used in New York back at me.

  "That's true," I said. I grinned at him. Fucking smart ass. Looking pleased with himself, he smiled as if we'd settled something.

  It was the most subtle confirmation I'd ever received, but I understood it well enough. Checking to see that no one was around, I stopped him. Pulling him down by the back of his neck, I gave him a quick peck on his lips.

  "Good, then." He put his arm around me.

  "Good," I said. I felt shaky with the happiness that had suddenly engulfed me. I wasn't accustomed to getting what I wanted and Jamie was… he was a treasure. A fucked up treasure, sure, but he was mine. Finally. For this moment, I needed him to support me, and he did, just by standing there dragging his fingers up and down my shoulder where they had settled.

  His arm was heavy, warm. Comfortable. It wasn't much, but it kept me from floating away.

  He looked from one end of the hall to the other. "Where's the fucking exit?"

  I didn't bother stifling my laughter as I guided him in the right direction.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jamie and I walked out of the stage door and into Bob, who was in the process of arriving. "And where do you think you're going?" Bob asked. He crossed his massive arms over his chest and scowled at Jamie.

  "Bob! Hello. Excellent to see you!" Jamie smiled brightly and hugged his bodyguard. He peered around Bob's shoulder and mouthed, "Fuck me," at me. I guessed that Jamie was not making an offer in this case. "So, what brings you to the neighborhood on this beautiful day?"

  Bob adjusted his rain s
licker, which was soaking wet, and handed Jamie an umbrella. "Oh, the usual. Tracking you down. Disappearing for five days is not going to become routine, I hope?"

  Jamie opened the umbrella and held it over my head. "Well, you found me. Well done! We're just out for a walk." As he ducked beneath the umbrella with me, he whispered, "Those guards we saw when we came in tipped him off, bet you anything. Fuckers."

  Bob extended his arm in a swooping gesture. "Well, lead the way. I'll be right behind you."

  Jamie straightened and smiled widely, probably hoping it came off as innocent, too. "Yes, thank you." He looped his arm through mine to better share the umbrella.

  "I think he's upset," I said.

  Jamie whispered, "If you weren't here, I'd be dead right now. I've never seen him this angry."

  I risked a glance over my shoulder. "I'd say there's a good chance we'll both be dead if we don't watch ourselves."

  "I'm here to protect you, Jamie. I can't do that if you don't tell me what you are doing," Bob said. His voice boomed over the splatter of raindrops on our umbrella. As if on cue, a young girl spotted Jamie and started the siren scream sure to bring every youngster in earshot running. Bob grabbed Jamie and me by the backs of our shirts and dragged us into a grocery. "Get to the back, now." He gave a directional shove and turned to secure the front doors. Jamie and I stopped running when we were well hidden amongst the eggs and dairy products in a back aisle.

  "Great," I said, "I've needed to pick up a few groceries."

  Jamie darted glances in all directions. "I think we're safe now."

  "From who? Bob or the fourteen-year-olds?" I adjusted my collar where Bob had handled me.

  "You," Jamie said, "have obviously never been in that situation. My fans would just as soon tear my clothes off as look at me. I don't suppose you get that much with your fans, what with being a writer."

  "I do have a higher class of fan."

  "You are such a prince, Drew." He smiled and shook his head as if I had done something adorable.

  "Pardon me?" a young voice interrupted.

  Jamie and I looked down at an adolescent girl. She held a disposable camera, probably grabbed from one of the displays at the registers. Her thumbs twitched over its edges.

  "Hi," I said. The youth looked like she was on the verge of screaming, running, or wetting herself. The wrong move could cause any or all of those reactions.

  "H-hi," she said.

  "What can we do for you?" Jamie said, trying to coax another sound out of her. The girl gaped at me.

  "Are you Andrew Brennan? I, um, love your songs. I want to be a songwriter because of you. C-could you take a picture with me?"

  I grinned and slipped an arm around her.

  "See, Jamie, I've got young fans, too!"

  Jamie rolled his eyes. He took the camera. "Where's your mum, then?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "Dunno. In the frozen section, I reckon."

  "Okay, you're sure you want him and not me?"

  She nodded.

  "I'm a lot more famous than him. Got a lot more money."

  The girl giggled. I squeezed her shoulder. "Attention on me, please," I said.

  "'River of You' is the best song ever!" she told me.

  "Thanks so much!" I grinned at her. Michael hated that song. He called it "River of Bills are Due."

  "Smile!" Jamie snapped the picture.

  "Okay, we really have to go now," I said. I gave the girl another squeeze.

  "You're sure you don't want one of me?" Jamie asked. "You know, I've recorded half a record's worth of his songs."

  "You can't believe that someone would prefer me over you, can you?" I said.

  Jamie shrugged. "Well…"

  "Oh, it's not that! I think you're great. It's just my mum—" The girl's protest was aborted by the sudden presence of her mother barreling down the aisle pushing a full grocery cart.

  "Anna!"

  I jumped to one side. The woman screeched to a halt an inch from Jamie. "Were you talking to my daughter?"

  "No, he was talking to her." He pointed at me.

  "Your daughter asked for a picture with me," I said when the woman turned her glare onto me. The store shelves pressed into my back, providing a canned courage that prevented me from retreating a step.

  "And who are you when you're at home?" She eyed me with a stare that could have bent steel. I lowered my eyes and was surprised that I was not any closer to the ground.

  "Mum, he's the bloke who wrote "River of You," Anna said. She tapped her mother's elbow.

  "Hmm," the mum said. I was unsure if it was a noise of acquiescence or recognition. It certainly did not signal approval, but her initial suspicion dissipated.

  "And you're Jamie Webster, are you not?" Now that I had been dismissed as a potential threat, she resumed glaring at Jamie.

  A curt nod from Jamie, who apparently only enjoyed being anonymous when it was convenient to him.

  "Anna, come here," the woman said. "I want you to know what you've done, Mr. Pop Star."

  "What's that?" A slight waver tinted Jamie's voice beneath his professional cockiness.

  "Mum, don't." Anna tried to free herself as her mother turned her away from us and raised her pink shirt. The girl's back was a grotesque mass of scars. I sucked in my breath.

  "Tell him why you aren't allowed to have anything to do with him, Anna," the woman said. The girl pulled her shirt down.

  "Mum, this is stupid. It's got nothing to do with him."

  "Can I help you ladies with something?" Bob had entered the aisle in time to see Anna readjusting her clothes. The mother ignored him. She glared at Jamie.

  "My daughter and her friends got the idea that they should try drinking because you seem to enjoy it so much. Always singing about it, always in the papers because of it. So Anna and her friends got drunk. They took their bicycles out on a dark road and steered them straight into an oncoming car. Three people died. Three children. Do you understand that?"

  I wished that Jamie would fight her, throw some temper into it. But, as usual, Jamie's self-preservation was on holiday, dancing around the Caribbean with a dozen scantily clad models. Here, in the store, Jamie's face was as white as his sneakers. His eyes locked on the floor.

  "I… um… I don't… I have a problem," he said. "I don't mean for anything to happen from it."

  "My daughter was almost killed." The woman spoke slowly to control her fury. "She'll be disfigured for the rest of her life. She'll never have children of her own." She whipped the girl's shirt up again. "This is because of you. And you are at fault for the three who died. You."

  I wanted to scream at the woman, Stop! Leave him alone; you'll break him, or take the shopping cart and plow her down with it. But I didn't. I just stood there, back against the Frosties, doing nothing, as Jamie paled until he could have rivaled Paeder's complexion.

  "All right, ma'am, you and your daughter need to move along, now. Mr. Webster is finished speaking with you." Bob stepped between the woman's cart and Jamie. Jamie wrapped a shaking hand around Bob's elbow, perhaps unconsciously mimicking the motion the girl had made to her mother.

  "Wait. Please. W-what were their names? The ones that…" Jamie faltered.

  "Jack and Shane Finch and Stephanie Sandberg."

  "B-brothers? I killed brothers?"

  Bob grabbed Jamie before he collapsed.

  "That's enough," Bob said. "You didn't kill anyone." He hooked Jamie's arm around his shoulders and half walked, half carried him out the back. I followed them.

  "Wait," Anna said.

  I turned back. The girl ran up to me and grasped one of my arms. "I'm not mad. Please tell him I'm not mad."

  I watched as Jamie stumbled and Bob picked him up and carried him past a stack of canned tomatoes in the storage area. "I'll tell him."

  "Let's go, Anna." The woman grabbed her daughter's hand. As she pulled the girl away, I went after Bob and Jamie.

  "I-I'm sorry," Jamie said.

 
"I should have knocked her down when I first saw her," Bob said. He adjusted his hold on Jamie.

  "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing." I thrust my hands into my pockets. "Why did you ask their names, Jamie?"

  "So, I'll know. It's worse, not knowing. You can put me down. I'm all right." He twisted out of Bob's arms as we exited onto the pavement. "Andrew?" Jamie stuck his elbow out. I took it, and Jamie erected the umbrella over us.

  "I think I should hail a cab," Bob said.

  "I walked here. I can walk back."

  "Jamie?" I asked.

  "What?"

  "The Albert is the other way."

  "Right." Jamie turned around and marched past Bob, who had waited to see if Jamie would figure things out for himself or need to be rescued. Bob followed.

  "You can't blame yourself for this," I said. I held his arm close.

  Jamie shook his head. "Too late. I already do."

  "That woman was clearly insane…"

  "Sometimes I think it's too late for me, too."

  "What does that mean?" I asked, more loudly than I intended.

  Jamie shrugged. I thought about how close he had been to killing himself the night before.

  "I should have stopped her. She shouldn't have said that to you. I'm really sorry."

  Jamie slowly turned to face me. "Great. Now I've made you feel guilty, too." He went silent after that, and the only sound came from the rain hitting the umbrella and the slosh-splatter of puddles as he trudged through them without picking up his feet.

  When we reached the Albert, Bob positioned himself at the door. "I'll be here when you're ready to leave," he told Jamie.

  "Yeah, all right," Jamie said, handing him the umbrella.

  "Jamie?"

  "What?"

  "If you try to ditch me, I will kill you. Murdered. Dead. Understand?"