“Haven’t had a chance,” Michelin lied. Add the concert to the list of things he didn’t want to talk about, didn’t want to risk breaking this bubble of happiness over. “I’ve been super busy. And Gloria’s probably going to occupy the rest of my day. I might not have time to hang with you until dinner.”
“Oh! I was just coming in to tell you, I won’t be around tonight.” Lucky looked up from the dog, grinning. He bounced on his heels. “Carlos is shorthanded. Thank fuck. He’s decided to end my exile. Said the ABC folks have finished their investigation. He says as long as the paparazzi keeps at bay, I can come back.”
Poof! The happiness bubble popped, reality jamming its way back into Michelin’s life. He sank into a chair at the dining table
“You’re dancing tonight? I figured you’d be on the leave of absence as long as . . .” He trailed off, realizing the size of the hole he was digging himself. As long as we’re together. He might as well just ask Lucky what the scheduled breakup date was if he was going to say stupid shit like that. And he didn’t want to come off like some jealous boyfriend who didn’t want him dancing.
Even if he totally was one.
“Trust me, my bank account is grateful for Carlos’s change of heart. I still have to pay rent and get the money to the video director.”
Michelin bit his lip hard enough to taste blood to keep from offering money to fix Lucky’s concerns. There had to be a way for him to help Lucky financially without Lucky going into porcupine mode.
“What about the video for Ruby?” he asked finally, not finding the right words to offer help.
Lucky sighed. He’d met with Ruby twice during the day in the last week when Michelin had been busy with promo obligations. “Lovely as Ruby is, her video’s barely paying anything.”
“Ah.” Michelin’s chest ached and his hands clenched and unclenched. Not saying what he really wanted was killing him. “And you’ve . . . missed dancing at the club?”
“Yeah.” Lucky fixed a stony glare on Michelin. “I have. I dance, Michelin. It’s what I do. I should get a main stage slot tonight, and I can debut one of the routines I’ve been working on here. I can’t wait.”
Lucky sat backward on the chair at the head of the table. Michelin had watched him practice a routine involving a folding chair that made Michelin damn jealous of the chair, and him sitting like this reminded Michelin how much he’d wished he could keep that routine to the privacy of his house.
Don’t be a jealous asshole. He tried to force himself to smile, but had a feeling it came out more like a grimace.
“Oh . . . well, that’s good.” Michelin’s voice was weaker than his grandma’s tea.
“Are you gonna be cool about this or do we got a problem?” Lucky’s eyes were like missiles, waiting to launch at Michelin if he chose the wrong answer.
Fuck.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Gloria’s insistent rattle came right as he realized that lying was probably his best bet. Thank fuck. He raced to the door.
“We’re not done,” Lucky called after him, but he was already letting Gloria in. Her look of horror at the dog waiting patiently to sniff her up was worth the price of the chow and the hassle of ordering the dog bed. Michelin waited a good long second before calling off the dog and ordering her back to her bed.
“We’ve got a problem,” she said, sliding off her fancy sunglasses and removing her phone from her oversize bag. “Big Mart pulled your album. We don’t even know exactly when—sometime in the past week, it started disappearing from shelves, and now it’s not even on their website.”
“What? How can they do that?” Lucky asked.
“They’re the largest big box chain in the country. They can do whatever they want. Michelin was supposed to get a featured slot on the website, and that apparently never happened either.”
“Did they announce why?” Michelin sank down next to the dog, petting her, trying to slow his racing pulse.
“Of course not.” Gloria took a chair at the dining table. She pulled out her tablet. “You think they held a press conference? One of the LGBT news outlets uncovered the story. That was plenty embarrassing—our marketing team should have been more on this. Obviously the label is demanding an explanation, but this was a very quiet blacklisting. And that’s not all.”
“It’s not?”
“The same site uncovered dozens of reports of country stations down south refusing requests for ‘Graduation Day.’ One station went on record as saying that it has ‘homoerotic overtones’ and another said it had a ‘political agenda,’ and other stations are refusing requests for any of your songs. We did know that some right wing radio show went off on you on Tuesday—”
“Today’s Friday. You’re just telling me now?”
“I didn’t want to upset you. I was hoping it would blow over. But it’s starting to snowball, which means we need to rethink our approach.”
“How is the label going to fight back?” Lucky leaned forward. “Are they going to call for a boycott—”
“Slow down a minute,” Michelin said, far more harshly than he’d intended.
Gloria’s mouth twisted and her eyes hardened to steel points. “No one’s talking protest.”
“Thank goodness.” Michelin couldn’t hide his relief. Fear of this kind of reaction had kept him closeted all these years. Banned. Bile rose in his throat.
“I’m getting a soda.” Lucky pushed away from the table with near-palpable disgust. He would protest, loudly and publicly. Much as Michelin hated disappointing him, he simply wasn’t Lucky’s kind of brash. His throat burned and his hand shook against the dog’s fur. Lucky strode away from them, shaking his head at Michelin.
Gloria waited until he was gone before speaking again. “Good. I’m glad he’s giving us a minute, because your... arrangement is coming under some fire. And I know it was my idea—”
“It was. But what does my ‘arrangement’ have to do with places banning me?”
“The label is thinking now is not the time to be so visibly gay. No gay rights causes, right now. I heard some rumors about you and a benefit concert—”
“I’m not doing that one.”
“Thanks be for small mercies.” Gloria’s smile was too sharp to be comforting. “So no fund-raisers right now. No shout-outs to gay causes on your social media. And no boyfriend.”
“No boyfriend?”
“We all know it was just a publicity stunt, right?”
“Right,” Michelin echoed, thinking of all the ways it had totally evolved beyond that, thinking about this last week spent biding time from one private moment to the next, resenting every public intrusion.
“So you can stop having Lucky at events, stop going pet shopping and on outings, stop having him over here—”
“No-no-no Lucky?” Fuck. He couldn’t talk. “B-b-but . . . friends.”
“You’re friends now, I get that.” The look Gloria gave him was downright pitying. “Just be . . . I don’t know . . . text friends or something. We’re not going to announce a breakup or anything like that. We just want to present the most masculine image we can of you.”
“The fuck?” Michelin swore he felt the rap of his mama’s knuckles as soon as he cursed. “Sorry, but seriously? I’m not man enough for the label now? You need me in bigger belt buckles? Wider hats? Need me to start chewin’ or what?”
“No one’s suggesting you take up tobacco.” Gloria’s pinched expression suggested that perhaps the other suggestions had been raised. “We just need you to lay low while the label greases whatever palms it’s going to take to get Big Mart to bring you back quietly. And the iLuvMusic stations are still playing you—we’ve got to keep them happy while we deal with these rogue local stations.”
“I can do the no politics, easy.” Michelin kept right up petting the dog, like it was the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe it was. “And you know I’m good with a low profile. And keepin’ the focus on the music. All that’s good.”
“Good.
I knew you’d see the logic.” Gloria tapped her phone a few times, clearly ready to move on to to the next item on her agenda.
“But I’m staying . . . friends with Lucky.” Hell. He really didn’t know what to call Lucky without the fake label Gloria had given them at the start of this whole farce. Would Lucky still consider himself Michelin’s boyfriend if it weren’t for this publicity stunt? Did sleeping together every night this week make them real boyfriends?
“Fine. Fine. Be friends. But no need to flaunt it, right?”
“All the PDA was your idea!” And true, it hadn’t really ever been a chore. But still, all the public stuff had not been his idea.
“It’s possible I overestimated the public’s readiness for a gay country music star, especially one . . . showing it off.”
“I don’t want to flaunt it. I only want to keep a . . . good thing going.”
Gloria made a face like Michelin had just let one rip. “I don’t care what you do in private. Discreetly. Not my concern. I’m here because the label is legitimately frustrated that sales aren’t anywhere near what we anticipated. At this rate, they may have to rethink the release schedule of other singles.”
“I get it.” Michelin rested his face against the soft fur of Lady’s back. “I get it, okay. Me being gay is one big hassle for the label. And I’m doin’ what I can to make it easier, but I’m saying the same thing I said a couple of weeks ago—the label doesn’t pick my friends.”
Gloria shook her head sadly. “He really is a great kid. Funny. Bright. And a good friend. But we’ve all got to focus on the future, right?”
That was the one thing Michelin had tried to avoid all week. He nodded, even though he didn’t want to. Fine. He would find some way to be friends with Lucky on the down-low.
“Good.” She stood, a smooth elegant motion of her long linen-clad legs. She reached down and patted his cheek. The dog growled softly and she withdrew it fast. “Now let me try to fix this Big Mart crap, okay?”
“Okay.” Michelin sat there a long time after her heels clicked away. Finally the dog started licking at his hand.
“Yeah. I know. I got to go find Lucky now, huh?” Michelin stood up, knees creaking from how long he’d been huddled on the floor. But when he went in search of Lucky, all he found was an empty kitchen, then an empty bedroom. He checked—Lucky’s dusty old Impreza was nowhere to be seen.
Fuck. First time in a long time, he had lots of words that needed saying and no one to say them to. How much had Lucky overheard?
“Probably just as well he’s working tonight, right?” he asked the dog, who had followed him from room to room. “We’ll just give him a chance to simmer down, give me a chance to come up with a plan.” She gave him a mournful look.
Hours later, when he’d failed to fill the time, she gave him a very knowing look. She thumped her tail when he put on his “don’t notice me” duds and she lay down quietly on her bed as he headed for the truck.
Chapter Seventeen
@CodyRiversOfficial: Not cool @BigMartStore, not cool at all! All my peeps, buy @MichelinMosesOfficial’s new album and #FreeMichelin from censorship!
“Look who’s back to dancing! And his celebrity squeeze was nowhere to be seen. Could our favorite couple be on the outs?” —GoZZip
“I for one support the action of the parents’ club to replace ‘Graduation Day’ with a more appropriate song for commencement.”—Letter to the Editor, Small River News
After two weeks off from work, Lucky’s body totally wasn’t used to the rigors of dancing or being up this late. He dragged himself out of his car in the parking lot of his building, not looking forward to the stairs up to his place. Or being alone with his thoughts about how things were likely over with Michelin, all because the stubborn man wasn’t willing to fight for them or even for his own rights.
He checked his messages as he climbed the stairs—nothing from Michelin, not that he’d really expected one. He was probably busy figuring out how to don his manly-man armor for Gloria. There was, however, a message from his mother reminding him about his abuela’s birthday, and how if he skipped the huge family party, she’d be coming for him.
Bring your famous boyfriend to the party! But I better see you sooner! I don’t want to have to go to GoZZip to see my son’s face.
Ha. Michelin among the huge Ramirez clan was so not happening. He clicked away from his mother’s texts without replying.
His stomach was still in knots over Michelin when he unlocked his door, so he headed straight for the shower. He missed the big walk-in shower in Michelin’s master suite. His cramped bathroom felt shrunken after two weeks with Michelin’s amenities. Fuck that sad moping. He got in the shower and let the hot water wash over him, trying not to think of much at all. He put on a favorite pair of workout capris—silky material with a bright tie-dye pattern—and no shirt. The pants were made by his favorite underwear designer and were probably sexier than necessary for lounge wear, but it was his damn place, and if he wanted to be comfortable he would.
And if he’d gotten a bit too used to Michelin’s enthusiastic reaction to everything in his underwear and workout collection, well, that was his problem. He needed to go back to dressing—hell, living—for himself.
Knock. Knock. It was after three a.m. but Lucky was surprisingly unstartled by the sound. A quick peek out his peephole revealed his favorite insomniac looking apologetic. Michelin was dressed in what Lucky had come to think of as his “real” clothes—the sort of mismatched, oversize things that Jennifer would have a fit to see him in. He’d tossed on a ball cap as well, adding to the whole “disguise” element. Lucky would never tell him, but he kind of preferred this approachable version of Michelin versus the more polished superstar.
“Isn’t your truck in the guest parking kind of the opposite of the discretion the label is demanding from you?” Lucky’s voice was bitter and tired, but he still held open the door for Michelin to come in.
“I’m not too worried about that. I told Gloria that I can be low-profile but that I’m not giving you up as a friend.” Michelin’s tone was low and urgent.
“So I’m going to be your dirty secret? Excuse me if I say no thank you.”
“Not my secret. Never that.” Michelin put his arms around Lucky as soon as the door closed, and Lucky couldn’t bring himself to push Michelin away. Gradually over the last week Michelin had become better and better at initiating affection, but each hug from him felt like a special gift, even when Lucky was frustrated beyond belief at Michelin.
“I heard Gloria. They need you to be less ‘visibly’ gay. And you didn’t argue with that.” That part had hurt the most, Michelin unwilling to stand up for himself, for them.
“What am I supposed to do?” Michelin’s voice held more pain than anger.
“Say no.” Lucky shrugged out of the embrace, swiveled to face him. “Not hard. ‘No. I’ll be myself, thank you very much. And I’ll support whatever cause I want.’ See? Not hard?”
“E-e-easy for you to say.” Michelin pulled the hat off his head, crumpled it between his hands.
“Oh, Papí, I know this is all new for you.” Lucky rubbed Michelin’s arm. He couldn’t stay mad at this Michelin—the unsure, tongue-tied one with pleading eyes who demanded Lucky tell him how to fix this. And yeah, Lucky knew how Michelin’s words tended to trip all over themselves when he got upset. “What if you sent Gloria an email? Would that be easier than saying it aloud?”
“Maybe.” Michelin leaned in to the touch. “I don’t wanna rock the boat with this Big Mart thing by insisting on gettin’ political or taking on causes. But I can message her. Tell her you’re not negotiable. I could have said that better. I don’t need photo ops with you. I just need you.”
The raw pain in Michelin’s voice had Lucky wrapping Michelin up in a hug before releasing him again. His honesty about his fierce need for Lucky was refreshing. He’d had several boyfriends, but not a one would cop to needing him. He kind of liked it.
“I don’t need photo ops either. You know that. But I don’t want you ashamed of what we have.”
“I’m not ashamed. This . . . scale-back is just temporary.” Michelin held his hands up, a please-trust-me expression on his face with big eyes and soft lips. “Promise.”
Oh, Lucky had heard that one before. And he’d made the mistake before of not being clear about what he wanted. He tightened all the muscles in his back one by one until he had enough strength to force the words out. “I want to be your real boyfriend. Not waiting for the A-okay to be the fake one again.”
“I want that, too. I want that so, so much.” Michelin reached for Lucky, burying his face in Lucky’s damp hair. He wrapped his arms around Michelin, holding him in place. All this need and feelings were like a boulder they could only lift together, and clinging together at least made the oppressing weight of these new emotions bearable.
Lucky struggled to find his voice. “I’ve been the secret guy before. Walter wouldn’t even meet my friends and family or introduce me to his. I don’t need the paparazzi following you and me, but I can’t be the secret guy who you only visit when you’ve got an itch.”
“Clyde.” Michelin pulled back enough to look into Lucky’s eyes.
“Clyde?” Even with the eye contact, Lucky was having a hard time following.
“My name is Clyde Moses Barker. Not even Gloria knows that name. I’m a hick from a tiny town in Eastern Oregon, and I can’t promise to get this whole coming-out business right, but I can give you my name. You get the me the public doesn’t, and I wish that could be enough—”
“It’s something. A really important something.” Lucky’s throat was thick and tight. “We’ll sort out the rest.” His voice didn’t have enough conviction behind it. He wanted to believe, though, wanted to trust that they could work things out, but truth was, he wasn’t sure how long he could watch Michelin refuse to take a stand. And his dancing loomed large, too—so many conflicts threatening them, but this . . . fragile trust Michelin was offering him couldn’t be denied.
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