Page 22 of The Comedown

“I know what you meant. It wasn’t funny.”

Oh. It’s jealousy closing in around us, not…never mind. I’ve toured enough times to know this happens, more often than most people realize, too. When you spend months on end with someone going through the same rigorous lifestyle as you, there’s bound to be certain feelings, emotions, connections, but in my experience, it’s better to nip them in the bud before they even get a chance to develop, otherwise things can get messy. Really, really messy.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Julian? Fiancée? Wife?”

“No. You got a man?”

“Besides Bodee, have you ever seen me with one? Actually with a man, not just in the same photograph as them?”

He thinks for a minute, then gives a headshake.

“And you never will. That’s because I’m very careful to keep my business out of the public eye. I do that by not dating anybody in this industry.” I widen my eyes at him, trying to convey what I’m not voicing. I will not be hooking up with anyone from this tour, hot, protective rappers included. That part of my life is private and I plan on keeping it that way.

“So, you’re sayin’ you only fuck nobodies?”

“Yes.”

“At hotels or what?”

“Basically.” Where else am I going to bring a one-night stand? Around my son?

My focus shifts to the girl behind him still taking pictures, but his harsh laughter brings my attention back quicker than the snap of a rubber band.

“What’s the alias you use at the hotels?”

“I’m not telling you. You’ll probably steal it and try to use it for yourself.”

“I won’t use it. I don’t need to. I fuck on my bus with witnesses and my shit still doesn’t end up in the news.”

“It shouldn’t.” With the amount of non-disclosure agreements his agent makes everybody sign, Julian could fuck like a pornstar every day with nobody outside his circle the wiser.

Not that I’d want to see him try.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. I shouldn’t have said anything. “You just have a lot to learn, little lamb.” I don’t make everybody I come into contact with sign an NDA, but I can trust the few people I keep close. I wouldn’t trust the people I saw on Julian’s bus with my lipstick.

“You gotta stop calling me that. Nothing about me is little.”

My eyes go wide remembering the situation in his pants when we arrived, and I bite on my lips to keep from smiling. Julian notices though and lets his smile loose.

“Excuse me? Can I get your autograph?” the tween asks me shyly.

Right as I finish signing her phone case, a group of guys comes over, loud and boisterous, bordering on obnoxious. They’re wearing muscle shirts with what looks like baby oil slathered all over their torsos beneath the fabric, and they all have the same haircut of long curly hair on top of their heads that falls into their eyes every few seconds so they can strategically shake it back off. They look like clones of each other…and every other twentysomething I see whenever I get on social media. They don’t even bother with pleasantries, just jump right into demands of Julian, like reciting their favorite lines from some of his songs.

Julian wasn’t far off about having multiple personalities. A lot of us in the entertainment business have dual personas, but Julian’s public personality is…unique. Most performers become more energetic when dealing with fans, dialing up their enthusiasm for appearance’s sake. Julian though, he’s much less animated. Who he was just a moment ago is not who he is now dealing with the group. He’s bordering on lethargic. It’s hard to describe and even harder to watch.

The guys give their opinion of Julian’s latest album in comparison to his last one, asking him why it hasn’t earned any awards yet—as if Julian has any control over that—and just like earlier when he was asked a similar question, Julian starts shutting down completely, refusing to engage any further.

Slowly and carefully, I climb up on the bench seat, locking my knees to keep my legs as straight as arrows as I bend at the waist to gather our trash. Thankfully, the group goes silent, zeroed in on my movements just like I hoped they would.

One bare foot in front of the other, I walk to the seat’s edge to toss it all in the metal garbage bin.

“You guys know who that is?” I hear Julian ask, feeling his gaze on me, too.

They all say, “Yeah,” with the amount of excitement people use when seeing a clown at a rodeo. Like I’m just here.

Fame’s such a double-edged sword. You want to have your time separate from the outside world to live a “normal” life, but at the same time you crave recognition, too.