Page 22 of Paparazzi

Thomas laughs and sips from the glass of wine. “I’m glad you grew up. But I would have liked peeking into the life of one of our fans. I’ve always wondered if they have posters on their walls, our albums on their shelves...I mean, all those things girls do when they love bands.”

“Like this?”

Thomas watches me curiously as I stretch out and stick my arm under the bed in search of the tin box I guard with my life. I pull it out and watch Thomas smile at the container a little bigger than a shoebox, pink with blue bows. My heart explodes as I open it to reveal its contents. I see him frowning and concentrating as I pull out the newspaper clippings and give them to him.

“I’ve kept all the articles about you that I’ve been able to find in the newspapers,” I say, a little concerned that he’ll consider it childish.

Thomas seems absorbed in his own thoughts as he calmly browses the pages concerning him.

“These articles are years old. Some are from when we weren’t even famous!” He looks at me, surprised and maybe even a little excited.

“I told you I’d been following you for a while.”

“Yes, but this stuff is something you’d find in a museum!”

“Look,” I tell him, rummaging to the bottom of the box where I keep their first flyer. “This is my first historical find regarding the Jailbirds. One day, I was with my dad doing local alcohol deliveries, and we stopped at a place...I think the bar was called ‘Joe’s.’ Anyway, you were playing and I stayed for a few songs while my dad finished unloading the crates. That was the first time I listened to you—my first ever Jailbirds concert. You weren’t famous yet. You became famous maybe nine or ten months later, signing with the record company.” I smile at the memory of that day.

Thomas is staring at me, wide-eyed.

“What?” I ask, almost fearing that my confession makes me look crazy.

“It was you!” He bursts out laughing, but I don’t understand. When he finally calms down, he explains: “We had just started playing around, and there was never anyone to hear us, just a few drunks that hated our music. Joe only let us play there because we stopped after closing time to clean the place. That day, when you walked in, you were the first one to ever to stop and listen to us. We were euphoric. When we finished, we wanted to come and talk to you, but your dad came for you, and we never saw you again. Two days later, Evan randomly entered the venue because he had the wrong address, and it was the day he discovered us. We’ve always seen you as a bit of a lucky charm—as if you started our career.”

I look at him, stunned. “Do you really remember that day?”

“Impossible to forget. But I have to admit, I didn’t recognize you. We hoped to meet you again at some of our concerts, but you literally disappeared. You’ve become like a memory, like you were just a figment of our imagination.”

My heart hammers in my chest furiously. “I was sixteen years old. I was too young to sneak into clubs. But that’s when I started the blog. I was blown away by your music.”

Thomas looks at me in disbelief. Then, without saying another word, he pulls me in and holds me in a hug. I thought that day was a one-way fantasy of a teenager, but finding out that my emotions were reciprocated makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter. My connection to this guy has deep roots all the way back to my adolescence. Which is why I feel even more guilty for all the lies I’ve been telling him.

People:

Alicia Pinker steps out with her new flame, Peter Rayan, twenty-five years her junior. Last night, after a romantic dinner at Mandalay in New York City, the new couple took refuge in the hotel and didn’t leave until early the next morning. How will her ex-husband—who now lives in France with his new boyfriend—take it? Certainly, Alicia has a habit of choosing men with whom she risks not going very far in a relationship. Is she afraid to commit?

Gossip Now!

Wild night for Alicia Pinker and her new flame, Peter Rayan. After having an intimate dinner at the Mandalay in New York, the two lovebirds holed up in the hotel and never left. Witnesses in the restaurant confirmed that the two could not stay away from each other, and rushed back to the hotel after a hasty meal. First, she marries a man who prefers male company, then she dates a boy twenty-five years her junior. Certainly, Alicia doesn’t like easy relationships. How long will the new couple last? One piece of advice we can give her? Don’t introduce the new boytoy to your ex if you don’t want to be single again.

I’m riding in the elevator alone, heading to the new recording studio. My instinct is to press the button to the ground floor and go home. After untangling myself from Iris’s arms and finally checking my phone last night, I found several messages and calls from my friends. I left the restaurant sending a quick text to not worry about my non-return, but apparently it triggered a series of questions I have yet to answer.

Talking with her and listening to her confessions about when she was a teenager, between a piece of pizza and a glass of wine, were the best moments I’ve had in years. It wasn’t just the sex, though that was exceptional. It was waking up with her body cuddled in my arms, the sweet scent of her hair tickling my nose, her deep breathing, one hand resting on my chest as she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep next to me. It was realizing that I loved the feelings creeping into my chest. I’ve only always looked for sex from women, but Iris has given me a whole other world that I can’t forget. Because as much as I don’t want to think about it, as much as I keep telling myself a serious future will never be there for me, the hours I spent hugging her, sleeping by her side all night, have been my happiest in a very long time. What will I say to my friends when they ask me who I spent the night with? Because just the thought that they might make jokes even remotely vulgar about it annoys me. It’s going to rob me of the serenity I’ve been carrying with me since last night.

As soon as I open the door to the recording studio, I find three pairs of eyes peering at me: Damian, Michael, and Lilly, with smiles printed on their faces.

“Are you waiting on me for the recording?”

They burst out laughing, and I know my attempt to buy time has failed miserably.

“Where were you last night? After diner, we walked to your apartment, but you weren’t there.” Damian says out loud what everyone is thinking.

“I got a pizza.”

“Alone?” asks Lilly with a smile on her face. It’s always gossipy when she picks up something we try to hide.

“With a friend.”

“Red hair and nice ass?” Michael gets straight to the point.

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