Page 23 of Paparazzi

“Red hair, nice, smart, and an amazing blogger.” I get a little annoyed, making all three of them laugh.

“Don’t be pissed, don’t worry. No one touches your Iris.”

I sit in my chair, my mood drastically worsening. “She’s not mine, and I don’t know why you’re making it a big deal.”

They all stare at me like I’m crazy.

“Are you serious?” Lilly scrutinizes me. “Since she swooped into your arms, you seem crazy. You share posts without asking the press office, go into Manhattan clubs without someone from security accompanying you, go outside to smoke a cigarette and disappear for a whole night. You’re the one who usually plans everything down to the minute. This is a big deal!”

My bandmates stare at me, and I’m aware that Lilly is speaking the truth. At times I don’t recognize myself either. Sometimes I’ve gone so far as to convince myself that I do it out of boredom, because this down time between the end of the album and the beginning of the tour hit me hard. The apathy that assaults me makes me do strange things, but lately I’ve been thinking that if I can’t bring Iris on our tour bus, I don’t even want to go.

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a bit? I’m getting bored, that’s all. And—I don’t have sex with her. I just hang out with her and then leave.”

“Exactly! This is even worse,” Michael says emphatically. “You don’t ‘hang out’ with anyone. You fuck a different girl every night and move on. You don’t chase one girl, you don’t eat pizza together, you don’t do boyfriend things.”

I burst out laughing and look at each of their faces. Underneath the teasing, they’re worried about me. “If I were you, I wouldn’t start sending out wedding invitations. Nothing happened.”

Their questioning is annoying me because talking about it diminishes what happened between us. It wasn’t just a great fuck. It was nice to eat pizza tucked naked under the blankets while watching a movie, make love again before we even got to the ending titles, realize it was five in the morning and we hadn’t slept a single minute yet.

“No, of course not.” Michael stands up and pushes his chair until it slams into the wall, then leaves the room.

I look at the others and notice the same perplexity that I feel on their faces. It’s not like Michael cares about women, especially if the woman isn’t even his.

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

I get up to follow him out of the recording room and find him in the small break room on this floor. It’s the one least frequented by the staff because it only has a couple of sofas and a coffee machine, and no vending machines full of every snack you could want. It’s where we usually take refuge when we don’t feel like making small talk with people we know little about.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask when I see that he doesn’t look up from his coffee.

He shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“Did I do something wrong? Have I offended you in any way?” I have the impression that his irritation is directed at me.

Michael leans back on the sofa, releasing an almost resigned long breath, passes his hand over his face, and then looks me straight into the eyes. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong...at least not to me.”

“So, what? Don’t make me come over there and punch you.”

Michael bursts out laughing. “Don’t get upset. I don’t know what’s happening to me either. You’re all finding yourself a woman, and I feel cut off. Lilly’s in the rehearsal room on a permanent basis. You disappear to eat pizza with the redhead... Sometimes, it seems like the only solution is to go prune plants with Simon in Connecticut. It’s depressing.”

His words hit harder than I would have liked. I’m caught up in this bubble of bliss, excitement, and happiness, and didn’t realize I was leaving behind a friend at the worst moment of my life. I feel guilty.

“It’s not like I have to get married to this girl. There’s nothing serious about it.” I don’t know if I’m reassuring him or myself.

“Really? When was the last time you chased a woman like this?”

I was a teenager, and at that time, it didn’t go well at all. I look down without saying a word.

“Are you going to tell her that you’ve been in prison?” His question is direct and leaves no interpretations for the answer.

“We haven’t reached that point yet.” My voice sounds agitated, expressing all the tumult that runs in my chest.

Michael bursts out laughing and looks at me with an almost paternal gaze, not his usual look. Michael is the most brazen party-goer of all. His only desire is to go out and live life to the fullest. The truth is, he’s afraid to stop, to awaken his demons.

“Really? The problem is, you’re not really thinking. Ever since you met this girl, you’ve been behaving completely irrationally, completely out of character. Which can be a good thing. See how Damian has changed. But going out, fucking a different girl every night and forgetting about them the next morning avoids the problem of having to lie about where we’ve been. We’ve been to jail, Thomas. Nothing will ever change that and, if you really care about her, sooner or later, you’ll have to tell her, and it’s not going to be a pleasant conversation.”

Michael’s words are as sincere as they are brutal. I know he’s not trying to scold me, but it still makes me feel guilty. “Don’t worry, Michael, we really didn’t get to that point, and we’ll never get there. You know relationships aren’t for me either. I tried once. I’m not going to repeat the same mistake.”

So, what the hell am I doing?

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