Page 64 of High Notes & Hail Marys

“Is this for fuckin’ real?” Steve groans. “Brother, I knew you were gettin’ famous, but this is batshit crazy. Cuckoo-loco.”

“It was that asshole who came to take pictures for thepower company.” Steve can’t see the air quotes you make around those words, your phone on your shoulder, but you make them anyway. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“I found out from Powder,” Steve offers. “His family’s some kinda pissed. Eric and Brick ain’t real happy, neither. They got the kinda jobs thatdepend on stayin’ outta the papers, you know? Don’t matter so much for me n’ Stets.”

You want to sink through the well-scrubbed floor of your condo. Your face is burning, despite the fact that the ambient temperature is cool, and you kind of feel like you are going to vomit.

“I don’t know what to say,” you blurt helplessly. “This is so fucked up and embarrassing. I never thought…”

Steve bites off a mirthless chuckle. “Kai, my man. Your boyfriend is a mega-star. He’s the biggest thang since sliced bread. I don't know why you’re still pretending like your life is normal, because itain’t. I’m actually not that surprised, actually. Don’t Sterling got those bodyguards? Big motherfuckers that protect him from stupid people? Maybe you oughta get you one.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and sink onto your couch. “Steve, I don’t need a bodyguard. Might need a lawyer, but not a bodyguard.”

There’s silence on the other end. You wonder if Steve is in his high-rise apartment in Atlanta, and what he’s looking at. You irrationally remember the fifteen-by-ten cell you shared at Burke East, the twin beds and the filthy microwave. Life was simpler then in so many ways.

“Should I call the other guys?” you ask. “Tell me what to do, Steve-o. I’m lost here.”

“Nah. Give’m some time to cool off.” His brass trumpet of a voice is gentle, which is almost disturbing coming from him. “They’ll pull around. Maybe talk to Sterling, though. He’s gotta know something about keeping the media in line. Ain’t copacetic, what happened. You chose this life, but we’re just average Joes.”

He doesn’t mean it as a dig:you chose this life, but it feels like one, anyway.

“I can’t say enough how sorry I am,” you repeat.

“Eh. Worse things that could happen,” he says lightly. “Try not to stress out, Kai. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, lying through your teeth.

“That’s what I like to hear. You stay chill, brother. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

As you hang up, you know from experience that you are unlikely to hear from Steve again until next year. And, after this, maybe you won’t even be invited back.

***

Sterling, if it’s possible, sounds even sorrier than you when you get him on the phone. He directs you to Maeve, and Maeve hooks you up with one of Sterling’s lawyers. Not the shitty old-head who handled your NDA; a relatively young guy. He’spolite on the Zoom call, but brisk.

“I understand that a paparazzo invaded your privacy?” he asks, looking at some papers on the desk in front of him. It’s a nice desk, bathed in sunlight streaming through heavy navy curtains. “And he was posing as a utility company representative?”

“Uh-huh,” you confirm. “He… uh. God, this is humiliating. He said that his name was John Deere. His badge had the same name, so I just thought that it was funny, you know?”

He doesn’t write or type anything down. “I see. Do you have the information from the rental company on the hosts?”

“Do you think they were involved?”

“I think it’s not outside the realm of possibility that they tipped someone off, yes.”

That makes your stomach sink, as you hadn’t considered that possibility.

“How about how you got to Crystal River?” he continues. “Did you fly? Was it Mister Grayson’s plane, by chance?”

“No,” you say. “It was not that far away, so I drove. Why do you ask?”

He looks down at his papers, and scratches some notes.

“Flight trackers,” he says absently.

Tracking Sterling’s plane? That’s a thing?Stupidly, you think about making love with Sterling in the cozy bedroom of the jet, of the privacy that you both thought you had. Tracking flights. God, you are so fucked.

“Could someone have followed me?” you venture.

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