Page 10 of Ambiguous
“Iadorethem,” I correct her, mock sternly. “I wouldn’t be here without them. The past ten years have been astonishing. But you know the history…” I shake my head, smiling. “All I am is because of them.”
“The Hillionsarelegendary.” Karen’s referring to the nickname for my fans, a play on my last name. She hesitates, and it’s a studied, practiced pause, because she then cocks her head to the side in a studied, practiced move. “Have you ever read the fan fiction about yourself?”
“Some, yes. Nowhere near all of it. To be frank, I have to keep off my mobile because it can be too much—social media, Google alerts, and the fanfics.” I give her a cheeky grin. “I’ve been told fictional me is often put in, shall we say,sexually compromisingpositions. Bit strange to read that about myself.” I twitch my fingers, and my rings clink together.
“I’m sure it is.” Karen blushes and fans herself with her notecards. And I can tell the flavor of fanfic she’s read about me—the kind where I’m engaging in some rumpy-pumpy with another man. Or a werewolf. Or a T. rex shifter.
In some fics, though, I’m paired with real people—like my ex-bandmates—even if those hookups never happened in real life.
At least not as far as the public knows.
Reading my reluctance to gush about fictionally shagging Regé-Jean Page and the entire Pittsburgh Penguins hockey team—all at the same time—the interviewer changes the subject. “What’s next, now that your world tour is over?”
Contractual obligations. My stomach swoops down like I’ve hit a sudden drop on a roller coaster … until I think of Sam Stone and his adorable smile. “After headlining at Fly by Night, we’ll be taking time off to work on the new album.”
The one that’s two years overdue.
“Your newsoloalbum?”
“Yes.” I square my shoulders.
“If it’s a solo album, why do you say ‘we’?”
“Darling,” I purr. “I can’t do this all on my own.” I gesture around as if we’re about to get stormed by hundreds of musicians and producers from just behind the blue curtain.
“But you’re, well,you.” Her confusion seems genuine, but in this business you never know who’s acting and who isn’t.
I shrug. I never argue with interviewers, even if they try to provoke me.Especiallywhen they try to provoke me. I inspect my yellow-painted nails. They’re rough, short, and wrecked from playing the guitar.
Then I look up again. “It’s a group effort.”
The actual heroes are my support system.
“One of the most loved rock stars in America and Europe, and you don’t take credit—”
“I like to give. Give love. Give music. Give my all.” I uncross my legs and slump back, reaching over to the glass of water on a side table and taking a sip.
“And we adore you for that.” There’s an awkward pause, and in it, I can see the hearts in her eyes. Karen’s a fan, and she’s been holding in her excitement for this interview.
I’m flattered. I raise an eyebrow and wait.
She refers to her notes for the first time since we started. “What would you call your music genre these days? When you started with the Paradise, it was pop, but then with your first album, you transitioned to folk. It seems like you’ve transitioned again to rock. Some of the songs are hard rock, and some are more soulful. How do you characterize it?”
“It’s just music, love,” I say lightly, although this topic irks me no end. “Up to the label how to describe what I do. I just do it.”
This is the fourth time I’ve answered this question on this press junket. Journalists seem to think artists can’t try something new.
But I’m not going to be pigeonholed into any one thing.
Karen turns to the camera. “We’re here with Julian Hill, British rock star, formerly of boy band the Paradise. And I must say, he’s even kinder in real life than you can imagine.” She turns to me. “You have a reputation for being so nice. Don’t you get tired of it? Don’t you ever just need to lash out at someone?”
“Never. What do I have to be a twat about? Nothing.” I grin. My long legs need to stretch out, but I can keep from fidgeting for a few minutes more.
She bats her eyes and reaches out to touch my forearm. “Seriously. Do you ever have a bad day?”
Days when I get called into a solicitor’s office aren’t grand. Unless there’s a cute man there, of course.
“Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean I have to take it out on someone else. Especially not a fan.”
