Page 14 of Ambiguous
Could he ever be interested in someone like, oh, me?
Wow. With him my thoughts really go on a speedy train to Not Gonna Happen. Which is somewhere between Get a Grip and Knock It Off.
When I go to bed, I drag my laptop with me and do a deeper search for Julian on YouTube.
Besides his songs, one of the first videos is “How Jules Hill Is Different from Every Other Celebrity.”
I click, because I have to. I justify it as research. Maybe I could bill Lighthouse for this.
Yeah, no. This is just curiosity.
The video starts with a very famous celebrity, about Jules’s level, getting water thrown at him on stage. The celebrity angrily clicks his mic into the stand, demands a towel, then screams, “That’s it, assholes! Show’s over,” and stomps off.
The next clip shows Jules, midsong, being doused with water from someone’s bottle. He throws his arms back, like some kind of Jesus figure. Even though it’s live and recorded on someone’s cell phone, he looks like he’s in a spontaneous music video being drenched in the rain. He turned something annoying and intrusive into something sexual. Beautiful. Captivating.
Amazing.
The compilation video keeps going. Tons of clips of paparazzi trailing celebrities and provoking them to anger. Then a very wan Jules asking politely if they wouldn’t mind please letting him enter his hotel because he was quite exhausted and needed to get some sleep, thank you.
A fan asking for a hug from one singer who just said, “No,” and walked past. Jules getting asked for a hug and stopping, smiling, and giving the fan a hug. Then standing there hugging ten more fans and taking a selfie with every one, all with a huge grin on his face.
Jeez.
I sit back when the video stops. I’m aware that it picked the worst moments of those stars and compared them to Jules’s best moments. No one can be on 24-7, and we all have bad days. But there seems to be something gentle that’s essential to Jules’s personality, a basic human decency and appreciation of where he came from and where he is now. He expresses it in every action, being gracious and friendly and fun.
No wonder he’s so popular. No wonder the world is in love with him.
He’s someone you’re bound to fall in love with—if you believe in that sort of thing.
I’m not naive, though. I start searching for “Jules Hill mean.” “Jules Hill fighting.” “Jules Hill worst behavior.”
The worst thing I find is him being followed by a pap. He doesn’t engage, doesn’t yell or make a rude gesture. The only words he says on the entire video are to point out a curb so the pap doesn’t trip.
He can’t be for real.
Still, having seen him sing, met him, and cyberstalked the skeletons in his closet to learn he apparently has none, I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to make of these warm feelings.
Heisfor real.
I should stop my weird searching, because it feels invasive and creepy.
But it’s irresistible. I do a risky search for “Jules Hill kissing” and find him jokingly kissing a late-night host and sweetly smooching fans on the cheek. No images of him kissing anyone on the beach. No making out in clubs. No tabloid photos of him caught with anyone.
Oh, there are stories about the people he’s dated—basically a list of every single, young, famous female out there, from singer to actress to heiress—but who knows whether any of that is true, and none of them seem to last long.
Jules is an enigma.
Whatever his private life may be, it seems that it can’t be found. So perhaps it’s something he keeps very hidden.
Which only stokes the fascination.
Embarrassed and sick of myself, I turn to his official channel and start watching his music videos and live performances.
I see videos of him crooning. Rocking out. Being soulful, funky, pop-y. His voice can be husky and raw or sweet and falsetto. It can ring with sincerity and emotion. I stare and stare and become even more of a Jules Hill fan.
Emily’s never going to let me live this down.
But despite his very real musical talent, it’s the man himself I can’t seem to ignore. The rough-voiced, sexy-as-fuck famous person.
