“No, but then we do get to make up after,” I say. I lift my hand but bypass his, reaching for his crotch. Christopher stops me.
“I’m genuinely sorry.” He raises his hands to cup my face. “I’m in this for the long haul.” The glisten in his eyes causes discomfort inside me, and I fidget on the bench.
I’m so used to resolving conflicts with sex, avoidance, or money that I’m thrown by Christopher’s genuine bid for emotional connection.
“You can call me anything, but promise me you’ll never call me by his name again,” I say. His long dark eyelashes bat up and down, distracting me.
“Sure thing, chicken wing,” he says, winking at me before pushing me back on the bed.
Saturday
One more day. One more show.
One more day. One more show.
I continue repeating the words in my head as I brush my teeth in the mirror.
I can’t believe that after nearly ten months on the road, I’m actually at the end of the tour. The end of this album cycle. Andto top it all off,My Anchoris number one here in the UK and in the top five in America.
Not only that, but the live album seems to be going down well online, and I’m due to record the studio version ofStolen Momentsdownstairs in one of the hotel rooms today. Freddy has been there all night, working away on the track.
I did question why we were recording in a hotel room and not a proper studio, since there are so many historic studios here in London, but Paul said time wasn’t on our side and that Kanye and Jay Z had recorded their whole album in hotel rooms. One Direction recorded their last album on the road in hotel rooms too. Plus, I guess there’s something cool about recordingStolen Momentsin the same hotel I wrote it in.
Freddy had texted me earlier to alleviate my other concern about the noise, reassuring me that with the room facing into the atrium and not the street outside, we wouldn’t pick up anything, and we can use a duvet to soundproof when laying down my vocals.
I return to the room and see Christopher sitting upright, scrolling through his phone. It’s a sight I could get used to seeing every day, but I realize that after tomorrow we won’t be in the same hotel anymore.
“What happens when we get back to Los Angeles?” I ask, pulling a T-shirt on.
“What do you mean?” He rests his phone on his lap.
“Like, what’s your life like back there?”
“As in my schedule?
“Yeah.”
“Well, I work Monday through Friday, the usual hours when I’m in town, and I have to go into the office a minimum of three days a week in Culver City.” He stretches his arms above his head as he lets out a yawn.
“What’s usual hours? My schedule is all over the place, so my usual hours are anything but usual.”
They’ve been anything but usual since I was fourteen. Even when I was younger and the law mandated it, Paul managed to find a way round it.
“You really do lead a different life don’t you?” Christopher says, removing his earbuds and swinging his legs around to get out of the bed and come toward me.
“It’s the only life I’ve known.” I shrug.
“Is your life as mad as this back home?” Christopher draws the curtains back to look down at the road below. The faint sound of the fans is omnipresent, as always.
“Oh God no. My place is in a gated area in the hills off Mulholland, and there’s quite a few places down in the Valley where I’m left alone.” I make my way over to the window to join him, and he puts his arm around me, squeezing me inward as he kisses my forehead.
I’ve never really been a fan of LA, but it does provide me with a level of anonymity that most other places in the world don’t. And that allows me to go about my business and live a somewhat normal life.
“My favorite English pub is in the Valley. Me and my housemate go every Sunday for sausage rolls and a chip buttie and watch soccer. Then we make our way across to the best Indian place in town in the early afternoon.”
“A chip buttie?” I scrunch my face up, trying to grapple with the turn of phrase.
Christopher releases me, turning around and gripping my arms.
