I immediately start typing out a response, then stop myself.
I’ve got rehearsals tomorrow for the live album recording at Abbey Road, then theMen’s Healthphotoshoot and another show at the O2. I’m not going to have time to get into the gym, as much as I want to before the photoshoot.
“Let’s go,” I say to Lucy, sliding my phone back into my pocket and then rubbing my hand over my watch so Rob sees.
Rob lifts a small flashlight to get the attention of the venue manager by the stairs, cuing the security to clear a path for me to exit the building.
“Where are you going?” Rita drunkenly asks, downing the last of her drink. She scrunches up her face at the aftertaste, grabs her bag, and slings her arm over my shoulder.
“I’ve got an early start tomorrow,” I say, keeping my attention focused forward as Rob removes her arm from around me. I nod at Paul to take care of Rita as we head toward the door.
The darkness of the club is immediately replaced by the flood of all-too-familiar camera flashes of the paparazzi. A commotion breaks out behind me. As I turn around to see what’s happening, I see Rita lunging toward me, pushing herself free from Paul, and trying to make her way into my car.
Rita, Rita, here!The shouting of the paparazzi gets her focus long enough that she turns briefly to pose for the pictures, giving Rob enough time to shove me in the car.
I stumble inside, landing lengthwise on the seat, and slump my head into my hands. I can already see the headlines all over the internet and in the papers tomorrow.
Rita Watson spotted leaving London hotspot with Alexander Morgan.
“Let me order you a car,” I hear Paul’s voice say from outside, as Connie, Lucy, and Rob get in, shutting the door behind them and leaving Paul with her.
Great. Just what I need.
Another scandal.
Sunday
“Do you know how many people would kill me for this job?” Erica laughs.
Her hair is scraped back and her dark top is covered with splashes of the baby oil she’s been applying to my body for the last fifteen minutes. I stand topless in some dark fitted Lululemon shorts, which she’s covered with paper towels to prevent them from staining.
The photography team is adjusting the lighting around a bunch of different gym equipment, setting up the third and final look for theMen’s Healthshoot.
“And yet, neither one of us gets anything from it,” I say, winking at her.
Erica’s been with her partner Suzanne for fifteen years now, and is the only other LGBTQIA+ member of my travel party.
“Do you reckon you’ll get to do this for a gay magazine one day?” Erica steps back to look at my body, spots a dry bit, and grabs the baby oil bottle to apply more to my arm.
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging. I look over at Connie, who is talking with another woman.
I’m lying to myself. I know the answer is a no.
Connie had shut it down when I’d asked a couple of years back. She didn’t want to fan the flames or set me up to be outed by a journalist.
That leaves Erica as one of the only people I can talk openly with about my sexuality. With Paul, Rob, and Lucy, it’s almost a don’t ask, don’t tell situation. And Connie avoids it all together, unless she needs to shut down a rumor.
Erica steps back one last time, giving me a once over, and nods in approval.
“With a look this hot, you’ll break the internet.”
Her smile widens as I whack her arm, and then I’m called over to where the photographer waits by the makeshift gym.
He leans forward on one of the weight machines, showing me how he wants me to pose. He holds his hands above him, exposing a hairy belly underneath a worn-out KISS T-shirt.
“Can I get you to start in this position? And we’ll go from there.”
“Sure,” I say, moving myself into position. Erica ruffles my hair to give it that unkempt, messy look. The music starts again, Nirvana’sSmells Like Teen Spirit, to help loosen me up as I hold the first pose.
