It was so hard to explain. With Corey and Shawn, their egos were visible from space. Equal but opposite. They had never left any room for doubt, pushing, pushing, pushing every day to take up as much room as possible. Corey called it ambition, but Keith wasn’t sure. What if Keith had it right, and the rest of them didn’t? What if it was acceptable to understand that their highest highs were behind them and to relax into whatever this was? That was what he’d been trying to do with Steffani—radical acceptance. It was so hard to know when enough was enough or when what he wanted was too much. Was it possible to be grateful and miserable at the same time? He was trying to figure it out, life, but no one would let him, no one but Dr. Robert. Everyone was worried about their own stake, their own bank accounts, their own consequences. Being in therapy somehow didn’t help the people around you, even though it felt like it should.
He clicked on the television, which was set to the Boy Talk station. Bobby was a pack rat, Shawn too, and between the two of them, they had everything. It was Scotty and Corey at the moment, being interviewed in the late ’80s, a peppy young VJ next to them holding a gigantic microphone. Corey had been so little. It was hard to remember that they were the same person, really, the sweet, annoying kid who had followed them all around, who’d been left behind when they went to parties with girls, and the man Corey was now. The rest of them had had a little bit of life before fame, a first taste of teenage rebellion, but not Corey. He was a kid, and then he was a kid onstage. There was no before. Keith and Terrence had both worked at the pet store in their town, stocking shelves and feeding mice to the snakes. Shawn and Scotty had bagged groceries. Corey hadn’t even been in a school play. No wonder he’d run at life at full speed.
It had probably felt good to quit the band in which you were the baby, the ultimate power move. Another reason for Keith to be jealous of Corey, that he’d been the one to explode their lives. It would have ended eventually regardless. Success wasn’t the kind of thing that lasted forever, not even in a fantasy. Not for a boy band. It had felt as final as death. None of them had understood, how long life was, how much would change. They all still lived in Jersey then, each with their own mansions, like so many princes of their own little countries. They’d retreated to lick their wounds in underfurnished rooms in their too-big houses, the rest of their lives empty and stretching out in front of them. Shawn was making sure everyone loved him the most even then, driving from Keith’s house to Corey’s house in his red Porsche, as if no one would notice that he was always the most important connection, even if the whole thing had fallen apart. Everyone knew that in a breakup, you had to pick a side.
The phone buzzed again, and Keith grabbed it. He wanted it to be Stef, writing in real time, writing in the middle of the night to say that she missed him, but it wasn’t.Get your ass down here, Shawn had written. It was only two more days. Keith rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright. He could make it two more days.
22
Saturday, 2:15 a.m.
Deck 3
Annie readjusted her bow, which was poking her in the ear. It had migrated from the back of her head to the side, which had to be giving off a certain Punky Brewster look. It wasn’t that Annie was lying down, precisely, but she also wasn’t really sitting up. There was a pillow behind her head, and Annie knew that if she let her eyes stay closed for longer than one normal blink, she’d be toast, and so she was trying her best not to blink at all. It could be worse. Annie couldn’t remember the last time she was awake at two in the morning that didn’t involve a delayed flight or a stomach virus, but here she was, mostly upright on a couch opposite the entrance to the John Travolta Disco. Maira had sidled up to the bouncer, the same bouncer from Photo Day, the redheaded Thor type. He should have been capable of repelling a five-foot-three woman with very little effort, but Maira was relentless, and Annie was pretty sure she’d even seen the man crack a smile.
“Okay,” Maira said, hurrying back. “That’s our new best friend, Lars.” She sat next to Annie and gently shoved her body into a more vertical position. There had been so many drinks. In another life, Maira would have been an excellent cater waiter because she kept aclose eye on Annie’s glass and made sure it was never totally empty. Sometimes they had water—they weren’t monsters—but mostly it wasn’t water, unless one counted the ice that composed the slushy part of the Sexy Sunrise. “It’s full right now, but once at least five people come out, we can go in. We can’t line up, but we can stay right here.” She gave a salute to Lars the Viking, and he looked at the floor, blushing.
“So, what even happens in there?” Annie asked. It was just a room, but so was Studio 54. So were the darkened cafeterias and gymnasiums that were turned into middle school dances—being a normal room did not preclude magic or profundity. Every now and then the door opened, and someone could come out and go to the bathroom or go to bed or go down to the smoking deck, and Annie could see right in and there were people dancing on a light-up floor. She could smell the sweat. “Oh, god,” Annie said. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“They’re just hanging out. It’s like backstage,” Maira said. “But drunker.”
“Mm-hmm,” Annie said. “Got it.” That didn’t make it feel any more welcoming.
A clump of people came out, pushing past the Viking—Freddie Mercury and a passel of women. They were laughing and had their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. Annie sat up as straight as she could and tried to make a face that was somewhat alluring or mysterious.
“Did you just fart?” Maira asked and then let out a peal of laughter.
“No!” Annie said, swatting Maira. “I don’t think so.”
Freddie Mercury was handsome. She could see that even with his fake mustache starting to slip off. She watched his butt as he and his friends walked down the hall toward the atrium. Part of Annie wanted to follow him just to see where he was going, but then Maira pulled onher arm, and then they were through the door, into the dark of the disco.
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust. Cruise ships really were incredible, Annie had to admit, that they could contain so many different environments at the same time, like a zoo with different climates for lions and penguins and tropical birds. It made her feel better about all the ads she’d ever placed for cruises, though the ones that advertised inOpera Weeklywere very, very different than this one, she imagined. The disco was pumping the same kind of music they’d been playing on the deck, but in this one small room, it felt warmer, cozier. Sexier—could she say that? She pulled off her bow and shoved it in her waistband. Maira, all confidence, walked straight into the middle of the dance floor. Annie wasn’t much of a dancer, not really, but she followed Maira, her hands in the air, doing a little side-to-side wave. There was a man with his back to them, and Annie could tell that it was Shawn Fiore. Right there, dancing to the same beat, breathing the same air. The back of his shirt was drenched with sweat, and she could see his back muscles shifting under the damp cotton.
Maira shook her boobs at Annie, her eyes wide, and Annie suddenly felt much more alert, if a bit clumsy. Shawn started doing the running man, and everyone backed up to stand in a circle around him. Maira started a “Go, Shawn! Go, Shawn!” chant, and it caught like wildfire. He danced in a half circle until he was facing her, and then Shawn and Maira started doing the Kid ’n Play dance where they kicked each other’s feet, and it was incredible, like they’d been practicing for weeks, and then Shawn hugged Maira and spun off in a different direction, blowing someone else’s mind. How funny to be able to do that. Annie wondered what it felt like. Maybe the divas at the Met felt like that right before they opened their mouths, knowing they’d make the chandeliers shake and the patrons cry.
“Want a drink?” Maira asked, shouting into Annie’s ear.
“No, I’m okay,” Annie said. Maira wrinkled her nose and mouthed the wordHuh?Annie leaned down so that Maira could hear her better. “No, I’m okay,” Annie said again. From her hunched-over position, Annie could see through the halo of Maira’s hair over her shoulder, across the room. It was dark but not so dark that Annie couldn’t make out Keith Fiore and Scotty Sanchez tucked into a booth along the far wall. Shawn was a peacock loose at a zoo, meant to be looked at. Keith and Scotty were doing something else—they were having a conversation. No one was interrupting them. No one was anywhere near them. It was like the rules of normal society, almost, where people would just let other people be. Keith looked up and they made eye contact. It was a funny term,eye contact. No parts of their bodies were touching. They were on opposite sides of the room, with dozens of sweaty people moving through the space in between them, but they were looking right at each other, and Annie could feel it as much as a touch on the arm. More, even. She blinked once just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. He was still there, still looking at her.
“Last call, last call,” the bartender called out.
“I’ll be right back,” Maira said. “Scotty!” she called out. He was sliding out of the booth with Keith, and Annie watched as Maira and Scotty collided in a friendly half hug on their way to the bar. It wasn’t until she saw them speak to each other that Annie realized she’d doubted Maira’s claims of knowing him, or any of them, more than any other superfan. Every person on the boat thought they were special in one way or another—the biggest fan, the one with the most authentic connection—and it was surprising to realize that sometimes it might actually be true, that some of these people really had pierced the veil. Annie looked back at the booth, but Keith wasn’t there anymore.
“Shit,” Annie said, shaking her head. She wasn’t sure why she was disappointed, really. She wasn’t one of the chosen fans. She didn’t havea wristband or a folder full of photographs or a matching tattoo. She was just a person who had wound up at sea. Annie craned her neck toward the bar and saw Maira holding two drinks over her head and shuffling back toward her, the only person in an invisible conga line.
“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” Maira said. “I was just already there, you know? It’s like when they have a two-for-one sale on English muffins. What am I gonna do, only buy one? That’s crazy. Do you want to go smoke a cigarette? I never smoke, really, except on the cruise.” Maira handed Annie one of the drinks and then plucked a slightly dented pack of Marlboro Lights out of her bra. How long had those been there? Maira was a woman of surprises, that was clear. “Ta-da!”
“Okay,” Annie said. She had smoked before Claudia was born. She’d smoked in restaurants, in bars, in bed. It was the ’90s! Annie hadlovedsmoking, as a matter of fact. It had been twenty years since she’d been a proper smoker, but like riding a bike, some things never really went away. Maira headed toward the door, and Annie followed in her wake. She looked over her shoulder, but Keith had vanished. Maybe it had been a mirage anyway. He’d been staring into space like anyone at two in the morning. She’d been standing in his way, a nonentity, a solid that was also just an empty space. Together, she and Maira tumbled out the door, past Lars the Viking, and back into the well-lit corridor of theAmerican Fantasy. Maira knew where to go.
It was windy on the deck. There were only half a dozen people standing out there—maybe it was more populated during the day. Maira burst out into a little razzle-dazzle hello to one clump of people, leaving Annie standing alone for a minute. She walked to the balcony and leaned over, an unlit cigarette in her mouth. She felt like she had when she was twenty-two and had just moved to the city, a kid with nothing but possibility ahead. The ocean sprayed down below, and Annie closed her eyes.
“Need a light?”
“I don’t know,” Annie said. “It feels so good already.” She peeled her eyes back open and turned to her right.
Keith Fiore was leaning on the balcony next to her. He held up a lighter, and Annie nodded. She straightened up and put the cigarette in her mouth. It took a few tries—the wind, the wind, and also because Annie was holding her breath.
“I don’t really smoke,” she said once the cigarette was lit.
