“You’re the hardest working man I know,” Joel said, starting the espresso machine.
“Shivonne works harder,” Harlan countered.
Joel laughed. “I know. That’s why I said you’re the hardest workingmanI know.” He liked Harlan. The life of a celebrity wasn’t always one of deep, meaningful, long-lasting connections, and Joel valued the friendship he had with his assistant.
“You, though, should get some sleep,” Harlan said. “Big week.”
“I will. I’m going to shower and then go to bed.” He made himself a cup of tea and then went to wash away the feeling of airplane air from his body.
Joel loved touring, but always got pre-concert nerves. Each time he had a concert, he had flashbacks to his early days of performing, when he was still with Good Treble.
To fight the nerves, he had established a routine to keep himself grounded before his tours started. The week of the tour, usually on Tuesday or Wednesday before the first concert, he would go out for a nice dinner with his best friend, Ariadne Lake. They would do the same thing for her and her tours—she was also a famous musician, one of the most iconic voices in modern pop music. A “main pop girlie” if there ever was one.
The Wednesday before the Northern Sun tour opened in New York City, Joel met Ariadne Lake at their favorite Manhattan restaurant, a French-style bistro called Cartographe.
Joel wore a black silk shirt and black pants, with his favorite Hermès cologne. He met Ariadne at the restaurant, taking a private car.
Ariadne was a beautiful young woman, even more famous than he, and she arrived in a private car, dropped off at the back of the restaurant, to avoid the paparazzi that were always hounding her. They embraced when they met in the restaurant. She had long, blonde hair, large brown eyes, and elfin features. She was twenty-seven and had gotten famous on a popular children’s TV show before transitioning to music, with the occasional acting gig. She had a powerful alto, raspy and soulful, and was known for her rich, catchy songs about love and heartbreak. They had met years ago because they had the same record label, though Ariadne worked with a different producer, Troy Whitman, whom Joel didn’t really like. He was brilliant at music and business, but not always a nice person.
“How are you feeling about the tour?” Ariadne asked, after they’d seated and taken a look at the wine list.
“I’m excited, but nervous,” Joel admitted. “This is my biggest album, and my biggest tour.”
Ariadne was more famous than Joel and had toured even bigger albums than his, but she was sympathetic to his worries. “You’ve trained for it,” she said, “and you’ll be wonderful.”
The wine arrived, and they toasted to the tour.
“I’m just annoyed that there’s been so much attention paid to what happened onFCL,” Joel added. “I wish people were just talking about the tour, and not about that.”
Ariadne shrugged. “That’s what happens when you’re famous. The two of you really aren’t friends, like you’re saying online, are you?”
“God, no. He’s insufferable,” Joel said.
“He’s a good hockey player.”
“How on Earth do you know that?”
She looked defensive. “What? I like hockey.”
He laughed. “I didn’t know that about you.”
“I’m a woman of many secrets.”
“Not to me, you’re not.”
The media often speculated that Joel and Ariadne’s relationship was more than just friendship, but the truth was that they just enjoyed each other’s company. They were kindred spirits, and there wasn’t even a whisper of romance between them. Ariadne had dated many famous male celebrities, both real romances and PR relationships, but when she was unattached, she and Joel were often each other’s dates to events. They understood each other and got along well. It was nice to have someone he was close to in the business who knew what it was like to exist under the public eye, and who was as grounded as he.
They had a good evening together and didn’t talk much about the tour, but about other things. Ariadne had recently been seeing a male model from Italy, but she didn’t think it was going anywhere. He was gorgeous and great in bed, but he was more of a fun diversion than someone she wanted to build a future with.
“He’s given me some great inspiration for my next album, though,” she said with a laugh. Ariadne, like Joel, was a workhorse and was constantly writing new music.
“I can’t wait to hear it,” Joel said, and he meant it.
TheNorthern Suntour opened big. Joel had a good relationship with his fans. They were sometimes a little intense, but they were loyal, and they loved his music. He’d spent millions of dollars on the tour, and it was set to bring in over a billion. He had spared no expense on the set designs, the costumes, and on training the dancers. Everything was perfect for those first nights in New York. The energy was high, the fans already knew all his new lyrics, and Joel enjoyed performing a song with Sofia Chalotra, his opener. When the three New York concerts were done, he felt good about where the tour was going. He had good intuition for business and for art, and he had a feeling that he was on the threshold of the next step of his career. Everything was as he wanted it, except for one detail about the next leg of his tour: it would be in Boston, and Quentin Hartley would be there.
The idea of performing in front of Quentin made Joel unreasonably nervous. He knew he shouldn’t care; he didn’t evenlikeQuentin. But, for some reason, he found himself caring about what Quentin would think, about whether Quentin would like the music or not. He felt he had something to prove, and he didn’t know why.
Part 2
