“It’s the perfect time for you to talk about how you bonded together as friends. I even wrote out a little message you could say. It’s perfect for Boston. He’s here, and I can almostguaranteeyou that there will be Boston Minutemen fans in the audience tonight. Even if they’re notyourfans, I’m sure a bunch of your fans are bringing their boyfriends, and they’ll eat it up. Give them a reason to enjoy the show.”
“Because I’m not enough?” Joel snapped.
Shivonne threw up her hands. “You’re sending me to an early grave, Joel Beckett.”
“Ugh. Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.”
She almost ruffled his hair, but his makeup artist, Tina, made a noise like a strangled frog, and Shivonne snatched her hand back. “Right, sorry. Anyway, we sent a car to get him from his apartment, and he’s coming here first. He’s going to get a pic with you first.”
“Why thehelldo you think I want to go to his hotel room and see him before the show?” Quentin said, staring at his agent, utterly mystified.
“Because,” Billy Rasmussen said, looking pained, “we’vemostlyhandled the PR crisis, but the Beckettes have a long memory and hold grudges.”
They were in Quentin’s apartment, and Billy had just informed Quentin of the plan he’d cooked up with Shivonne Sharpe to shuttle Quentin to Joel’s apartment before the concert.
“I’m feeling a little betrayed, you know,” Quentin said severely.
Billy went to Quentin’s fridge and got two beers. “Don’t be a diva. That’s Joel’s job.”
“Since when do you call his fans the ‘Beckettes,’ by the way? I think you’re spending too much time texting Shivonne.” Quentin took the offered beer.
“I amnot,” Billy said defensively. Billy was in his early thirties and had thick blonde hair and broad shoulders. He’d been a hockey player in college, but hadn’t gone pro. He’d become an agent instead, and he was one of the best agents in the business. Quentin also considered him a good friend, though Billy’s insistence on this scheme made him doubt Billy’s sincerity in their friendship.
Billy sighed. “She’s good at her job, and she’s trying to help us, too. Like I said, the Beckettes hold grudges.”
“Can you stop saying Beckettes, please?”
The intercom beeped, letting Quentin know that someone was at his door downstairs.
“Henri and Cort are here,” he said. He pressed a button on his intercom, letting them in. “They know about the PR scheme, so we don’t have to pretend I’m actually friends with them.”
A minute later, Henri and Cort entered the apartment. Henri wore a black crop top T-shirt and loose black jeans with Doc Martens, and Cort wore a white tank top beneath an unbuttoned pink shirt and light blue jeans that had a floral pattern stitched onto them. Henri’s light brown curls were messy, and Cort’s blonde hair was styled in a way that evoked James Dean. He had rose-colored glitter on his cheeks. Cort, like Henri, was bisexual and had only come out when he started dating Henri about two years ago. He had told Quentin once that before he had come out, he had always dressed very masculinely, but he had recently enjoyed exploring more feminine styles. He had described it as freeing. Tonight, his nails were painted a pearlescent tone.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” Henri said when he saw Quentin. He nodded at Billy. “Sup, Rasmussen. You’ve met my boyfriend, Cort, right?”
“Briefly.” Billy and Cort shook hands. “Good to see you again.”
“Yes, this is what I’m wearing,” Quentin said defensively. He was wearing a plain gray T-shirt and khakis. It was simple and functional.
“You look like you work in IT and you’re having some guys over for a weekend barbecue,” Cort said in a mystified tone.
“Thank you, Cort, that’s exactly what I was going for.”
“Come, come,” Henri said. “To the closet we go.” He beckoned Quentin after him.
“Never thought we’d want to go back there, eh?” Cort said with a shit-eating grin, elbowing his boyfriend.
“You’re obnoxious, and I adore you,” Henri said. “Seriously, Quentin. You’re not wearing that to a Joel Beckett concert. You look like an Old Navy mannequin that an employee dressed while she was having a really bad day.”
“Do theyhaveOld Navy in Québec?” Cort said, hurrying after his boyfriend into Quentin’s bedroom.
Quentin sighed and shook his head.
“I’m curious what they pick,” Billy said. He grabbed two more beers from the fridge and followed the boyfriends into Quentin’s bedroom.
Surrendering, Quentin joined them.
He sheepishly admitted to himself that it was fun, picking out an outfit and trying different things on with his friends. Billy had no fashion sense, said he actuallydidbase his outfits on what mannequins at Old Navy wore, and was content to sit on Quentin’s bed, drinking beer and occasionally shouting out commentary and bad opinions.
