The concert started off much like the New York concerts, though the energy here was even more intense, which surprised him. He hadn’t expected Boston to be this intense.
He found it difficult to enter the flow state he was normally in when he performed, because he was acutely aware that Quentin Hartley was in the wings, no doubt judging him. Joel had an idea. It wasn’t a nice idea, but he wasn’t feeling very nice towards the hockey player. Something was clouding his judgment. Maybe it was the camouflage pants.
Quentin was trying not to enjoy himself backstage, but that was hard. Henri and Cort were jumping and singing along to Joel’s music, whichwasvery singable. Quentin knew every word, too, but he wasn’t singing. He didn’t want his friends to know that he’d been listening to Joel’s music nonstop for the past few days. He was telling himself he was hate-listening to the music so that he could judge it…but he actually liked it.
Every few songs, Joel disappeared offstage, and there was an instrumental interval, and then he reappeared in a new, flashy costume. Usually, with more skin exposed.
The concert was very impressive, with pyrotechnics and intense special effects. The dancers were incredibly talented—muscular and lithe people of all genders, who moved their bodies in perfect synchronization to the songs. Joel danced just as hard as they did, all the while singing his heart out into his handheld microphone.
He really was a star.
Most of Joel’s music was high-energy, but he had several slower songs. One of those was “No One Like You,” the song Shivonne wanted Joel to dedicate to Quentin.
For that song, Joel stood center stage with a standing microphone and his guitar. His dancers left the stage for a break.
Joel wore one of his more revealing costumes: tight, sparkling black pants, black boots, no shirt. His skin glistened with sweat, and his hair was dripping. Each show was an intense workout.
He smiled at the crowd.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Y’all are a great crowd.”
His fans roared and cheered.
“You know,” Joel said, absently strumming chords on his guitar, “one of my favorite things about performing live is the chance to do it with all of you. Seeing all of you come out tonight and sing along, here with your friends, your family, or your lovers—it means so much to me. It’s such an honor to write and perform these songs, and to see how you connect with them. Of course, each song means something to me, but I think it’s so special that once they’re out in the world, they mean something to each of you, too.”
He was speaking from the heart. It was true, everything he said.
He strummed another chord. “This next song is one that reallyisdeeply personal.”
Now, he switched to the statement Shivonne had given him, which he had quickly memorized in the car on the way here.
“People often ask me if my music is inspired by my real life. The answer to that is complicated. Yes, in some ways, my songs are inspired by me and my life, but I don’t always have a specific situation or a specific person in mind when I write a song. This song is about the power of connection. I wrote it about the power of friendship, but I know that, for some of you, it speaks to romantic love. I think that’s beautiful.”
A cheer spread through the crowd as many began to realize what song he was about to play. “No One Like You” was popular with his fans, already one of the most-streamed songs from the album.
When the crowd had quieted, Joel continued speaking into the microphone. “Recently, I made a new friend. You might know him, because he lives right here in your city!”
The crowd went wild.
“I know, I know,” Joel said, and gave a fake laugh that sounded remarkably real. “We hadquitethe first public encounter. I promise his nose is fine! Do y’all know who I’m talking about?”
The crowderupted.
HART-LEY! HART-LEY! HART-LEY!they chanted.
“I was thinking,” Joel said, “maybe I should bring him out onstage?”
He grinned while the crowd screamed and lost its mind.
Quentin felt like he was going to shit himself. Multiple times a week, he was in front of hundreds, or thousands, of people in arenas, but he’d never been in front of this many people at once, andneverin this environment.
“I might be sick,” he whispered to Henri and Cort, who each gripped one of his arms.
“You’re going to befine,” Henri said.
“Just smile and look pretty,” Cort said.
Onstage, Joel wasworkingthe crowd. His speech was nice—Quentin suspected it had been prepared by Shivonne.
