“Back to the makeup,” Dee said, gesturing to the mirror. “It’s your depression cure, and I insist on it.”
Jameson picked a blush, then dusted a soft, poofy brush along his cheeks. He loved trying out different looks, poring through hours of YouTube videos and learning about new techniques. And with every second he spent in front of the mirror, every dab of foundation and swipe of eyeliner, he watched a little more of Justin Sweet and the Broken Dragon and Sam fromWest Towndisappear and a little more of Jameson shine through.
It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his sexuality or of the fact that he liked makeup and pretty things. If he had been a normal person, Jameson would have come out of the closet years ago. But things weren’t so easy for him. For one, coming out would shake the franchise and cause some serious hiccups in theWest Townworld especially.
More than that, though, Jameson was absolutely sick of the media eating up every little morsel of his life. No one had asked if he wanted the pictures from his funeral shared. When he did interview after interview as a teen star, no one had asked if he wanted to see pictures of his mom and dad, who he missed so much it hurt. They just flashed the images in front of his face, and he was forced to sit there and try to smile.
His sexuality and his style were like his friendship with Dee. They were parts of his life that the tabloids had never touched, and Jameson was convinced he needed to do whatever it took to protect them, to keep them safe.
He tilted his head to the side and smiled as he studied his profile, somehow soft and angular at the same time. He held up the white eyeliner he wanted to try with his new plum shadow, then glanced back to Dee. “I’m glad you came by today.”
“You’re close to New York. It’s much better than when you were in Hollywood.”
Jameson wrinkled his nose. “I hated that.”
“Me, too.”
Dee played with her phone, sending some pop music through the Bluetooth. Jameson loved Dee because of who she was, but the fact that she came from his life before fame meant a lot, too. Sure, his parent’s estate and his career had equipped him with financial advisors and private tutors and every other form of guidance a teenager navigating Hollywood could ask for. But without any other surviving family, the most important thing Jameson had learned over those years was that, in show business, he couldn’t trust a single person. He might as well have been a walking paycheck, the way people looked at him, and it was up to him to take care of his own interests.
But with Dee?
“Oh my god,” she laughed, then jumped up from the bed. “Should we get you this? You’d totally pull it off.”
She shoved the phone into his hand, and when Jameson took it, he blurted out a laugh at the image. “Dee, this is literally a cartoon of an alien.”
Dee straightened her shoulders, then grabbed the phone back. “So what? You could totally make your eyes look like that.”
“You’re so weird,” Jameson laughed, then returned to his eyeshadow.
“Speaking of Gray,” Dee said, jumping back into the conversation as she tossed her phone aside. “Are you going to have the handsome devil up for another beer? I can’t believe I didn’t get to spot him on the way in.”
Jameson felt himself blush. “And you won’t spot him on the way out, either, I hope. I think hanging out with him is too frustrating, anyway. I have to stay in full Justin mode, and that means everything feels fake and forced.” He sighed. “He’s so hot, though, Dee. I’m sure some other guy will sweep him up in no time, and then maybe I’ll be able to stop fixating on him.”
“Hello, what? Did you just drop that he’s gay?”
“He mentioned something about it last night, yeah.”
“Then what are you scared of?” Dee blurted. “If he’s gay, you can totally let him in a little bit.”
“Why? How does that make him more trustworthy? Hollywood is filled with gay men who would be more than willing to sell me out, you know.”
Dee smoothed down the front of her pants. She had large hands, and she covered them with a lot of cheap rings. “Sure, but this isn’t Hollywood. And if there’s a gay man waiting literally at your doorstep, you might as well, I don’t know, have a conversation. Pass some time together.” She cleared her throat dramatically. “Dare to flirt, dare I say.”
Jameson frowned at his reflection. He’d been enjoying playing around with these really blocky, rectangular styles, but with the plum eyeshadow, he decided on something more classic and subdued. He fluttered his eyelids, watching the dark smudge of the shadow disappear and reappear, and the satisfaction of it brought a smile back to his face. “Dare to flirt,” he repeated.
It was terrifying. The idea practically made him panic. But deep inside, Jameson really, really wanted to believe that Dee was right.
She crossed over to the bright purple nightstand, then fumbled around until she pulled out a joint. “You ready to make some music?” she asked.
Jameson laughed. “Where did that joint come from?”
“I left it here last time,” Dee said with a grin. “Now come on. Can we jam?”
When Jameson and Dee had grown up together, they’d both gotten obsessed with this electronic keyboard Dee’s older brother had left behind when he went to college. For years, they’d messed around together in Jameson’s bedroom, pounding on the keyboard and making up endless horrible songs. Back then, he’d dreamed of being discovered and taking his music all over the world.
Life was funny like that. But even if the reality of fame had been horribly disappointing, Jameson still loved making music with Dee. Over the years, they’d upgraded the keyboard, learned to play around with synths, and charted out a sound that was uniquely their own.
“Can we do a Queen cover?” Jameson asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
