Page 27 of Tumbling Hearts

“What?”

“Just ask Gene to spend more time with you!” Santi laughs.

“You think it’s that easy?”

“After being friends with you two for a few years now, I think I know what works. It’s just like when I set you guys up during the first tour to talk it out privately—you came out of it closer than ever before.” Santi smirks. “Anyway, I think we’ve been sitting in here long enough. Gotta get those groceries home before they start cooking in the trunk.”

Ray chuckles. “Yeah, good thinking.”

It’s later in the day, and Carol has dragged Ray into doing something fun with her again—this time they’re hanging out at a local dive bar. They’ve been going out often, actually, but Ray doesn’t really mind. Gene’s been taking Toshiko out to see local bands in Detroit every weekend since she’s gotten here, so Ray might as well hang out with his own girlfriend in the meantime. As long as she’s not busy with a modeling gig, that is.

Carol’s had a few gigs here and there throughout the weeks. Most of her gigs are smaller, but still impressive. She’s been featured in advertisements for both Kmart and Sears, and while your average person might not know her name, her picture has been printed in hundreds of thousands of catalogues and magazines. Eventually, Carol told Ray, she’d love to start modeling for bigger fashion brands like Yves Saint Laurent or Dior.

“You know, Ray, why haven’t you asked your photographer friend to do a shoot of me yet?” Carol asks as they’re sitting at a booth, drinks resting on the table.

Ray shrugs. He adjusts his newsboy cap on his head, wearing it to make himself less recognizable. “I don’t know. Maurice is a freelancer, not associated with any company. And we’re already paying him to do our own photos for the band. So if he took your photos, too… what would we do with them? Where would we send them?”

Carol pouts, apparently not liking Ray’s answer. “Well… okay. But, here’s an idea. What if I was also in your band photos?”

“What?” Ray blinks. “But you’re not a member!”

“You think that matters?” Carol chuckles, grabbing the bottom of her glass. “Rockstars pose with models all the time to make them look cool. Sex appeal, you know? It’ll help us both out—I get to star in photos with you guys, giving me exposure, and you guys get to look sexy with me.”

Ray takes a sip from his Rum-and-Coke, thinking for a moment. “Okay, yeah, I see the appeal. What about Pat, though? She’s a woman; wouldn’t it look weird if she’s hovering over you, too, like the men would be?”

“No, I don’t think it’d be weird.” Carol takes a sip as well. “Women are all over each other all the time in photos. It’s all acting, for the most part, but audiences love it. When I’m at my gigs, usually the other models will tell stories of shoots they’ve done and how they’ve been instructed to ‘act like they’re turned on’. It’s kinda funny.”

“Ah. Yeah, that makes sense.” Ray has seen his fair share of lingerie ads—he likes looking at the pretty girls—and in those, occasionally, the women would be looking at the camera sensually, even touching each other sometimes. But Ray would never assume they were actually being sexual with each other—it’s all acting, part of the photo. Anything Carol would do, if she posed with the Dusty Brooms, would be much more tame than those ads. “Alright, yeah, why not? Maybe we can set something up with Maurice soon. We probably should, since we got another album on the way.”

“Sounds good.” She gives him a sweet smile before taking another sip of her drink.

Ray drinks more as well, gazing around the bar. There’s a small platform stage in the back, and later, there’s going to be a local band playing on it, one he’s never heard of. But there’s always a chance they’ll rise to the top, just like the Dusty Brooms did. As a matter of fact, playing a free show in a bar just like this was the Brooms’ first ever gig.

But before this new band takes the stage, the bar plays some top radio hits through the speakers lining the walls. It’s a song Ray recognizes: ‘Golden Years’ by David Bowie. He bobs his head to the beat, feeling the groove—but is startled when he overhears a few rowdy young men at the table next to him.

“Dammit, change the fucking song!” one of them exclaims. “I’m tired of hearing this faggot everywhere.”

Ray winces.

“I hear he’s having an affair with Iggy Pop,” another one from the group says. “Wouldn’t be the first gay affair he’s had. I heard he’s been with Lou Reed and Mick Jagger, too. Maybe even both at the same time.”

“You think I wanna hear about that shit, Troy?” the first one says, glaring at his friend.

“Well, it was on topic.”

“For fuck’s sake.” The first guy shakes his head.

“Hey, even if he is a queer, I think he still makes good music,” the third friend at the table says.

“Always gotta be a contrarian, don’t ya, Rick,” the first one says.

“What? It’s not like I’m imagining some gay shit when I listen to it.”

“If you were, I’d beat your ass.”

That gets their friend Troy to laugh. Yet it does the opposite to Ray, his stomach now churning with nausea.

“They should play some good ol’ Ted Nugent,” Troy says. “As far as I know, he loves his women. And he’s a local!”