Page 60 of The Comedown

I lean into her again, my nose pressed to the hairline of her fiery-red wig as I inhale loudly.

“Is that…sarcasm I’m smelling?”

Her body shakes from a laugh. “You think you got all my scents pinpointed now?”

“A couple,” I joke back. Her sarcasm might not have a smell, but her arousal sure the fuck does and that scent I could pick out in a crowd.

Not putting up with me one bit, she shoves my ass away to take another pull off her mojito.

“All right, Poohbear,” I say, coming right back. “Let me have it. What else do I owe you an apology for?”

“There’s a list.”

There usually is.

“What’s at the top?”

“Hmm. Maybe calling me a has-been.”

Maybe? I definitely owe her an apology for that.

The next pass the bartender makes by us, I ask if there’s a PA system I can use to play my new single to the whole restaurant for its world debut.

“You don’t have a new single. What are you doing?”

I ignore Collette, taking the podium-looking mic from the bartender, then climb on the stool I wasn’t planning on using tonight to say, “Ayo! If I could interrupt everybody’s meals for just a minute. I’m Julez.” I wait for the round of applause to die down before adding, “And I’m in town for my Family Julez Tour, where I’m lucky enough to get to perform with one of the best singers on this motherfucking planet.” I reach my hand down to her, helping her off the barstool while shouting, “The Collette!”

Collette stands, waving to both the bar and dining area, and the applause she gets in return puts the applause I just got to shame.

“Anyway, I said something stupid to her, so I was hoping yinz could help me out with my apology tonight ’cause a small one ain’t gonna cover it.” I instruct everybody to yell out the word sorry on the count of three before perching down on two so I can look Collette in the eye. Then on three, with the orchestrated chorus of sorries serving as our backdrop, I tell her, “I’m sorry.” The truth is I was nervous to meet Collette. I was scared, fucking terrified, she’d take one look around and decide my tour wasn’t worth her time. That I wasn’t worth her time. For days leading up to her arrival it was all I could think of, so I got obliterated to the point that I couldn’t think about anything.

I don’t know why Collette didn’t quit on the spot, especially after the way I treated her. She could’ve. Probably should’ve. But I’m grateful—so fucking grateful—she didn’t.

“Do you accept?” I ask, my shaky voice echoing through the shitty-ass built-ins, making it sound even shakier.

With a smirk just for me, she cups her mouth to yell, “Yes!” in the air, reminding me of those over-the-top public proposals in movies.

The cheers and whistles do nothing to block out my pounding heart as I jump off the chair, waving a hand above my head in a silent thank you to everyone for their help.

Camera flashes threaten to blind us as we get Collette situated on her stool again, and when I hand the mic back to the bartender, he tries to give me a condescending look that I could give two shits about. His vodka soda’s weak, too, so fuck him all around. I’ve gargled mouthwash with more alcohol than this shit.

If I trusted my voice, I’d tell him as much.

“Where are your friends, by the way? Didn’t you say they were nearby?”

“And?” I ask, leaning an elbow on the bar so I’m closer to her. I bet with her red hair and my blue tips, we look like fire and ice in the pictures everyone’s taking right now. I kind of wish I had a copy to keep. I’ve been needing a new tattoo…

I can get some off one of my socials later, easy. I just gotta get my newest passwords from Slade. I’ll be tagged in photos and videos of myself at least two hundred times before the end of the night ’cause, you know, I fucking love watching other people record me without my permission. Nothing creepy or invasive about it.

“And would you prefer to be with them—”

“No,” I say before she can even finish. Like it’s even a question.

Collette’s quiet for a while, then asks, “You know what my favorite part of performing with you is?”

“The free contact high?”

Still not taking my shit, she says, “Your charm.” Charm, huh? “You can be so fucking charming when you want to be. You could steal so many hearts if you bothered to try. You steal hearts without even trying.”