Chapter 26
26
CONOR
C onor was so frustrated he could barely sit still. He and Gavin had been speaking with John Riley from Rolling Stone magazine for close to an hour and nearly every question was focused on chipping away at the Sophie “mystery.” That Los Angeles Times article had only been the beginning of the publicity their reunion had garnered. The photos of them from the Weenie Roast were plastered everywhere. One particular photo of them gazing at each other as if they were the only ones in the crowd at the Interpol show had gone viral. And just like that, they had gone from being an up and coming band to some sort of tabloid fodder. In Conor’s mind, it was a disastrous turn of events because he feared this meant their music would get lost in the frenzy.
For this interview, he had deferred to Gavin, but his friend had uncharacteristically ducked straight answers, which only seemed to pique the reporter’s interest all the more.
“And how old is she?” Riley asked, sending Conor to his feet with a plaintive look directed at James.
“Is something wrong?” Riley turned his tape recorder off.
“No problem,” James said. “Conor’s just the restless sort.”
Conor reluctantly retook his seat but threw his head back against the overstuffed chair. They had convened in the living area of the Chateau Marmont’s penthouse suite. French doors opened onto a tan and brown striped awning that partially covered a balcony overlooking greater Los Angeles. The midday May sun, combined with a layer of smog, made the sprawling buildings appear to be a mere suggestion of a city as the edges went soft.
He looked at the view, longing to escape into it. This interview was a big deal, but James was being too patient with letting Gavin skirt around the issue. As their manager, he should have stepped in to redirect the reporter to the point—the music. But he hadn’t stepped in, and instead had now sent a signal that he wanted Conor to keep waiting things out as well.
The reporter had waited patiently for an answer to his question and now Gavin picked up the tape recorder and turned it over in his hands.
“The thing is, Johnny,” he said familiarly, “Rogue is of the mind that the focus should be on the music. We all have personal lives, and playing up mine seems trivial and irrelevant when we figure our music offers actual substance. Now, you’re a journalist. I understand you have to ask the questions, but in order to get answers, you’ll have to tell me how the readers of a music magazine like yours will be served to know details about the girl I’m with.”
With that, Gavin put down the recorder and emptied his bottle of Stella Artois. They had all picked at the buffet lunch, happier to indulge in the array of beers on ice.
Riley eyed Gavin while biting on the end of his pen thoughtfully. Conor imagined the reporter was confused by Gavin’s reticence. Gavin had begun the interview as his usual self—charming, open, and bright. But that disappeared with the questions about Sophie.
“You have to admit,” Riley said, “you’re playing na?ve about the whole thing. This girl calling into the radio station—if it wasn’t a publicity stunt, well then, it was brilliant luck.”
“It was not a stunt,” Gavin said adamantly.
“Okay, I’ll take your word. But maybe you should hear a playback of the call, because what has sparked this intense interest, what got you and this girl in the L.A. Times and all over the internet, is the sound in your voice. The way I’d write about it is this: the desperation in your voice to connect with this girl was so strong, so naked, that you instantly won over every girl who has ever wanted to be wanted by a boy. So, yeah, Rogue is going to get more attention now than it ever has. It may not be precisely for the reasons you’d like, but it makes your band a household name.” Riley paused for effect. “That’s something hard to come by, and I’d argue that you take this story for all it’s worth because you do seem to be the real deal. You’ve got the music to back up the extra attention.”
“You’ll forgive me if I’m reluctant to whore myself out,” Gavin said, and Riley laughed.
“Fuck it, Gav,” Conor said. He was done waiting this out. If James wasn’t going to step in, he would. “Go ahead—tell the story, the whole bloody thing. It’s all going to come out anyway. At least this way, initially, we’ll have some control.”
Riley looked to Conor as he switched on his recorder. “Why don’t you tell me your version of the story, Conor?”
Conor looked at Gavin, and when his friend didn’t object, he realized Gavin was purposely stepping back so that he could shape this the way he wanted. It was a concession he appreciated.
“I’ll give you the quick and dirty version. It’s not all that complicated. Sophie came to Dublin when she was sixteen. We all met her in school. She was there for the school year. She and Gav fell in love. She had to go home. Hearts were broken. She finished school here, and we worked on our band. We came to America on tour, saw Sophie last September at our Palladium show, but then had to move on to the next gig. Next thing we know, we get a call at the radio station. The two are reunited and everyone’s happy. End of story.”
“Except everyone doesn’t quite seem happy,” Riley said.
“Meaning?”
“Well, I’m sensing a bit of attitude, is all.”
“Oh, I’m only delighted . I’m just one of those who believe in focusing on the music.”
“Okay, Conor, tell me about the music. Tell me about the writing process.”
Conor took a deep breath and was happy to launch into a detailed description of how the band worked together to create their music. Gavin joined in and the two inadvertently demonstrated the fluid way they played off each other. It was a display of how their childhood bond had developed over the years into an indispensable music partnership.
They were so involved in the conversation that they were startled when Gavin’s cell phone rang.
“Really, Gav?” Conor said. “You should have switched it off.”
“I’ll do it now,” Gavin said. But when he took the phone out of his pocket no one in the room, least of all Riley, could mistake the change that came over him. His posture straightened, his shoulders pulled back, and an excited gleam came to his eyes as a broad smile lit up his face.
“It’s Sophie,” Gavin said. “Just?—”
“Don’t you even think about it,” Conor said. “We’re in the middle of a fucking interview.”
Gavin visibly struggled with what he would do next.
“I’ll be just a second,” he said, and got up.
Conor wasn’t used to Gavin putting the band in second place, and he seethed as he watched him walk out onto the balcony. He could just imagine the impression Riley had now and how the article would be written. It would be all about the whipped singer of the up-and-coming Irish band that could have made it to the big time, if only their Yoko hadn’t taken over.
“So, Conor,” Riley said, “do you get along with Sophie?”
It wasn’t easy, but he thought he did a good job of hiding his temper over the question.
“Sure. She’s grand.”
“Gavin is notorious for being . . . generous in interviews, happy to pontificate on any given subject. Why do you suppose he’s holding back now?”
It was a good question. Not that Conor wanted to focus on Sophie, but he was just as surprised as the reporter was by Gavin’s lack of candor. Maybe it was because Gavin wasn’t really sure how to define this fling with Sophie.
But he simply raised his eyebrows and offered nothing more than a shrug. Whatever was going on with Gavin, he wasn’t about to throw him under the bus.
“Sorry about that,” Gavin said as he returned.
“Anything wrong?” Riley asked.
“Hmm? Oh, no. Thanks.”
“So, Sophie lives in Los Angeles. You live in Dublin. How does that work?”
“We’ll figure it out. It’ll work.”
“How?”
“Love conquers all, doesn’t it?” Gavin said with a wink.
Love? Conor had to summon all his strength to keep from questioning Gavin on that one. He didn’t want to provoke a bigger reaction out of Riley than he already had. But with that one word, Gavin had just revealed he’d been keeping quiet about Sophie, not because he wasn’t sure what they meant, but because he thought they meant something too special to share.
Just what the fuck was happening here? It was ridiculous to think Sophie was going to play a part in Gavin’s—in the band’s—future. They were too focused. They were having too much fun touring and partying and bedding a different girl every night.
Thankfully, James stepped in before he could go any farther down this rabbit hole of worry to suggest they end the interview so the band could get ready to go to the Craig Kilborn taping.