17
Now they were strangers: nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement. —Persuasion
“OMG!” Rosie squeals. “They are the cutest couple.”
“Who?” I ask robotically as I rehearse in my mind the I’m-not-interested-in-you speech I plan to give Rosie tonight.
“Johnny Love and April Rain.” My attention lurches back to what Rosie is saying. She sits in the passenger seat of my Jeep. “I thought he was too old for her,” she says. “But now I don’t think so. April’s always been such a grown-up.”
“Why are we talking about April and Johnny?” I ask, trying hard to sound casual as I take the exit.
“There’s a pic of the two of them eating tacos on TMZ. They’re totally endgame,” says Rosie.
Flossman, Daisy, and Benwick are squashed in the backseat of my Jeep. I’m already regretting the decision to drive. I’m also regretting that I did not end things firmly with Rosie the night of her party. She posted a picture of us kissing on Instagram. And it looks like a real kiss. The awkward part is that Carlos, as my manager, has been relaying all the questions from the press, asking for confirmation if Rosie and I are a couple. So, I’m in this weird place with my best friend where I don’t feel comfortable telling him what’s really going on. “Bro, I don’t like your sister. I was just leading her on to irritate my ex, who is also your ex. Oh! and your fiancée’s sister.” All I say is, “No comment.” I’m hoping to have a real heart-to-heart with Rosie tonight. One that ends with me still single and without my best friend’s sister hating me.
“Be still my beating heart!” coos Daisy. “I want someone to look at me like that. I’ve never seen him look so not plasticky.”
“Those are marry-me eyes,” Rosie says confidently.
I will never admit it, but I’m dying to see this pic.
“Who posted the photo?” I ask, hoping no one notices my voice crack.
“Some rando took a photo with their phone at the park they are eating at, but then it was picked up,” explains Rosie.
I wonder if April knows the photo is out there.
“I can see that working,” says Daisy. “Johnny has a young son and April loves kids.” I know. We talked about kids. She wanted at least three. Before I met April, I hadn’t thought much about children. But if she wanted them, so did I. Funny thing, in the five years we’ve been apart, that particular dream of hers has become my own. When I see couples in the park, and the dad carries the child in a baby carrier on his chest, it seems kinda cool. I can picture it. However, I loathe the idea of April raising Johnny’s son.
Rosie links her arm with mine as soon as we walk onto the pier. “I have to make sure all your fans know you’re taken.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t get approached by fans that much,” I say. This is true-ish. As long as I have my hair pulled back, like I do now, and a baseball cap, very few people recognize me. My shoulder-length hair is key to my image. Without it, fans don’t notice me. Also, I’m on the radio, more people know my songs than my face. The sexiest man thing has definitely raised my profile, but again, most of the pics include my high volume sea-blown black hair.
“Yeah, right,” says Rosie. She points to a group of teenagers walking toward us.
“Hey! I know you!” one guy says. A very silly part of me wishes April were here to witness this. They swarm us and a stocky red-head boy turns to Daisy’s date. “Are you the guy on billboards?”
His other friend pipes up. “And those sick YouTube ads?” He puts his arms out as if he’s Superman flying. Then sings “Da na na na na na... Flossman!!!”
“That’s me,” Flossman says as he pulls a stack of personal flossers out of his back pocket. They have a cartoon image of him as Flossman on the package. He passes them out.
April and Johnny join us. They’re holding hands. The sight of Johnny Love holding April’s hand does something to me. And it’s not good. All the lies I’ve been telling myself about not caring for Rainy go up in flames, along with all fear, hesitation, anger, and bitterness. I have been an absolute idiot. I am more than ready for a relationship with April. Bring on all the late-night talks and messy fights. I should be the one holding her hand. I should be the one casually draping my arm around her. I still haven’t seen that stupid photo of her and Johnny Love at dinner, so I don’t know what marry-me eyes look like. But I would bet my entire fortune that right now, as I catch her gaze, I have marry-me eyes. She stops when she sees me, disentangles her hand from Johnny’s, and puts the other on her heart. Her lips are slightly parted as if she is about to say something. All the noise and chaos of the pier fades.
“Hey, Rainy!” I say, walking up to her.
“Freddy,” she whispers.
“I did not expect the fans to prefer Flossman to you,” chimes in her date. Stupid Johnny Love has to ruin the moment. He stares me down as he drapes an arm over April. He definitely saw our moment.
“The dude has billboards all over town,” I say. “Besides, people are slower to recognize musicians.”
“Is that April Rain!” A twenty-something woman yells. She runs over and joins us. “Can I have a selfie and an autograph?” she asks.
“Absolutely!” April says, stepping away from Johnny and joining the fan for a selfie. I like to think April looks relieved to leave him, but I’m probably projecting. The fan asks April to sign her T-shirt. As the crowd gathers, I become anxious. April used to always have security with her. Sometime while at college, she decided that bodyguards were unnecessary. Perhaps that was a financial decision. Whatever the case, I think she and her family are underestimating her fame. I find myself edging closer to her, keeping an eye on the crowd.
“Sorry, I don’t have a pen,” she says. Johnny Love whips a Sharpie out of his Bermuda shorts. “Here, use mine.”
“You’re Johnny Love!!!!” The fan starts jumping up and down. “I cannot believe it.” The fan turns her back to him so Johnny can sign her T-shirt. “Let me just say you are so much hotter in real life.”
Johnny preens. I hate the guy. A crowd is gathering around us. And after the third fangirl takes her selfie with April, she approaches me. “Freddy West?”
“Yeah.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair pulled back.” See what I mean, all people see is the hair.
“Could we take a selfie and could you... ?” The fan hesitates.
I help her out. “Let my hair down?”
“That would be fantastic.”
I take the elastic out and toss my hair. “How’s that?” I’m still keeping one eye on April. She seems safe enough. This group appears benign.
“Amazing!” answers the fan.
“Wait!” April walks over and touches my hair. Her scent washes over me as she moves a curl, flopping the wrong way. “Better.” She gives me a fond smile.
I echo back. “Better.” Her eyes rest on my lips. Perhaps she’s thinking the same thing I am. We’re only five inches from a kiss. The air between us crackles with frustration and expectation. The fan takes her selfie, in which I’m fairly sure I have a gobsmacked expression. After that photo, another fan approaches. We are drawing a crowd. I’m not sure what we were thinking. Personally, I don’t have many issues with fans. The problem here is the combination of Flossman, Johnny, and April.
“We need to break into small groups,” says Rosie. “We have far too many celebrities.”
“Freddy needs to hide his pretty hair away,” says Johnny, smirking.
I dutifully pull my hair back. But I’m annoyed. I’m wearing the optimal blend in the crowd outfit: faded jeans and a dark hoodie, sunglasses, and a baseball cap. Mr. Love sports his signature pink blazer with Bermuda shorts. I hate how good his old man legs look.
Rosie takes my hand, pulling me from the group. “Be my hero! Slay me a giant stuffie.”
“I’m not so good at arcade games,” I warn her.
“Neither am I,” says Johnny. “Let’s make it a competition.” He goes over to where April is still chatting with a fan. He says something to the fan, who appears utterly charmed. Then, he places his hand on the small of April’s back, guiding her toward the arcade. I want to take a Sharpie and write rude things all over his pink blazer.
“He’s good for her,” says Rosie.
“He’s too old,” I reply.
“He’s only 11 years older than her. You’re seven years older than me. That’s about the same gap.”
“Maybe I am too old for you.” I sound much ruder than I intended. Rosie searches my face for a moment and then begins to laugh. “Come on, Freddy, win me a teddy bear!”
I insist on staying near April and Johnny. I’ve taken it upon myself to be her security in this crowd. Johnny Love seems just as garbage at carnival games as I am. September and Carlos join us at my third game of Skee-Ball. They report that Flossman is struggling, too.
“Now that you’re here,” I say to Carlos. “Show us how it’s done.”
“I’ll give it a go,” he says. “But I can’t coach you on this. Throwing a ball into that little circle is not the same as basketball.”
“My soccer skills don’t seem to translate either.” I shrug.
I throw another shot and miss. Rosie’s plan definitely worked to decrease fan sightings. Since we separated, I haven’t been recognized once. And from my occasional (okay, fine, constant) glances over at April and Johnny, it looks like they are being accosted by fewer fans as well.
The bell rings and lights flash. I got the ball in the ring. I earned two tickets. Rosie and I both cheer. But we sober up fast when I ask how many tickets it takes to earn the smallest stuffed animal. The number is daunting. I excuse myself to buy more game tokens as Benwick updates Rosie on what everyone else is doing.
When I return, they’re no longer at Skee-Ball but have moved on to the ring toss. And Benwick, who had been floating from group to group, has joined us. He rolls up his sleeves and takes a shot. He’s on fire. He makes every single shot. Rosie claps and squeals with true delight. In no time, Benwick has won reams of tickets. The kid running the game uses a long pole to select the prize. Rosie points to the giant stuffed animals above.
“Which one?” Benwick asks her.
“For me? Are you really going to give it to me?”
“You said you’ve never won one.”
She sidles next to Benwick and stares up at the variety of oversized stuffed animals. “I’m debating between the sloth and the panda,” she says.
“Pandas are so expected. But...” She shrugs. “They are so stinkin’ adorable.”
“Get the panda,” I say and then immediately regret offering any opinion.
“If Freddy West says get the panda, I have to get it.” She sends me a wink. Then turns to the young man running the game. “I’ll take the panda.”
She wraps her arms around Benwick. “Thank you!!!” He blushes to the tip of his ears. Then, she takes the Panda in her arms and gives it a big hug and kiss.
Now’s my moment. “Shall we ride the Ferris wheel?” I ask, adding under my breath, “Just the two of us.” Rosie seems surprised but then smiles wide. “I can’t wait!”
I added “just the two of us” because I didn’t want Benwick tagging along, but from the look in her eyes, I can tell Rosie read another meaning from my suggestion. I hate myself right now. I jog over to the long line to get tickets. On my way, I see April and Johnny. April holds a key chain-sized stuffed animal. I would mock Johnny’s arcade game prowess. But that’s more than I won.
They stop me. “Where are you off to?” Johnny asks.
“Ferris wheel tickets.”
“Splendid.” He turns to April. He is not holding her hand but standing so close it looks like he will at any moment. “Have you ridden the Ferris wheel at night?” he asks her.
“No, never,” she answers.
“It’s so cool. You can see the city all lit up and the lights shining on the water.” He turns to me. “Can we join you?”
“Uh no...” This is awkward. “Rosie and I are going in our own carriage, but I’ll be happy to get you your own tickets.”
“Would you?”
“Certainly.” Only then do I notice April’s fallen expression. My eyes catch hers, and she quickly whips out the fakest of fake smiles and takes Johnny’s arm.
“Please do.” She gazes into Johnny’s eyes. “That sounds so romantic.”