9. Maddie
Chapter nine
Maddie
Nick holds my hand as we are escorted into the MusEn conference room to meet Ashley, the MusEn producer, and convince her that we’re dating. My stomach is doing somersaults. What if she doesn’t believe us?
“This is Maddie Hughes,” he says, and it feels like he says that with pride. “The woman I’m dating. My next-door neighbor. As I said over the phone.”
“He’s not dating the other woman,” I say.
Ashley narrows her eyes and tilts her head. “She’s definitely more in line with the band’s image.”
What does that mean?
Ashley says, “Down to earth, open, honest, and vulnerable. I definitely like the girl next door vibe.”
That wasn’t the image I’d thought I conveyed. I’d even dressed up for this meeting with a pants suit. But compared to YouTube woman, I’m definitely down to earth.
“How did you start dating?”
We share the story we prepared, and Nick seems to really enjoy embellishing it with tiny details from our real interactions.
I can’t stop staring at him. He also explains how I used to complain about his playing late at night and so he’d dedicated a song to me.
He ends with, “Maybe that was the start of my feelings.”
She snaps her finger. “This is great. We’ll run with this. You’ll need to go out tonight, and I’ll arrange for some photographers to capture it.”
“Do we need to identify Maddie?” Nick asks. “She’s a reporter, so she’d prefer not to be the story. It’s one of the reasons why we kept our relationship secret.”
“I doubt her name will remain secret, but we will try running with she’s not a celebrity, so please respect her privacy. That might be good. It might add a little mystery. And it will be a great contrast to this 'Cara.' It will show Maddie is not using you for added publicity.”
Now we’re having our first “date.” Although we discussed going to my favorite dumpling place around the corner from our apartments, Nick pointed out that we probably want to keep that place secret for us.
I hadn’t thought of that. I am getting a new perspective on what it’s like to be a public person, and it’s not pretty.
Ashley chose an already popular place that we wouldn’t normally visit.
We’re eating at a sophisticated restaurant in midtown with dim lighting and a brown and beige décor theme. It feels like we should whisper when we converse and that any loud laughter would be frowned upon. This is so not my life.
So far, there’s been no sign of any reporters or photographers. The meal is delicious. I ordered yellowtail snapper in a curry sauce with black rice. Nick had one bite of my dish and said we have to come back so he can order that next time.
“Do I get to ask my burning questions about you?” I ask.
“Only if I get to ask mine,” he says.
As if he has burning questions about me.
I agree.
“Why did you choose that photo of the bar Pickles as your first album cover?” I ask.
Nick tilts his head. It’s clearly not the question he expected, but I’ve learned that these types of indirect questions can sometimes tease out more of a story from someone who definitely has walls, as Nick does—and for good reason. He clearly wants to keep part of his life private.
“Do you remember that bar, Pickles?” Nick asks.
“Barely,” I say. “But Iris immediately recognized it when she saw your cover. She said her dad wanted to model his bar Craic and Laughs on it because it had such a wonderful atmosphere—a feeling of good times and lively conversation—and so many amazing musicians played there.”
“Exactly. In high school, I used to hang out around there to hear the musicians, and the owner, Joey, took pity on me and invited me to watch the dry run sessions. I learned so much. I was also lucky that I was already 6’2” by 9th grade, so I looked less like a kid.
I felt like it was my home away from home.
And Joey…” He pauses and seems to swallow. “He was a good man. A good role model.”
The waiter refills our water glasses.
“My turn,” Nick says. “Why are you single?”
“Dating in New York is not exactly easy,” I say, surprised by his question and flattered that he seems to think I should have my pick of boyfriends.
“I’m focused on my career right now because I really want this promotion.
It’s hard to schedule dates when I might get a call to cover a story or I’m spending most evenings trailing infrastructure deputy commissioners. ”
“How’s that going?” he asks.
“Nothing so far. Ward and Pommer both usually go straight home. Pommer sometimes picks up his young kids from school first and takes them to a playground in the park. Ward sometimes stops at a library on the way home, so he must like to read,” I say.
“Gallant Galliano often goes out to dinner with his wife or to community affairs events around the city.”
I need some sort of break in this case.
“Galliano has the most complaints in his neighborhood for repairs that don’t work, but Beatrice threatened Dulce enough not to report anything, so Dulce didn’t report the repair issue, so that could also be a sign that he’s not the one taking bribes, because he actually has complaints.
In the districts where tenants, like Dulce, are being threatened not to report any problems, then the numbers will be lower. ”
“Can you break the data out by who has the most repeat complaints?” Nick asks. “Because Tasha’s situation is where it wasn’t fixed properly the first time.”
“Good idea. I’ll try crunching the data that way,” I say.
We finish our dinner, and Nick pays the bill. He opens the door for me, and I step out into the cold night air, Nick following. I pull on my mittens.
Nick tucks my hair behind my ear as I look up at him. I wish this was real . “Do you want to walk home? Didn’t you bring a hat?” he asks. “It’s crisp out tonight.”
The way Nick is looking at me… His eyes have this tender look to them that makes me feel like I’m being warmed by a bright sun. I don’t feel cold.
How does he do that? How can he fake it so well? Am I looking like that at him?
Flashes blind me. Nick pushes me behind him.
“Is this the one?” yells a reporter.
“Are you dating?” yells another reporter.
“She’s a private person, so please respect her privacy,” Nick says.
“Pull up your hood, zip up your jacket, and cover your face with a scarf,” Nick whispers to me as he uses his body to shield me from view.
I do that and then peer out from the depths of my hood. It’s going to look like he’s dating a stuffed coat jacket, but I appreciate the effort he’s making. From my viewpoint, I make out a small group of people—half reporters and half photographers.
“Will you give us an interview if we promise not to use her name?” another one asks.
“I’m happy to answer your questions, but please leave my friend out of it,” Nick says.
“Friend or girlfriend?” a new female voice asks.
Nick stiffens next to me. “Christina.”
His ex. Great. I’m looking like Big Foot, and his ex is interviewing him. I can’t really see her because of the flashes going off. My eyes are still adjusting.
“It’s business,” she says. “My boss obviously assigned me because I have some expertise on the subject matter.”
“Here I thought that would be called a conflict of interest,” Nick says.
“Nick, you’ve expressed in some prior interviews that you’re not interested in dating right now,” another reporter says. “What’s special about your ‘friend’?”
We should have practiced more. What on earth is he going to say?
“I realized that I looked forward to catching up with her after a long day, and I missed chatting with her when she was traveling, so there was that,” Nick says.
Aww. That’s sweet. If so not true . He was always asking me when I was traveling, so he could practice late. Our conversations when I was home often consisted of: “Nick, I’m going to bed now, so you need to be quiet.”
“She’s fun, but also level-headed, and she has her own career, so she is definitely not dating me because I’m a musician,” he adds.
“Or so you think,” Christina says.
Nick takes a step forward. “Don’t engage,” I whisper and wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his back. He stands still.
“That’s why you kept your relationship private initially,” the other journalist who has spoken already says.
At least this guy is offering a softball interview.
“Exactly,” Nick answers.
“Most women would want to make any relationship with Nick Devlin public. Why didn’t you?” another reporter asks.
“I said I’d answer questions,” Nick says. “Not her.”
“But your label went public with the fact that you’re not dating the YouTube star because you’re involved with someone else.”
“Yes,” Nick says. “I’m not dating that woman. I had never even met her before that night.”
“Did you both agree that it should be public?” asks another reporter.
That’s a question that can be twisted if I don’t answer. They can write that Nick answered yes, while his date was silent. At least the flashes have stopped going off.
“Yes,” I say, still from behind Nick’s back.
I feel Nick nod in agreement.
What are they going to think at The Intelligencer?
I add, “Of course, once this other woman claimed to be his girlfriend, I wanted to set the record straight that Nick was not dating her.”
“And I really appreciated that she was willing to say that publicly, but we’re also hoping that once we set the record straight, we can have our privacy back,” Nick says.
“I don’t want this to hurt her career. I’m sure she’d prefer to be in your seat rather than here.
” Nick places his hands over my mittened ones.
My bright-red mittens that Iris knitted for me. What if they become some weird meme?
“I’m sure she’s quite happy being with you or, as the case may be, giving you a back hug.” Christina sticks her recorder in my face. “Here’s an easy question for your ‘friend.’ I’m sure many women envy you as his girlfriend, but what specifically attracted you to him?”