Chapter 18 #4
“You…the condom. Made me remember...” DJ realized he was breathless, and paused to take a necessary inhale before continuing.
“Marjorie sits us down all together in the kitchen, says that when we’re in our rooms by ourselves, we’ll do what boys do.
So she’d be leaving hand towels and condoms in each of our rooms and expect them to be used so the sheets weren’t having to be washed every day.
“She also said putting on the condoms would be good practice, to make sure we didn’t get some girl pregnant or spread disease. I remember our ears looked redder than that marinara sauce we had tonight.”
Roy stroked his abdomen, brushing DJ’s spent cock with his knuckles. “I can hear her doing it, all practical and straightforward.”
“Oh yeah. Understatement. She said if we forgot more than once, she’d give us extra chores on a day when we had plans to do other, far more fun things.
And since that was pretty much every day, we learned the lesson fast. Well, Steve and I did.
Pete was never our sharpest pencil in the drawer. Took him three times.”
DJ tilted his head back, brushing Roy’s mouth with his ear. “Want to sit on the roof with me?”
“Naked?”
“I guess we can wear clothes. If you’re feeling shy. Not a lot out there this time of night other than sleepy owls.”
“And mosquitoes that can suck the blood out of your balls.”
“Okay, clothes work.”
They pulled on jeans. Roy decided to wear a shirt while DJ predictably didn’t. He showed Roy how he ducked out of his bedroom window and stepped onto the roof, moving to sit down on the slope and lie back to look up at the stars.
“We did this a lot in the summer. Even slept out here sometimes. One night, Steve had a nightmare and came out of it with a screech that scared all of us. We rolled right off. Just bruised, nothing broken.”
Gauging the steepness of the roof, Roy had to suppress the automatic desire to keep DJ inside, but seeing how familiar DJ was with the terrain, he followed him.
It wasn’t a hardship, lying shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the stars.
As they did, Roy thought of the night DJ had sung “Stand By Me.”
When he turned his head toward DJ, Roy smelled the scent of their recent love making, plus Roy’s aftershave on DJ’s neck. He noted an abrasion there from his five o’clock shadow, a hint of teeth on DJ’s throat.
At a rat-tat-tat, DJ turned his attention toward the elm tree whose branches shaded a portion of the roof. “Look, a red headed woodpecker. Don’t usually see them foraging after dark.”
“Maybe he wanted a midnight snack.”
“Yeah.” DJ studied the tree. “We carved our band name into the trunk of that one. The full thing. Survival in Grace.”
“Don’t tell your fans. They’ll plan pilgrimages out here and steal pieces of the tree. Marjorie will murder you.”
“We’ve kept her a pretty guarded secret.” DJ looked back toward him. “Though she doesn’t foster anymore, she does occasionally provide a temporary place for a kid who’s been pulled from a bad home.”
Roy was aware Marjorie’s identity was well buried, which was why he’d had few security concerns about coming here.
The origin story for the fans and media had always focused on the foster kid angle, not the foster parent.
Moss excelled at throwing the press other bones related to their childhood to chase down.
Though they’d talked about her with Leann during the interview, it had been with the understanding that the comments that might point to Marjorie’s identity wouldn’t be used, and Moss and DJ had had final review approval before publication.
“You’d come here to see her, and to keep your balance.”
“Yeah. You can lose yourself in it. The adulation, the wild life. People will let you get away with shit you can’t imagine. Actually, you can. I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
DJ stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. In the moonlight his short hair made his face look severe, but it also gave his beauty an enhanced edge.
The kid didn’t know how not to be appealing.
“People who make success their primary source of nourishment…it’s not pretty.
Fame isn’t something you can hold onto.” He glanced at Roy.
“It doesn’t matter if you write or perform the best damn song ever.
Eventually, your audience outgrows you or ages out.
The ones coming behind them want someone they feel like they discovered.
Until some clever marketing person repackages you in a way that makes them think they’re the ones that discovered you.
“One of the greats from the 1970s told me that, when I had the privilege of jamming with him.” DJ sat up and propped his elbows on his knees. The woodpecker was making his way up the elm. A slight smile touched DJ’s lips as the bird turned upside down, then sideways.
“You took me to The Rocking Duck to put me back in touch with the music,” he said thoughtfully. “But for more than that, too. Sy and Trey.”
“Pretty and smart. A powerful combination.”
“Bite me.”
“I believe I just did.” Roy shifted. “Moss has plenty of studio musicians on speed dial, but I thought hanging out with band members who feel about music like you do would remind you they’re out there.”
“For a rational hardass,” DJ noted, “you’re surprisingly sensitive at times.”
“If you’re going to insult me, I’m kicking you off the roof.”
DJ chuckled, then frowned. “I told Moss not to cancel the shows that were booked more than three months out, but the clock is ticking. He’s probably swallowing whole bottles of Tums daily right about now.”
Roy stroked DJ’s back. “People want to see you. I personally don’t give a rat’s ass about that, if it’s not the right thing for you, and neither does Moss, not when he’s wearing the friend cap versus your manager.
But I know you care about your fans, and the tour dates that had to be cancelled bother you. ”
DJ closed his eyes and dropped his face against his hands. When he spoke, he didn’t lift it, so his voice was muffled. “Can I borrow your phone?”
Roy pulled it from his jeans and put it on his thigh. He called up Moss’s number from his contacts. DJ opened his eyes and saw it. He didn’t move.
“Your choice, DJ,” Roy said quietly. “You’re my priority.”
When DJ at last picked it up, he caressed the terrain beneath it. Roy tapped his wandering fingers. “Fondling me is not a permissible delay tactic.”
“You’re so strict.” DJ hit Moss’s number. A look crossed his face that suggested a baby version of the panic attack he’d had at The Rocking Duck, but Roy closed a reassuring hand on his biceps and he steadied.
“Hey, Moss.”
While Roy couldn’t hear the response, he could pick up the tone. Moss sounded glad. And awake. He was as much of a night owl as his clients.
DJ moved past the chit chat: yeah, I’m good, trip’s going good, and launched right into it.
“There are these two guys. After you and I talk, I’m going to give Roy the phone so you can get their contact info.
Ask them if they’d be willing to fill in.
Not a permanent gig, no promises. But I think they can handle those first show dates we haven’t cancelled.
We’ll modify the set list and music as needed.
Fans are going to be nicer for the first few shows, right?
And no one will care about new material.
They’ll want to hear the old stuff. Roy promised he’d shoot any hecklers. ”
Roy sent him an amused look. DJ shrugged.
“See if that bassist we met in LA last year…what was his name? Hal Jones? Yeah, okay. Ask him if he wants to join. We’ll use the rehearsal space at my house, where it’s private and less chance things will get leaked…
No, I’m not ready for them to stay in the guest rooms, but I’ll put them up at the Biltmore hotel.
If we can’t make it work, then we do something else. But let’s give it a try.”
He paused, absorbing Moss’s flow of relief and enthusiasm, but then his manager said something else, and his expression tightened. Roy flattened his palm, giving him more of his warmth, the reminder of his presence. DJ looked toward Roy. Holding his gaze also seemed to help.
“Thanks, Moss. I…you’ve been what I need you to be, and one of these days, when I pull my shit together, I’ll be able to say better how much it means. For now, just…thanks.”
DJ disconnected and gave Roy back the phone.
“I like using your phone. I might never get another one.”
“How are you going to call your sex operators?”
“Don’t need to. With a single annoying comment, I can summon your stern Daddy’s-going-to-spank-you tone and totally get off. I pay a more expensive-per-minute rate with you, but I think it’s worth it.”
“Wiseass.”
When he laid next to Roy to look up at the stars again, DJ moved his hand next to Roy’s hip. “Now that it’s not to procrastinate, can I fondle you?”
Roy clasped DJ’s hand. “You can stay just like this, and I won’t break your fingers. I was surprised you went with Sy and Trey, instead of having Moss pull in studio musicians.”
“Yeah. It just feels right, to use guys who are like we were. For now.”
They fell silent. After a while, DJ spoke the truth to the sky above, and for the man next to him.
“Out here, like this, after being with you… This is the closest to whole I’ve felt since it happened. I know I’m a long way from okay, but back when it happened, I was sure I’d never be this close to it again. Thanks, Roy.”
Roy’s grip tightened on his. “Let’s go back to bed, Dory.”
If that was what it took, Roy would keep making him feel that way, all night long.