Chapter Five – Alex
The world comes to life and everything's right
from beginning to end, when you have a friend by your side
That helps you to find, the beauty you are when you open your heart
And believe in the gift of a friend
Gift Of a Friend - Demi Lovato
A.J. Fortin is not some daddy’s boy. A.J. Fortin is not just the singer, but the composer of the song that shook every girl who just wanted some affection during the pandemic. A.J. Fortin was discovered singing on the street after his first attempt at a career was a disaster, and...
I finish sipping the last of my acerola-orange juice, my eyes fixed on his, studying, incredulously, the dimples of his cheeky smile.
“A.J. Fortin worked at McDonald's?” I ask, unsure if I understood the Canadian accent correctly.
Talking to A.J. about his past, knowing his reservations about the industry, definitely made me curious, but I never imagined the twists his life had taken.
“It was a slightly more gourmet place,” he corrects me with a smile in his voice. “The upside is that I still make great burgers to this day.”
“I’ll make a note in my agenda just in case I ever need one,” I joke, chewing the last bite of my croissant while watching his reaction.
“It’ll be my pleasure. You brought me here, I’ll cook for you.”
I’m ready to throw a witty retort, but A.J. just watches me, throwing a slightly deflated cheese bread into his mouth without any ulterior motives in his gaze, and I realize this time, it’s not a joke.
“One favor for a favor,” I conclude, nodding. While wiping my fingers with a napkin, I bring up the sensitive topic for both of us. “But how did your family handle this?”
His excited look drops, the euphoric expression fades, and A.J. starts scanning the table with his hand, seemingly searching for something, though even he doesn’t know what it is.
“My parents thought it was crazy to quit college for a dream,” he immediately retorts, pulling the elastic off his wrist, attempting to tie his hair into a bun. His restless hands make the task harder, and he lets out a frustrated sigh after messing up the first try.
“So, you, your parents, music... it’s complicated too?”
I know he either understood or asked Rick about my conversation with Thalia yesterday. It’s better to address the elephant in the room than deal with his pitying looks.
“That’s a great definition,” he says, finally tying his hair up and looking back at me. “But why is it complicated for you?” he asks, deflecting and throwing the question back at me.
“I’m the fourth generation of musicians on my father’s side. And my mom was also a musician. It seemed only natural that I would sing too. But life happened, and my father changed his mind.”
“Your mom…”
Ah, he heard about that. Of course, he did.
“She supported me,” I shorten the story and stand up, looking away.
Parental love is unconditional, sweetheart. Tereza would say if she were here. Take care of your dad, he can’t exist without you . She’d respond when I’d say he was being inconvenient.
I think she was wrong on both counts. First, Dad’s been living quite well without me, even though the pain in his eyes and the way his body is hunched under a weight greater than it seems to bear show otherwise.
His life went on. And second, if I had been the good daughter, singing at samba circles and continuing to act in soap operas just an hour from home, where he’d drive me, maybe he would still love me.
But since I chose to follow my own dreams and not the path he wanted, our relationship broke.
So no, parental love isn’t always unconditional.
“Are we leaving?” A.J. grabs my attention by standing up, confused, alternating his gaze between me and the table still holding half a sandwich, a few cheese breads, and half a pie.
I shake my head, forcing a smile, but I decide it’s not yet time to go home.
“From here, yes, now we’re going there.” I point to the Christ, and he nods seconds after smiling.
“You’re not going up there, no way!” Hammer steps forward, narrowing his eyes at us as if we were two kids.
“But you’re with us, what could happen?” A.J. gives me a playful, conspiratorial look before turning to Hammer.
“Chaos. Brazil is too intense. We can’t risk anything.”
“It’s Monday, if there’s a day we can walk anywhere, it’s today.” I cross my arms, my eyes on A.J., who nods.
“I think I’ve got an idea…” He grins, eyes on Hammer.
“It doesn’t matter, A.J., there’s no chance you’re going up to Christ the Redeemer today.”
***
We reached Christ the Redeemer an hour and a half later.
However, we made a few stops along the way, and I’m wearing dark boyfriend jeans and a Flamengo shirt. A.J. stuffed his long hair into a hat much too big for his head, and the security guys... Well, they're dressed in colorful tacky shorts and shirts that only a group of tourists could wear.
Because A.J.'s brilliant idea was to use disguises. But the cool breeze and the not-so-crowded monument make it hard for me to complain.
“The beach is one of my favorite things about Rio, you know?” A.J. comments, gazing at Guanabara Bay , and I hold back a laugh.
“Humans are never satisfied, the average Brazilian's dream is to see snow...”
“"Snow is nice too, but only when it piles up a lot. Then it gets really cold, and it’s unbearable to go out without layers and layers of clothes.”
“Why? Isn’t it nice when it snows a little?”
“Sometimes the snow melts fast and turns into mud. It's disgusting. But the beaches are... stable.”
Beaches are not stable, far from it, in fact, but I let the guy think so. I smack the brim of his hat and pull him to walk a little further.
“See that golden strip?” I point to the sunlit sand, and A.J. nods.
“There’s no strip like that over there, right?”
He turns his neck to where we were, then shakes his head.
“Because that's not a beach, A.J.!” I whisper, making him laugh so hard that his hat falls off, revealing his hair, and when he bends down to grab it, his glasses fall on the ground.
“Are you stupid?” I shove the glasses back on his face, almost poking one of the arms into his eyes.
“No, or rather, I think I am, right? I don’t know how to recognize a beach,” he mocks, putting the hat back on, laughing at his own misery.
“So let's look at the beach from here.” He offers me his hand, and we walk to the railing, where our hands part.
I take a deep breath, letting my worries go for the first time in ages, and Rio stops and breathes me back.
The sea-scented breeze blows constantly, cool enough to prevent the sun from being bothersome.
Down below, the lagoon sparkles under the blue sky, winding its way between the buildings, while the sandy strips of Copacabana and Ipanema stretch as far as the eye can see.
The sea meets the land in gentle waves, and Sugarloaf rises imposingly.
“Your parents don’t like the music you sing?” I ask, watching him over my glasses.
I try to read his face, which is impossible with that huge hat covering his dark lenses.
“It wasn’t that. They just had other plans for me.”
The answer comes almost resigned, as if he’s apologizing for his parents.
“When... when you had a hit song, did they say anything?”
“I’ll never know.” A.J. responds, and the confusion on my face makes him continue.
“They called, and I didn’t answer. But it was just one song, and then I ended up behind a burger joint counter, which is not a problem; it was just not what I went there for.
Not that they knew, but…” A.J.'s words stumble, the sentence falls apart in the air, and finally, he swallows hard.
Turning his neck to the side, he pulls his face away from my view, and I understand that talking about family is as painful for him as it is for me.
“I remember everyone loved that song.” I change the subject after a while, and the wind almost takes A.J.'s hat again when he turns too quickly, but I catch it in time.
“I bet you didn’t like it.”
I open my mouth to say it wasn’t exactly like that. I’m just a girl, and I like romantic songs too. But maybe he’s right.
“It’s not that I didn’t like it...” I start, and before I can explain, he’s already laughing loudly.
“I told you!”
“No, wait. I liked the song a lot, a lot. Then I remembered that you must have been a teenager singing about a love you never lived, or exaggerating a high school fling with a girl you never spoke to again after the breakup, and I started laughing alone.”
“Laugh?”
“Everyone was in lockdown, A.J., emotions were all over the place,” I defend myself from the judgment in his eyes.
“And a teenager singing about how all the people from before didn’t mean what he thought, how all the joys and sorrows didn’t mean anything, because she was the only one, and from before they met, it had always been her. .. My God, you know?”
A.J. squints his eyes at me before clicking his tongue.
“In my defense, she doesn’t exist.” The information drops my jaw.
“I wrote that song when I was sixteen, locked in my room, because, believe it or not, I was an ugly teenager, had never kissed anyone. So I wrote that song and...”
“The rest is history?” I ask, and A.J. nods, looking back at the beach.
“And after that, you never had another hit or had problems with your manager, like Kesha?”
“A little bit of both... But what about your career, is it cool here in Brazil?”
He changes the subject again, and I almost argue that if we can’t talk about his family and career, I don’t want to talk about mine, but maybe it’s just... harder for him.
“It’s much smaller than it could be.” My answer is also short enough for him not to ask why. “Touring with you guys gave me visibility, followers, and all that, but I’m glad I’m staying with you for the European tour. It will help me a lot to establish myself.”
“I was scared of you when we first met, you know?”
“Didn’t seem like it, you were flirting with me all the time.”
“It was a joke, but Gui said you were cold-hearted and you... Are cool.”