Chapter Sixteen - Ale #2
My parents lost all the money they had in a bad business deal.
Even though they always invested in real estate and that was the guarantee we needed for a comfortable life, a lot of what I earned with GenZ held things together while they tried to get back at least some of what was lost. And even though they did manage, I never wanted “my money back”; we were a family, and no one owes anyone in a family like ours.
Even so, they transferred our best apartment to my name when everything got back on track.
I still managed to invest a considerable amount, and the royalties from my songs with GenZ continue to come in, although they’re few.
But with a career as low-key as mine, I can’t just go spending without thinking.
I can’t risk it all and watch the money that should support me for the rest of my life evaporate in a dream that feels so far away.
Every investment has to be thought through, and Thalia knows that better than anyone. So, while she talks about the musicians’ payments and the call from Solar asking if we plan to make the shows there a recurring thing, I just enjoy my pizza and kick A.J. under the table.
“You guys were amazing today,” Thalia finally says. “Seriously, I could watch you two for hours. You need to work on more songs together.”
A.J. straightens up in his seat, signaling with his eyes that we need a break.
“I totally agree. Especially now that I’m almost fluent in Portuguese,” he says in my language, nailing the ends, but still almost perfect.
I can’t help but burst out laughing.
“Fluent, huh? Feeling yourself now, huh? Alright then…” I grab another slice of my favorite pizza and challenge him, “What does Catupiry mean?”
He looks at me, confused, narrowing his eyes.
“Is it another curse word?” he whispers, intrigued, and Thalia bursts into laughter.
“No, A.J., it’s just a type of cheese.” I point at the line of Catupiry on my pizza. “I think you still need a little more practice before you start composing in Portuguese…” I tease, and he gently kicks me under the table, but we’re on a break!
My jaw drops, and Thalia has no idea what’s going on.
“Not fair!” I shout in disbelief.
“It wasn’t,” he snaps back, still upset. “It’s like you telling me I can’t write a song with you because I don’t know the name of a type of cheese!”
“I don’t know what happened, but I’ll have to side with him on this one…” Thalia says, making me roll my eyes.
We explain to A.J. why Catupiry is the best thing foreigners will never know, and after two slices of pizza, he agrees.
We all know he agreed after the first bite, but we let him eat the two pieces in peace.
He mentions that his favorite Brazilian pizza is brigadeiro , and I feel a little sad that I forgot to order a sweet one, even if it was just banana with cinnamon, so he could try another wonder of the diplomatic incident with Italy that is Brazilian pizza.
We remember, on the third can of each of our drinks, to toast to the show, and eat at least two more slices of pizza before Thalia stretches and wishes us goodnight. I wish my friend would stay, after all, this night only happened because of her. But I also know how tired she is, so I let her go.
As soon as Thalia leaves, A.J. jumps out of his seat and heads straight for the living room. I don’t even need to look to know he’s turning on the video game, and when we decide what to play, he even grabs the controller, confident, but we both know who’s going to win.
“If I could work with you on another song,” he says, his eyes glued to the screen, focused. “I’d want it to be all in Portuguese. Like, a hundred percent.”
“Why?” I grab the controller from his hand and lean back on the couch.
“I like the language, I feel like the vocabulary is vaster… Seeing you sing sparked this in me.”
“But do you want to work on one of my songs or compose with me?” I ask, since A.J. did most of the arrangements for my two upcoming releases.
“Compose with you.” He takes a deep breath. “It was good finding you. The guys are my family, the only ones who care, but I’ve always felt like the odd one out. With you, I can just be... me.”
“You’re an odd one out to me too, but I like you, so it’s fine.”
“I like knowing you like me.” A.J. challenges me, but I’m not fazed.
“I do. You always say I’m your favorite thing on this tour. But the truth is, with Guilherme, who was the closest person to me, suffering over Bia for half the tour and loving her from a distance the other half, I would’ve felt out of place without you. “I’m glad we fit together.”
“Aw, look how cute and sentimental she is today,” he teases, holding my hand.
“Now, seriously, no jokes. Why did you try to kiss me today?” I ask because we both know that was a very real moment.
“You’re beautiful, you’re my friend, I trust you, and I feel like being myself is never an issue,” A.J. sighs, shrugging before continuing, “If you were up for it, it’d happen.”
“So you’re not secretly in love with me or anything like that…” I whisper the question, and he gets close enough to make me feel uneasy.
“You’re captivating, but no…” he says, tapping his finger on the tip of my nose.
“Do I have your word?”
“Why do you want me to promise it? I am being honest.” A.J. has a pop diva moment, which I ignore, keeping my finger up, and he huffs. “You have my word, Alexandra,” he says, locking his massive pinky with mine.
“Good, the last thing I need right now is to be ‘the girl of the band guy.’” I roll my eyes and grab his controller again.
“You like me this way?”
“I’ve already said I married the music.”
“The way you said it, it sounds like the only thing keeping you from being with the guy from the band is the fact that I don’t feel anything for you.”
“Must’ve been my English.”
“Would you tell me?” I frown, not getting it. “If you actually felt something?”
“You’re so nosy!” I emphasize, letting out a breath.
“But let’s go. I’m the fourth generation of singers in my family.
My great-grandmother on my father’s side was the wife of the composer of some of the biggest classics of samba in the ‘60s and ‘70s. My grandmother married the son of one of my great-grandfather’s friends and brought another great samba singer to the world. My grandfather’s a reference even until the ‘90s, then came my dad,” I list pragmatically to help him understand the reasoning, it’s a long story.
“Another great samba singer who married my mom, another samba singer . But Dona Tereza also liked to sing MPB, her parents were these two sides of society,” I smile at the memories, “grandma was a romantic dreamer, loving MPB, jazz, and blues, and grandpa was a radio host who worked with samba,” I explain.
“Your mom loved both, just like you…”
“Yeah, she did.” I run my hand through my neck awkwardly, grateful he noticed I shared those loves with Dona Tereza.
“But the thing is, nobody knows my great-grandmother’s name, my grandmother, and my mom was never a big singer of what she liked, MPB; she was a samba singer and my dad’s wife ,” I emphasize, looking for his gaze to see if he’s understanding where I’m going with this.
“During GenZ, Bia and Guilherme hit it off right away, and Pedro and I started being speculated as a couple. It made no sense, Pedro was kind of a jerk, but that freaked me out. I wanted to be a singer, not a musician’s wife, and I wanted to sing what I love, not what would fit best in the story.
..” I explain, with as much repulsion as I felt that day.
“So you think you’ll never get married?”
The question makes me break into a huge smile, full of love and memories. Missing the days when I was just a girl who loved her life and had big plans for it.
“I grew up in the suburbs, and everyone was really close. They played together, had their own samba groups, samba circles, and the kids were always around,” I mess with a piece of pizza, biting my lower lip to hold back the smile.
“And I loved it! I grew up wanting weekends like those: my friends, making music in my backyard while my three kids run between them, you know?”
“Three?”
“I’ve always hated being an only child. But then…” My eyes lift to meet his again. “I realized I could never have it all, and I left those dreams in the past…”
It wasn’t an easy choice. It wasn’t even a choice. But staying with what I already had seemed much safer. AJ lets out a long sigh, watching me, lost in his own thoughts, never breaking eye contact.
“I never thought about getting married… My parents’ marriage is good, normal, they’re solid in each other and love each other,” he warns, as if I’m going to ask if his parents’ relationship was traumatic for him.
“But… I had those dreams, that big dream. I wanted to put my name out there, be a big musician, be famous, kiss pretty people…” he confesses with one of his cute dimply grins, and I have to roll my eyes.
“I know boy bands don’t last forever, that the peak isn’t eternal, and that this party life will end eventually…
but I think I’ll only realize that when I meet my person .
” A.J. stops and swallows hard, then takes a sip of his hot drink and almost returns it to the can.
I like when these little fragments of a vulnerable guy break through his two-meter armor.
“Yeah, that factor, right? The right person can change everything.” I shrug, tossing a slice of sausage in my mouth.
“I like you after three beers, you get talkative and honest.”
“And I’m still amazing at videogames, let’s play,” I say, sliding over to the side and picking any team.
“I think I don’t want to. We always play, today we’re going to talk.”
“About what?”
“The tour. I think we’ve never done a rundown of the good and bad things, what you liked, what it was like for me too, because this was my first international tour...”
“Alright, you start then.” I lay my head on the armrest of the couch, and A.J. grabs my feet, massaging them like he knows exactly what a girl needs after a show in heels, and starts ranking the kisses he gave during the tour.
I laugh so loud that we both look down the hall to see if Thalia hasn’t woken up.
Then he says he feels bad for starting the tour in Brazil, since no audience will ever top that.
And I try to list a few, like the ones in Paris and Dublin, which were really good, but he counters that in Paris we did a lot of fan service, and in Dublin at least half the people at the show were holding Brazilian flags.
We move on to our favorite stages, foods, champagne problems, and finish the topic when the sun rises and we’re picking our top 3 favorite tourist spots.
We agree that Christ the Redeemer is the biggest, after that, the Eiffel Tower, and finally, a spot that’s not so iconic, but still beautiful: the Cliffs of Moher in Galway, Ireland.
“We’ll see each other in four hours, Miss Petulant .” Stopping at my room door, A.J. gives me a nickname — an awful one, but I love it. So I do the same:
“We’ll see each other in six hours, Golden Boy ,” I emphasize the time and the nickname, and he stares at me like he’s accepting a challenge. Then I stand on my tiptoes, kiss his cheek, and walk into my room, ready to sleep until noon.