The Man Who Told the World Page 2

  “I do remember your ex-wife.” The sound of a woman moaning suddenly blasted through the speakers. “But he’s probably prettier.”

  Conor glared up at the ceiling. “Oh my god.”

  Once they were finally back at the house, Conor stomped off to his room. Jesse followed him upstairs.

  “Don’t start,” Conor warned when Jesse closed the door behind him.

  “You need a thicker skin,” Jesse sighed. “You think every interview is going to be all warm and fuzzy? You have to be able to handle these things.”

  “Like you and Emerson? Please.”

  “You should be thanking Emerson. Again.”

  “For what? Playing along with sexist, homophobic assholes?”

  “Emerson distracted them from their targets. It was a sight more effective than picking a fight and then sitting there giving them side-eye for the rest of the interview.”

  Conor folded his arms, not liking to think that Jesse might be somewhat right. “I guess I should have ‘sent one out to the ladies,’ like you?”

  Jesse shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  “You’re really okay with being in the closet, like, forever?”

  “I like ladies, too. And it’s not like you’re so out.”

  “I’m… vague. No one’s really asked.” At Jesse’s raised eyebrows, Conor added, “That’s not the same as lying.”

  “Not that different either.” Jesse sat down on his bed, calm and cool as ever, the shrug of his shoulders turning into a slow stretch. “It’s part of the game. No one openly gay or bi has ever won the show.”

  Conor thought about it. “What about—”

  Jesse shook his head. “He came out after. Couple years after.”

  Conor couldn’t argue with Jesse’s knowledge of Singing Sensation. “Okay, but someone has to be first.”

  “Personally? I’ve got enough firsts to deal with. And after that there’s the reality of my career to deal with. You see a lot of out black R&B guys out there? Maybe me and Frank Ocean can hang out.”

  “I don’t think he said he’s gay or bi. He never really defined it.”

  Jesse smiled; he had a lot of patience for Conor’s need to be accurate when it came to all aspects of music history. “I’m not defining anything either, I’m just being quieter about it.” He reached out and caught one of Conor’s fidgeting hands. “Why make all this even harder?”

  “Because it’s who you are.”

  Jesse tugged him closer. “Tell me something. You’re all fired up right here, right now, but when we step outta this room are you really ready to put yourself out there? Let everyone know about you?”

  Conor sat down beside him on the bed. He thought about how hard it had been to talk about his mother’s death on camera. It had felt horrible and personal—but when he had sung about her, to her, it had hurt, but it had felt freeing. Like something inside his chest had opened up. The grief hadn’t gone away, but it was easier to breathe.

  Still, he hadn’t been able to tell his friends back home that he was gay, or his dad. He’d spent most of his life trying to make sure no one in his town or his school had known about him; he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have them all find out.

  Jesse played with Conor’s hands, tracing the guitar calluses, squeezing the base of each finger, gently pulling out the tension while he waited out Conor’s thoughts. He looked up with a smile when Conor finally sighed.

  “I don’t know when I want to come out,” Conor said. “I don’t even know how. But I guess there are better times than when we’re in the middle of all this craziness.”

  “This room, this can be our place,” Jesse suggested. “The rest of the world can stay outside the door.” He lifted one of Conor’s hands to rub against the small patch of hair on his chin. “C’mon, help me get the taste of Moz and Raj outta my mouth.”

  Conor leaned in to kiss Jesse, wondering even as he did how long they had before Jesse, or someone outside the door, called a halt.

  A week later, when Jean-Michel was cut from the show, Jesse was so excited he had Conor up against that very door as soon as Conor shut it behind them.

  “You know,” Conor said as soon as Jesse’s tongue was out of his mouth and working on his earlobe, “you probably shouldn’t be so happy about poor Jean-Michel.”

  “You don’t get it,” he murmured against Conor’s neck, before pulling back, his amber eyes crinkled in a smile. “We sang the same style and he had a better voice. Yeah, I admit that now. But I still beat him. I did that.” Jesse lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You’ll understand when you beat Zane.”

  “If I beat Zane.”

  “There’s the self-confidence I find so damn sexy.” He reached down and squeezed Conor’s ass, pressing them together.

  “Whoa.” Conor was surprised, and pleased; Jesse had never touched him below the waist before. “This is a special day.”

  Jesse grinned again. “Promised myself when he was gone, I’d get a little of that.”

  Conor frowned, but Jesse had already bent back to nuzzle his neck. “I’m like a reward?”

  “The best kind.”

  The first time Jesse had kissed him it was when they had reached the Top Ten. Because they had reached the Top Ten.

  “So when you don’t want to go any further—let me touch you, or, you know, actually get off—it’s only because you haven’t unlocked your latest achievement?”

  Jesse removed his hands and took a step back, looking rueful. “I talk too much.”

  “No,” Conor moved past him and further into the room, “you don’t say enough. I mean, if our sex life is part some motivational program, it would be nice if I knew about it.”

  “It’s not like that—well, not exactly. Think of it like sports.” Conor crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Okay, I think of it like sports. If you’re on a winning streak, you don’t mess with what’s working.”

  “Except you do—you get these… treats.”

  Jesse grinned. “Well, I’m only human. And I’m goal-oriented.”

  “Except the goal is parts of me.” Jesse laughed, but Conor wasn’t seeing it as funny. “So this is all about you? What if I have a good day? Can I come in here and get you to suck my dick?”

  Jesse drew back, his face darkening in a quick blush. “It’d have to be a really good day,” he said, trying, but not managing his usual easy smile.

  “I’m serious,” Conor said, annoyance fading as he looked at Jesse, trying to understand.

  Jesse twitched uncomfortably. “Y’know, you don’t get to be mad if I don’t want to do the things you do. That’s not how it works.”

  “Of course. But I’m going wonder why.”

  Jesse nodded and sat down on the bed, looking at Conor and waiting.

  Conor took a breath. “Are you a virgin? Or, you haven’t gone all the way with a man?”

  “No. I’ve been with both men and women. I like both. Just…” He hesitated before going on. “…the last couple years, I’ve been trying to narrow things down. Not get involved with men anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you I sang in the church choir. My whole family, we’re big church folk. Every Sunday, then church meetings, choir practice, youth groups. Mom and Gran are on committees. Pops drives the old folks to bingo night. It’s always been part of our lives in a big way.”

  “So?”

  “Hooking up with guys doesn’t exactly go along with all that.”

  “Plenty of churches are—”

  “Yeah, my church isn’t going to put up a rainbow flag and be okay with it. That’s not how they work. I know. I’ve seen it. People come out and they’re not just out, they’re gone.”

  “I get that your family’s religious, but why does that matter when it’s just you and me? When we’re here alone?”

  Jesse rubbed at his face, before looking back at Conor. “Because all that stuff, the things the preacher would say, what I’d hear—it’s all th
ere, still in my head. I tell myself that if I hold back, if I wait until I’ve… achieved something it’s—well, maybe not okay, but as close to it as I’m gonna get.”

  Conor sat down on his bed, facing Jesse, and feeling very out of his depth. “So do you feel bad about us? Do you regret it?”

  Jesse looked at him, startled. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “I just don’t want you do something you’re going to feel guilty about. Even if it’s being with me.”

  Jesse shook his head firmly. “This is my thing. I’m not putting it on you. I know it’s messed up. I wish I could figure out a better way to live with who I am and who I think I’m supposed to be, but this is all I’ve been able to come up with.” Jesse looked at him, his face softening. “Why don’t we do something you want?” He smiled at Conor’s hesitation. “I know I don’t act like it now, but I had some wild years. Not like rock star wild, but I’m good to go for just about anything you can come up with.”

  Some part of Conor wanted to test Jesse, to take him up on his offer and see how far he really would go. Conor felt a bit bruised by the conversation; it made him feel like he’d been used in some kind of complicated barter system between Jesse and his religion. It was almost the way he’d felt after everything that had happened with Kai. But that wasn’t Jesse. He’d been Conor’s friend throughout this, and no matter what, Conor didn’t want to lose that.

  “Maybe we could sleep together? Not like sex, but just sleeping in the same bed?” It was Conor’s turn to blush. “I’ve never actually done that with anyone.”

  Jesse smile was as warm as it had ever been, and his hand reached out to take Conor’s without hesitation.

  They ended up in Jesse’s bed, both in shirts and sweatpants, because Conor didn’t want to push things any further. There was still some touching of bits as they maneuvered in the narrow bed, but as Conor finally closed his eyes, with Jesse spooned in behind him, he found he didn’t feel sexy at all. He felt warm and safe, and even if there were a lot of lingering worries, ranging from Jesse’s guilt to Conor’s concern about the etiquette of getting up to pee, Conor was still able to close his eyes and let himself pretend that he’d be able to figure it all out in the morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ryley Plunkett had been last year’s winner of Singing Sensation, and she was returning this week, as host Matt had delightedly informed them, to perform and share her wisdom with the new crop of contenders. Conor had seen the clips of her winning—then, she’d seemed like a sweet, awkward girl with a startlingly strong voice… now, she was somewhat different.

  “What the fuck is going on with my monitor?” Ryley snarled, pressing a hand against the earpiece she was wearing for the rehearsal of her song. “Are you trying to make me sound like dog shit out here?”

  There was an especially aggrieved “Cut!” from the director, and a dozen people anxiously converged on Ryley. Conor noted that at least one person’s job seemed entirely devoted to offering her bottled water.

  The contestants were huddled off to the side of the stage, rehearsing the attentive looks they were supposed to be wearing during Ryley’s actual performance. Their interest wasn’t faked, though; everyone was watching her for different reasons. Emerson was working on different pickup strategies with Zane; so far Zane favored “s’up” as an opening line, while Emerson leaned towards a less complicated “hey.”

  Madison was watching Ryley’s every move with big, worshipful eyes. Conor imagined that with Ryley’s long blonde hair and tight miniskirt, it was like seeing one of Madison’s childhood Barbies come to life—though she would have swatted him for saying it. She was, as she kept telling everyone, very mature for sixteen.

  Jesse’s gaze was more speculative. Conor leaned in. “I hope this isn’t going to be part of your new strategy,” he whispered to Jesse after Ryley threw her bottled water off the stage.

  Jesse shook his head. “You only get to act like that after you win.”

  “There’s an incentive.”

  Ryley was supposed to be spending time with the contestants all week, mentoring them in the ways of winning and post-Singing Sensation success. In reality, she’d only shown up that morning and they’d filmed a bit of her in the studios wearing different outfits, nodding thoughtfully while she was supposedly listening to them sing.

  Later, when her rehearsal was finally finished, she did sit down on the white benches on the side of the stage, the contestants arrayed respectfully around her. Her face, while the cameras prowled among them, was serene and open. She was answering the questions that they had been given; questions that weren’t so much questions as triggers that allowed Ryley shoot off stories of her time in the Singing Sensation house and light-hearted backstage mishaps.

  Conor noticed that the only time something unpracticed came over her face was when there was talk of her upcoming album—she either looked defensive, with shoulders hunching slightly, or hopeful, eyes briefly as wide as Madison’s.

  Jesse, in his never-ending research, had been telling Conor that Ryley’s promised album for the Singing Sensation producers was much delayed. People had been fired, tour dates pushed back, all of it affecting the marketing of Ryley as an artist and likely costing a lot of money.

  “Did you write your own songs?” Conor asked. It was not an approved question and he could almost feel the slight wrench in the air as cameras and attention sharply shifted towards him. He knew it didn’t really matter; if the producers didn’t like the question or the answer they wouldn’t use it, but he wanted to know. And from the way Ryley hesitated, he could tell she wanted to tell.

  “As much as they let me,” she said. Then after a pause, “I had a lot of great collaborators on this album. There’s a big team behind me and watching out for me.” The words sounded sincere, but her smile looked very much like the snarl she’d worn when she’d thrown her water.

  The live show was due to start in a few minutes, which meant that tension backstage was getting higher with each moment. Most of the contestants were huddled in a room under the watchful eyes of Matty, as he clutched his clipboard and fiddled with his headset.

  “Where’s Ryley?” Crystal’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkies with static and rage. “Does anyone have eyes on her?”

  There was a chorus of negatives and Matty hastily turned the volume down as Crystal filled the airwaves with swearing.

  Conor fidgeted and finally got up. Matty moved towards him as Conor looked at the door, almost as though Matty was planning to block the exit.

  “Conor, what are you doing?” Matty did tend to overreact, but then, Conor did have a tendency to disappear just before he was supposed to go on.

  “I’m not in the opening number,” Conor protested. “I’m just going to walk around the halls for a couple minutes.” He lowered his voice, glancing back at the others. “Darleen’s about to do her group chant, positive energy thing. I really need to be out of the room.”

  Matty sighed. Everybody liked Darleen, but she went all out before a performance—even Matty couldn’t escape the group hug that usually followed the chants. “Fine. But only two minutes. Please stop trying to kill me with stress.”

  Conor hastily made his escape, ducking out of the room.

  It was nearly impossible to be alone backstage, with all the crewmembers and performers hurrying about, but after turning a couple corners, Conor found himself in a quiet hallway. He also found Ryley.

  She was coming out of a restroom, hair and makeup done, but face anxious and youthful, until she caught sight of him and frowned. Seeing where they were, Conor couldn’t help but smile slightly, remembering. Ryley looked at him suspiciously, picking up that his smile was different from the usual friendly-yet-fearful ones she’d been getting all day.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Conor said quickly. “It’s just that I locked myself in that washroom just before my first performance.”

  She seemed unsurprised. “Of course; it’s th
e only one with a decent lock.” Her look was cool, but not hostile. “Do you need to lock yourself in now?”

  “I’m okay. Performing got easier. Well, most times.”

  “Some days I think I should have stayed in there,” Ryley said, and then added flatly, “Kidding.”

  “Sure.” He should have left it at that, but— “Your new album, is it—are you happy with it?”

  Her eyes flashed, not in anger, but some unguarded emotion. “It’s going to be mine,” she said. “What I want to sing, not what they tell me. I’ve had to fight for that every step of the way. You see… Conor, right?” He nodded and she went on. “They’re gonna want to make you into something you’re not. And it’s easy to go along, because so many people are telling you they know what will work, what will sell, and how much smarter and more experienced they are than you. In the end, it’s hard to know who to trust, even if you can trust yourself. Most days, I forget who I am or who I want to be.” She shrugged. “For instance, I didn’t use to be a raging bitch. But it’s working for me, at least until I can get out of this record deal.”

  She laughed harshly and Conor laughed a little with her, because he didn’t want Ryley to have to laugh alone. From opposite ends of the hall, people began calling for both of them.

  “You do have a great voice,” he told her as she started to move past him.

  “Damn right I do,” Ryley replied. “That’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

  Even after Conor related that conversation with Ryley, Jesse was unmoved. Shawna had been sent home that night, but neither of them was feeling as celebratory as they had for Jean-Michel’s departure; there were so few of them left now that the once over-stuffed house felt sad and echo-y. While Conor appreciated the extra shower time, he kept thinking about how soon he would be sent back to the real world and his old life.

  “So, Ryley’s having a hard go of it,” Jesse said, restlessly reorganizing his clothes in their room, something Conor knew he only did when he was feeling particularly stressed. “I feel for her, I do, but her way doesn’t have to be mine. Or yours,” he added, because he was trying to encourage Conor to think more positively about his chances of winning. “If she can’t handle success, fine; step aside, there’s plenty of us waiting for our shot. I guarantee you I won’t be throwing water bottles around.”