Page 119 of Down Beat
She clears her throat. “I was trying to be more subtle.”
“No. Not exactly.”
“But you’re, like, involved somehow?”
I sigh, sliding down the seat to hide my face behind my hands. “I don’t know. That’s just it. He keeps telling me he wants me around, but then he pushes and pulls and I really don’t know where I stand with him.”
“So ask him.”
“I did,” I cry. “I asked him what happens after the tour.”
“And?”
“And he showed me what else he can do with his mouth.”
“Ooh.”
“Yeah.” I moan, arms flailing to my sides. “How the hell can something get so complicated in the space of a few weeks?”
“Intense emotions, babe. He’s mega into you.”
“See, I don’t know if he’s into me, or—” I cringe at what I’m about to say. “—or if his bipolar is into me.”
She sucks a breath with a hiss. “Damn. That’s rough, especially from you.”
“See my problem now? That’s mostly why I want to talk to Toby and get some insight on him; I don’t know Rey well enough to be able to know.”
She clicks her tongue in a way that has me imagining her on our sofa, tapping her lips like she does when she thinks. “What’s your biggest worry out of it all?”
“That I get attached right before he ditches me.”
“There’s something more, though.”
She’s right—there is. I get the shivers every time I think it. “What if I admit defeat and walk away, and that’s his final straw?”
“You’re only protecting yourself if you choose to do that, babe, and there’s no dishonor in that.”
“There is if it means I tip him over the edge. He’s attached. I can see that, but I think he needs to clear up in what way for himself before he can give me an honest answer.”
“Give it until the tour ends,” she says resolutely. “It’s an easy out then if things don’t clear up.”
“I don’t want an out, though. I like him, a lot. I just want him to be clear on what he wants from me.” I sigh and reveal my biggest insecurity. “I don’t want to end up being a tour bunny that keeps his libido in check.”
“So tell him that,” she says softly. “Lay it out, black and white. Let him know you’re a person too, with your own goals that you could be chasing.”
“I guess.”
“Look at it this way.” She huffs. “If he was Joe Blow, just some shmuck you met on the street who wasn’t this uber-talented singer, what would be different?”
“I see your point.” I’d be tougher on him. I probably would have run a mile when he begged me to help him.
I wouldn’t have rushed headfirst into something so spontaneous.
It’s Rey’s passion in his music that hooked me. The same intensity I got when he hit his low our first night back on the tour. The cliché always goes that the superstar chases the girl because she’s his muse. But what if he’s my muse? I look at him and I want to explore him: his feelings, his reactions, and his experiences. I want to draw from all those things that make Rey him and use the knowledge as fuel for my creativity.
He’s an artwork, to me: complex and yet to be fully appreciated for all its intricacies. A ballad waiting to be written.
“Thanks, babe.” I scoot up the seat, newly awakened. “This really helped.”
“Hey. It’s what I’m here for. I just… I don’t want you to come home flat and run-down after he’s taken everything from you.”
“I know. I don’t either.”
I just hope by the time I do go home that at least one of us gets something out of this arrangement.
Because right now, I struggle to see how that could be me.