Read Online The Love Song of Jonny Valentine by Teddy Wayne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Teddy Wayne
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suck.
Then I heard some voices outside, in the back of the house. There was a door in the kitchen to the backyard. It was unlocked and I opened it to a big fenced backyard with patio chairs and tables and trimmed grass and a small pool without water. The noises were coming from right around the side of the house. It was numbskull of me to be out there in the first place, and even more numbskull to go see what the sounds were with Walter grabbing shut-eye forty-five minutes away in his bungalow. But Jane was getting drunk, so it’s not like she was doing an A-plus job of watching me.
I walked to the side of the house and knocked into a recycling can filled with glass. Nothing broke, but it made a rattling sound, and I could hear whoever was around the corner going, “Shit, shit.”
It was the older kids who’d snuck out. The two boys’ hands were behind their backs, and the two girls had guilty looks. They were around fifteen or sixteen. That was about the oldest my fan base got, and they were always harder to talk to. Tweens were easy, since they only squealed and didn’t have any real opinions, and adults try to be polite, but it’s hard to know what to say to the teen demo, who do have opinions but don’t feel like they have to act nice. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” said one of the boys, who had a haircut that was influenced by The Jonny, even if he didn’t know it, with an asymmetrical sweep down almost covering the eyes. Everyone wants to think their look is their own, but it’s always coming from someone way higher up on the style food chain. The boy brought his arm out. He was holding an open bottle of wine. “Want some?”
All the kids were staring at me like, Is he gonna drink with us or rat us out? “That’s okay,” I said. “But you guys can do it.”
He smiled, mostly to himself, and said, “Cool, thanks for giving us permission.” The others laughed, and he took a swig and passed it to one of the girls.
“I’m seeing your concert tomorrow with three friends,” one of the girls said.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll give you a shout-out.”
“Except it’ll be like a joke,” she said. “Like, pretending we’re the kind of girls who are excited about a Jonny Valentine concert. No offense. It’s just, we would never go to it, for real.”
“Oh.” There’s nothing else you can really say to that, unless I said something like, “It’s just, you’re an idiot, spending your parents’ money and putting it in my bank account for a joke. No offense.”
“Don’t be such a bitch, you’re hurting his feelings,” said the first boy. He grabbed the bottle back and held it up to me. “Sure you don’t want some?”
“I better not tonight,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Save it for tomorrow, before your concert. Like a fucking rock star.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. The boy smiled to himself again like he’d won. The air was a little chilly, but looking at that kid’s smile, this heat rose up in my body, and I felt like if I didn’t say something, I’d set myself on fire.
“Or like a fucking no-talent nobody whose father pays for him to go to private school,” I said.
I didn’t wait for him to answer, but when I got back around the corner I heard him call me a douche bag midget and they all laughed. I nearly yelled another insult back, but you can’t control other people, Walter says. You can only control yourself, so it’s not how they act that matters, it’s how you re act. The most successful celebs never lose control.
I found Jane inside the party talking to a handsome guy in his early thirties. He had on a standard young-but-not-too-young-actor’s outfit, dark jeans with a slim gray blazer and a collared pink gingham shirtunder. Jane introduced me and said he was a detective on some network crime show. He said, “But don’t hold it against me,” and Jane laughed and grabbed his arm at the elbow and said I should totally do a cameo on the show, and the
Then I heard some voices outside, in the back of the house. There was a door in the kitchen to the backyard. It was unlocked and I opened it to a big fenced backyard with patio chairs and tables and trimmed grass and a small pool without water. The noises were coming from right around the side of the house. It was numbskull of me to be out there in the first place, and even more numbskull to go see what the sounds were with Walter grabbing shut-eye forty-five minutes away in his bungalow. But Jane was getting drunk, so it’s not like she was doing an A-plus job of watching me.
I walked to the side of the house and knocked into a recycling can filled with glass. Nothing broke, but it made a rattling sound, and I could hear whoever was around the corner going, “Shit, shit.”
It was the older kids who’d snuck out. The two boys’ hands were behind their backs, and the two girls had guilty looks. They were around fifteen or sixteen. That was about the oldest my fan base got, and they were always harder to talk to. Tweens were easy, since they only squealed and didn’t have any real opinions, and adults try to be polite, but it’s hard to know what to say to the teen demo, who do have opinions but don’t feel like they have to act nice. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” said one of the boys, who had a haircut that was influenced by The Jonny, even if he didn’t know it, with an asymmetrical sweep down almost covering the eyes. Everyone wants to think their look is their own, but it’s always coming from someone way higher up on the style food chain. The boy brought his arm out. He was holding an open bottle of wine. “Want some?”
All the kids were staring at me like, Is he gonna drink with us or rat us out? “That’s okay,” I said. “But you guys can do it.”
He smiled, mostly to himself, and said, “Cool, thanks for giving us permission.” The others laughed, and he took a swig and passed it to one of the girls.
“I’m seeing your concert tomorrow with three friends,” one of the girls said.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll give you a shout-out.”
“Except it’ll be like a joke,” she said. “Like, pretending we’re the kind of girls who are excited about a Jonny Valentine concert. No offense. It’s just, we would never go to it, for real.”
“Oh.” There’s nothing else you can really say to that, unless I said something like, “It’s just, you’re an idiot, spending your parents’ money and putting it in my bank account for a joke. No offense.”
“Don’t be such a bitch, you’re hurting his feelings,” said the first boy. He grabbed the bottle back and held it up to me. “Sure you don’t want some?”
“I better not tonight,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Save it for tomorrow, before your concert. Like a fucking rock star.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. The boy smiled to himself again like he’d won. The air was a little chilly, but looking at that kid’s smile, this heat rose up in my body, and I felt like if I didn’t say something, I’d set myself on fire.
“Or like a fucking no-talent nobody whose father pays for him to go to private school,” I said.
I didn’t wait for him to answer, but when I got back around the corner I heard him call me a douche bag midget and they all laughed. I nearly yelled another insult back, but you can’t control other people, Walter says. You can only control yourself, so it’s not how they act that matters, it’s how you re act. The most successful celebs never lose control.
I found Jane inside the party talking to a handsome guy in his early thirties. He had on a standard young-but-not-too-young-actor’s outfit, dark jeans with a slim gray blazer and a collared pink gingham shirtunder. Jane introduced me and said he was a detective on some network crime show. He said, “But don’t hold it against me,” and Jane laughed and grabbed his arm at the elbow and said I should totally do a cameo on the show, and the
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