Read Online The Love Song of Jonny Valentine by Teddy Wayne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Teddy Wayne
Ads: Link
actor was like, “That’s such a bad idea it might actually be good. Imagine the ratings: Jonny Valentine, murder victim.”
Jane stopped laughing and said, “I was picturing more like a witness or something.”
Matthew’s father came by, and Jane grabbed him by the elbow, too. She’s always grabbing people by the elbows at parties, like if she doesn’t, they’ll all float away. “When are you bringing out the birthday cake?” she asked, and he said in a few minutes, and Jane said, “I thought—never mind,” and he said, “No, what?” and she said, “Well, I was thinking Jonny could sing ‘Happy Birthday’ a cappella, but if it doesn’t make sense . . .”
Matthew’s father was like, “Seriously? That’d be amazing. Jonny, would you be up for that?” I couldn’t tell if his father had no idea Matthew hated my guts, or if he picked up on it but knew that if I sang at his son’s birthday party, all the kids at school would be talking about it and Matthew would seem cooler to them.
Jane was telling me with her eyes to do it. It was supposedly a birthday gift for Matthew, but it was really a gift to Jane, for business opportunities down the road.
“If you think he’d like it, then sure.”
He smiled and said he’d tell his wife, and I should come in the kitchen soon so I could walk out with the cake. When he left and the actor went to get a refill, Jane leaned down and whispered, “This will make a huge impression on all the brain-dead execs here.” Jane says an exec is a businessman who’s convinced he has the soul of an artist.
“Fine,” I said. “But I want to leave right after.”
“Deal.”
“Like, call the car service now.”
“Okay,” she said. “One more prosecco first before they run out.”
Her face looked dried out and red from the alcohol, but she joined the actor at the bar and I went into the kitchen, where Matthew’s dad supervised one of the waiters lighting the candles on the cake. Before wewalked out, he said, “Thank you so much for doing this for Matthew, Jonny. He may not . . . he may not be able to express it, but I know this means a lot to him.”
Sometimes parents know their kids better than anyone, and sometimes they don’t have a clue, even if they’re the kind of parents who throw their kids fancy birthday parties. Maybe my father would understand me because he hasn’t been around.
Matthew’s father turned off the lights in the living room and asked everyone to stay quiet for a special guest performance. He opened the door and the waiter carried out the cake, with me right behind, singing. Matthew stood by himself in the middle of the room, and the other kids were all taking my picture, because once I was performing the regular protocol didn’t apply.
When I got to “Happy birthday, dear Matthew,” I stared right at him again. He seemed like he was sort of pissed I was hogging the attention but also happy for the reason his father might have wanted, that it made his party the juicy gossip item at school. And even though he hated me for no good reason, I still felt sorry for him. He’d probably get even funnier-looking as he got older, and these kids might not really be his friends, maybe they only liked coming to his house for his pool and all the other cool amenities he had and because his father controls the purse strings, and not because they like him.
He blew out the candles and the adults applauded, but it was like they were mostly clapping for me, and I found Jane standing next to the actor and told her I wanted to leave, now, and she said, “I’ll call the car service.”
“You said you’d call it before,” I said.
“They were busy.”
The actor asked where we lived and Jane told him off Laurel Canyon, and he said, “Awesome, I’m in Los Feliz, I’ll give you a lift.”
I could see where this was going. Jane would invite him in for a nightcap and send me to bed. In the morning, I might see him on his way out, and
Jane stopped laughing and said, “I was picturing more like a witness or something.”
Matthew’s father came by, and Jane grabbed him by the elbow, too. She’s always grabbing people by the elbows at parties, like if she doesn’t, they’ll all float away. “When are you bringing out the birthday cake?” she asked, and he said in a few minutes, and Jane said, “I thought—never mind,” and he said, “No, what?” and she said, “Well, I was thinking Jonny could sing ‘Happy Birthday’ a cappella, but if it doesn’t make sense . . .”
Matthew’s father was like, “Seriously? That’d be amazing. Jonny, would you be up for that?” I couldn’t tell if his father had no idea Matthew hated my guts, or if he picked up on it but knew that if I sang at his son’s birthday party, all the kids at school would be talking about it and Matthew would seem cooler to them.
Jane was telling me with her eyes to do it. It was supposedly a birthday gift for Matthew, but it was really a gift to Jane, for business opportunities down the road.
“If you think he’d like it, then sure.”
He smiled and said he’d tell his wife, and I should come in the kitchen soon so I could walk out with the cake. When he left and the actor went to get a refill, Jane leaned down and whispered, “This will make a huge impression on all the brain-dead execs here.” Jane says an exec is a businessman who’s convinced he has the soul of an artist.
“Fine,” I said. “But I want to leave right after.”
“Deal.”
“Like, call the car service now.”
“Okay,” she said. “One more prosecco first before they run out.”
Her face looked dried out and red from the alcohol, but she joined the actor at the bar and I went into the kitchen, where Matthew’s dad supervised one of the waiters lighting the candles on the cake. Before wewalked out, he said, “Thank you so much for doing this for Matthew, Jonny. He may not . . . he may not be able to express it, but I know this means a lot to him.”
Sometimes parents know their kids better than anyone, and sometimes they don’t have a clue, even if they’re the kind of parents who throw their kids fancy birthday parties. Maybe my father would understand me because he hasn’t been around.
Matthew’s father turned off the lights in the living room and asked everyone to stay quiet for a special guest performance. He opened the door and the waiter carried out the cake, with me right behind, singing. Matthew stood by himself in the middle of the room, and the other kids were all taking my picture, because once I was performing the regular protocol didn’t apply.
When I got to “Happy birthday, dear Matthew,” I stared right at him again. He seemed like he was sort of pissed I was hogging the attention but also happy for the reason his father might have wanted, that it made his party the juicy gossip item at school. And even though he hated me for no good reason, I still felt sorry for him. He’d probably get even funnier-looking as he got older, and these kids might not really be his friends, maybe they only liked coming to his house for his pool and all the other cool amenities he had and because his father controls the purse strings, and not because they like him.
He blew out the candles and the adults applauded, but it was like they were mostly clapping for me, and I found Jane standing next to the actor and told her I wanted to leave, now, and she said, “I’ll call the car service.”
“You said you’d call it before,” I said.
“They were busy.”
The actor asked where we lived and Jane told him off Laurel Canyon, and he said, “Awesome, I’m in Los Feliz, I’ll give you a lift.”
I could see where this was going. Jane would invite him in for a nightcap and send me to bed. In the morning, I might see him on his way out, and
Similar Books
