Teddy Wayne - The Love Song of Jonny Valentine

That night Jane said Mrs. Vincent had called her and told her I had the best natural voice she ever heard, and Jane was crying when she hung up and said she always knew I was talented from the way I’d echo songs playing in the supermarket, when I’d wait behind the checkout aisle for her to finish her Schnucks shifts, and that this was the start of something big. I was only seven years old but I was like, “Okay, but why are you crying if you’re happy, Mommy?” and Jane was hugging me and said, “Because you’re my beautiful baby boy, Jonathan.” My father had already left by then. I don’t know what he would’ve said.

Me and Rog ended with an analysis session of Buddy Holly’s “Everyday.” He’s been on a Buddy Holly kick lately, and he said to pay attention to the simplicity of the melody and instrumentation, the drummer just beating out the rhythm by slapping his knee, how it wouldn’t work without Holly’s vocal control and textural smoothness. He had me imitate his “a-hey” and the way he slows down and ranges up and down the scale within a word like his voice is going over a speed bump. I told him to pass on to whoever top-lines the next album that I wanted to do something like this in a song.

When we wrapped up, I said, “Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone mess with my routine in Salt Lake City.”

“Thanks.” He stopped putting his notes away and looked at me. “But after, let Jane know you prefer my techniques. We’re in this together. Right?”

“Right.”

“Good. You’re going to have a long career if you stick with what I tell you.”

As a voice coach, Rog is one of the best out there, but there are probably better choreographers. That’s one reason he has me focus on my singing, even though he says it’s since anyone can dance but no one can sing as naturally angelic as me.

The other reason is that he’s the oldest person on our team. Definitely older than Walter. Up close his eyes crinkle into wrinkles like cat whiskers, and he’s super-tan, but when he looked at me just then, I thought, Man, if I played the age game right now, I’d guess Rog is like sixty, which I don’t usually think because he’s still in good shape, but last week when we were finishing up the Southwest leg of the tour, he was teaching me a new eight-count move with a jump and a deep knee bend, and when he demoed it for me there was a loud crack! like his knees were going, Uh, thanks but no thanks for the ten million hours of dance practice, Rog, and he acted like it didn’t hurt but he didn’t do any more demos the rest of the day and iced it for half an hour later and popped a bunch of Vikes and told me not to tell Jane since she gets too nervous about other people’s health, which isn’t really true. She only gets nervous about mine and hers.

I said, “I know, Rog.”

We had two nights in L.A. with a concert the second night, so all the backup singers and dancers and crew guys were excited about going home with a day off. But me and Jane didn’t have it off, because the talent’s work is never done, so we had the big strategy session with Ronald scheduled for lunch, which is why we had the early start. I was like, Jane, can’t you go without me, I never have any creative input in these meetings anyway, but she said that Ronald specifically requested me to be present, and Ronald controls the purse strings so we have to pick our battles.

We finally got back into L.A. after a century on the highway. Our bus dropped me and Jane and Walter off at the Ivy. It’s the main L.A. restaurant Jane knew about before we moved here, and the minute we signed for my advance from the label she took me there for dinner.

There were about ten paparazzi, which isn’t that much. You could tell they were bottom-feeder paparazzi, not just because they were stuck working the daytime Ivy shift, but because they dressed really bad and stood out from the lunch crowd. My bus doesn’t have any markings on it, so they didn’t know who it was until we got out. Then they were all like, “Jonny, how’s the tour?” or “Jane, looking hot, give us a smile,” which I thought she might do since me and her got our teeth whitened by Dr. Kim pretour, but she didn’t, and Walter barked in his policeman voice, “Guys, give ’em some air, you’ll all get your nice pictures but you gotta back up!” I always let Jane do the talking and I just smile and once in a while dance if they ask but never sing. You have to save it for when people pay. They shouted for me to do my trademark spin move, but Jane shook her head at me. People must have asked MJ to do the moonwalk all the time, too.

We went up the stairs and through the patio and Julian at the front smiled at us and told us our table was ready. Jane likes the table right next to the fireplace, with her back to the wall. Walter stayed outside and Jane ordered a burger for him to go.

Ronald wasn’t there yet, so Jane got an Ivy gimlet plus a Diet Coke for me and asked the waiter to take away the bowl of mixed nuts, even though he told her there weren’t any peanuts. When he brought me my drink I said, “Thank you,” and “Thank you” again when he set Jane’s down since she never makes eye contact with waiters. Maybe it’s because she used to be a waitress before Schnucks and before she was a secretary for a few months at a marketing firm, and she said it was the worst job she ever had, so that should make you friendlier to waiters, except we go to gourmet restaurants where they’re paid pretty good, and she worked at a diner. But she’s a generous tipper, and sometimes it shows up in the press that she gave a tip bigger than the meal, so people might think she does it for that, but it’s really because she used to get stiffed by her customers all the time.

Jane worked on her phone while we waited. I straightened up in my seat to see. I wondered if she knew about the comments from Albert Derrick Valentino, too. But she wasn’t on any fan sites or Twitter. She was browsing my mobile app and probably coming up with ideas for how to diversify it and attract more JV/Varsity Club memberships. She has a lot of street cred in the industry for her innovation in the digital space, and she’s an excellent multitasker and doesn’t waste time when she’s working. She says it’s from years of packing grocery bags and dealing with screaming mothers and crying babies and her asshole supervisor and incompetent coworkers. Ronald calls her “the Architect” because right when she started she had an idea of how to build my career and insisted she would be my manager, even though the label strongly recommended an experienced manager, but she was always into movie stars and celebs and used to take old copies of InStyle and Us Weekly and Star home from Schnucks and read them for hours at night, except now they’re tentative allies who could betray us any second and we’ve got to be careful.

Ronald was late, so Jane asked for another gimlet and Diet Coke. When he showed up in a few minutes he apologized for the delay, but Jane said, “That’s fine, we just ordered our first drinks.”

Ronald is only a couple inches taller than Jane and balding but he has a raspy voice that makes everyone pay attention and dresses in expensive suits so he seems taller. He’d brought a woman a few years younger than Jane that we’d never met before. She wore black-framed glasses that made her look smart, and she was thin without looking like she had to work out for it.

“This is Stacy Palter,” he said. “She’s our new EVP of creative.”

Stacy smiled like an emoticon and said, “Jonny, I’m a huge fan of ‘Guys vs. Girls’ and just about everything else you’ve recorded. And, Jane, I’m really excited to be working with you.”

Jane smiled back a little when she said hello. After they sat down, she asked, “So, Stacy, how long have you been in the industry? I only ask because you seem quite young to be head of creative.” Jane was good at flipping someone’s advantage into a weakness.