Teddy Wayne - The Love Song of Jonny Valentine

She finished and said, “So, we have another little problem on our hands from America’s worst mother.” I knew she was joking, but when she called herself that, it made me think for a second that the media was right. It’s like when backup singers apologize for being flat that day. After that, they sound way worse to you, even if they’re not.

“We need to tackle this head-on,” Rog said. “A press conference.”

“First of all, the doctors are making me stay here another night,” she said. “So that’s out for today.”

“How are you going to be at my show tonight?” I asked.

“I’m not. I’ll have to miss it.”

I knew the whole point of being there was to talk about the cocaine overdose, but her missing the concert felt like the bigger crisis to me. If I brought it up now, though, they’d tell me it wasn’t.

“Second of all, there is no we anymore, Rog,” Jane said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It was an anonymous tip from someone on tour.”

He looked at her and at me and back at her. “I don’t follow.”

“Rog, don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, Janie.”

She took a deep breath in through her nostrils. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was upset or she had a hard time breathing. “I’m going to let you go. You’ll be paid the full amount of the tour.”

His mouth was open, and then he smiled. “You’re joking, right? You’re setting me up? Is this like a hidden-camera show?” She shook her head. His face and voice turned desperate. “Janie, this is insane. I didn’t say a word. Why would I do that?”

“You tell me. Maybe to make me more dependent on you.”

“Dependent!” Rog said. “What does that even — look, I did everything I could to keep this under control. Everyone knows you sometimes do—”

She shot him a mean stare and he looked at me and realized he’d messed up. He got quieter. “I’m not the one who did this. And for you to throw two years out the window because of… I don’t even know what, is—”

“I have it on good authority that you’re behind the leak,” Jane said. “I value your previous work with us. Save your receipts for getting to the airport and your flight home and the label will reimburse you.”

He smiled again, but it wasn’t the smile he had when he thought he was on a reality show. “This is an excuse to get rid of me.”

“Please leave now before we both say things we’ll regret.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Rog said, “but there’s a hell of a lot I could have said. And I never have.”

“You say whatever you want. No one will believe you, and I’ll make sure you never get work again. Or I can give you a nice recommendation and say we amicably parted ways. Which way do you want to go?”

Rog bit his lower lip and waited for what felt like an hour. “This is a fucked-up way to treat a friend.” He turned to me. “Hope you get along with my replacement.” He slammed the door. Jane stared at it for a few seconds.

“You and me, kid,” she said. “Just the two of us.”

“I don’t think Rog did it,” I said. “I heard him talking on the phone in the bathroom and it sounded like he was the one who came up with the peanut story.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I have trusted sources.”

“More trusted than Rog?”

“These things are more complicated than you think. Rog and I have had conflicts you don’t know about. I’m sure you and Michael used to have fights that I didn’t know about. Can you try to understand that?”

No, I can’t understand it. This is worse than what you did with the Latchkeys, and even worse than what you tried to do with Walter. Rog was your best friend for two years, and even if he wasn’t the most in-demand voice and dance coach anymore, he worked hard and groomed me. You don’t fire your friends because someone told you they messed up, especially if they say they didn’t. And I didn’t fire Michael as my best friend. You moved me away from him. Plus you didn’t tell me he wanted to visit.

And maybe it’s what you did with Al. You fired him as your husband and as my father and didn’t tell me he wanted to see me again.

“I understand,” I said.

I didn’t ask her how often she did cocaine, or what she was going to say to the public. The tabloids really go for your throat if you get caught doing cocaine, but she was good at spinning, and they’d shield me from the media until we got to New York, and by then it would blow over. She’d be fine. Rog would be fine, eventually. I’d get a new voice and dance coach when I went back to L.A. who’d be fine. My image would be fine. Jane knew what she was doing.

“I’m going to meet you in Detroit tomorrow, baby. Okay?”

“Fine.”

“Don’t worry about any of this. Just focus on tonight’s show.” I nodded, and she told me to go back to the hotel with Walter because she needed to rest and deal with the label.

In the car, Walter said, “So, she fired Rog?”

“Yeah.”

He whistled. “Damn. I didn’t like the queer much myself, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

The ride to Detroit was weird with no Jane, no Rog, no Nadine, only me and Walter on a huge bus by ourselves with Kenny the driver. Three fans in the football stadium. Walter should’ve had the day off yesterday, so I let him sleep and I tried to think about my history essay, but I kept coming back to how Jane wouldn’t be at my concert tonight, and Rog wouldn’t be there to warm me up even though I could do it on my own, and the only person I’d have was Walter, who was the best in some ways, but he couldn’t make up for everyone else.

If my father was around it’d be different. Having someone related to you nearby when you were with strangers would be cool. He’d probably comanage me with Jane, or do something else behind the scenes. I wouldn’t have to worry about Jane going out late at night or doing cocaine, and she definitely wouldn’t be with Bill. He wouldn’t let her fire people who’d worked hard for us.

If Walter had a smartphone I could’ve checked my email to see if he’d written again, but he’s not into gadgets, sort of like Nadine, and he says having one would make him less alert to protect me.

Kenny dropped me and Walter off at the hotel, where I napped and ate lunch, and the car service took us to the venue for sound check. The audio was junk, and usually Jane or Rog takes care of it and yells at whoever to fix it, but I didn’t know who was really in charge, and Walter definitely didn’t know what to do. I could’ve asked Bill, but I didn’t want to talk to him. And he could’ve been behind the leak. Maybe Bill wanted to get out of his relationship with Jane and this was a way. She should’ve fired him, not Rog. Rog wouldn’t do something like that.

I played Zenon in my room preshow and ate three slices of pepperoni pizza, which was dumb and totally off-limits if Jane or Rog was around. It would make me too full and the dairy would destroy my voice, plus the pepperoni might make me burp. I vomited, partly from overeating and partly I made myself.

This was already going to be a subpar concert because of the audio system and the pizza and everything else going on with Jane and Rog. I got jittery about my performance, then I got angry that I was the only one who got nervous before concerts, and I was the only one who looked bad if the concert was subpar, and everyone else could relax backstage even if they were part of the reason it didn’t go good, and no one was reviewing them in the L.A. Times or making fun of them in The New Yorker .