Teddy Wayne - The Love Song of Jonny Valentine

“Dating?” she asked, like she’d never heard the word before.

“Not real dating -dating,” Stacy said. “We’ve got a girl in our stable named Lisa Pinto, about Jonny’s age, done some TV acting, whose first album drops in February. She’s a total sweetheart, and she’s immensely popular with Latinos. It’d be great publicity for both of them if they were seen out together in L.A. a few times. If you’re comfortable with that.”

Jane said, “Well—”

“And who knows, maybe a real romance will blossom!” Stacy laughed. “What do you think about that, Jonny? Here’s Lisa’s album cover.”

She pulled up the picture on her phone. Lisa had black hair in a ponytail and wore pink gym shorts and a white tank top over her tan skin and stood in front of a school bus, and the album’s title, School’s Out! was spelled on the side of the bus. I felt the tingling that tells me a boner’s coming, but I had a napkin on my lap so no one could tell.

“She looks nice,” I said.

Whenever the media or fans ask me if I’m dating anyone, I have to say that I’m not seeing anyone in particular right now but I’m always looking out for that special someone and I love all girls. Jane says this makes all my female fans think they have a chance, especially the fat ones, who are the most rabid and loyal. And if I ever did date someone, it would crush them and they’d turn their attention to someone else.

Jane didn’t bring that up. Instead, she said, “It’s something we’ll have to mull. I don’t like the idea of Jonny… sexualizing himself at this age to sell a few more units.”

“Totally understood,” Stacy said.

She turned her lips into her mouth and raised her eyebrows, which was Ronald’s cue to say, “We’ve also considered upgrading Jonny’s dance routines and voice work. Stacy’s got a great relationship with the woman who worked with Tyler, and she completely transformed him during his midteen years. I know you’re loyal to Rog, but what do you think about Jonny meeting with this woman, to see if they hit it off?”

“Jonny really trusts Rog.”

I don’t know why she didn’t tell them she’d already asked Rog to sit out Salt Lake City. Maybe because she wants it to sound like it’s her idea alone.

“Sure, but Rog is”—Stacy laughed to herself again—“how shall I put this delicately? Rog’s vocal techniques are antiquated, and his choreography is antiquated, and if we want to keep Jonny’s message current, we’ve got to surround him with current support.”

Jane chewed on another mint leaf. I swallowed a fry and said, “I really trust Rog.”

Stacy said, “I know, Jonny, but maybe you could just meet Holly — I bet you’d like her — and pick up a tip or two and see how it goes?”

Jane was watching me. “No, I think I’d prefer Rog’s techniques,” I said. Jane hid her smile behind her gimlet, and it always makes me smile when I see her doing it, but I stuffed a few fries in my mouth so I wouldn’t give myself away. A glob of ketchup dripped on the sleeve of my white track sweater. It looked like I’d punched someone in the nose and gotten his blood all over my sleeve.

“Okeydoke, gang, let’s drop the shop talk for now and enjoy our lunch,” Ronald said. “Jane, take a look at the rest of the folder when you get a chance. We’ll meet again when the tour’s over to review everything. Unless sales for the Garden show pick up, we’ll have to make some changes going forward.”

That was a pretty bad note to end the shop talk on, and I could tell Jane was covering up an angry mood the rest of the lunch. Her and Stacy ate half their salads and Ronald finished his steak as they picked up their gossip about real estate and restaurants and Ronald’s new ski château in Germany. He joked, “I know, what’s a five-foot-five Jew doing skiing in Germany?” When we signed with the label, Jane told me, “You always want a Jew to be in charge of your business,” and she laughed and said, “But an honest Jew.” Ronald’s an honest Jew and an industry legend.

I finished my lamb burger, but when the waitress came to clear our plates, Jane handed her mine with half my fries left. Stacy said it was awesome meeting me and she couldn’t wait to touch base again after the tour. Walter came in to escort us out of the restaurant, where a car was waiting for us with all the paparazzi. Jane let me do one trademark spin move before I got into the backseat, but when they asked me to sing the chorus from “Guys vs. Girls,” she said, “Come to his concert tomorrow night!” She could work as my publicist if she wasn’t my manager.

In the car with me and Walter she talked on her phone. I was drifting in and out of sleep, like Walter was, so I heard parts, like when Jane said, “Some bimbo he probably fucked once and had to promote so she doesn’t file a harassment suit… No, no progress on the other thing.” The other thing could’ve been a million things, but if I asked, she’d make something up about a sponsorship deal or whatever.

Jane lost the call as we drove up Laurel Canyon. She said to herself, “Peruse.” Then she told me we were invited to the twelfth-birthday party that night of this TV exec’s son.

“I’m tired.”

“I know, baby. But we should go to this. We only have one free night in L.A.”

“I just want to go to sleep tonight.”

“You can sleep for a whole week straight after the tour,” she said. “There are going to be a lot of film and TV people there.”

“We can take a meeting whenever we want.”

“Yes, but you know it’s always better when you meet them socially. An exec comes up with an idea while he’s drunk, he thinks it’s the most brilliant thing ever. We have to, baby.”

I thought Walter had been sleeping, but his mouth moved a little, like he’d heard it and wasn’t saying anything. Or maybe I didn’t see it right, because I was so tired and my eyes couldn’t stay sharp. The outside was just a blur of green trees and brown roofs.

“Can’t you just go without me?”

“It’s not as fun without you,” she said. “And they invited us both.”

Which meant they really invited me, and she’d be letting them down if she showed up without me. My head was hurting like just after a 120-decibel concert and my eyelids were too heavy to keep arguing.

“Fine,” I said. I fell asleep for real and woke up when we reached the security gate to our community. When you come home there should be a smell or sight or something you recognize, but coming back to our house hasn’t felt like that yet after upgrading from the three-bedroom the label rented for us the first year in L.A. and buying our six-bedroom in the Hills. I asked why we needed six bedrooms when it’s just me and Jane plus a couple staff and Walter in his bungalow, and she said that half of showbiz is about perception and you need to create buzz to sustain buzz, and real estate’s an evergreen source of buzz.

But it felt more like coming home getting off the school bus in St. Louis or when Michael Carns’s mother would drop me off when I was old enough to have my own keys, even if our apartment wasn’t a source of buzz, because it only had one bedroom that Jane let me sleep in after my father left and she took the couch that folded out in the living room, and we didn’t have fancy kitchen appliances the manufacturers give us for free now hoping we’ll mention them in an interview, and it was always dirty since Jane hates cleaning and couldn’t afford to pay anyone. We have a few pictures left, but that’s it.

Walter went off to his bungalow since he had the night off, and me and Jane walked through the front door and past the paintings the decorator picked out in our foyer and some framed photos of me and Jane with other celebs in the entry room, and I cut through the awards room that I walk into every day for motivation, with all my plaques and trophies in a case, except there aren’t any Grammys yet and it’s mostly crap like the People’s Choice Awards.