Groupie/Rock Star Bundle (18 page)

“That’s all anyone can really offer,
you know,” he said as he twirled my hair around one
finger.

I nodded. I knew.

“Andy…” he started but I was quick to shush him
and I tried to turn away. He was going to remind me that his life
was still chaotic and complicated and we needed to take it slow. I
had promised him that I could accept this and this alone and it
would be stupid of me to dream about anything more.

I knew from the moment we first made love it
didn’t mean a happily ever after. Maybe there was no such
thing.

Vanni, however, wouldn’t let me up. He pulled
me back down and kissed me deep and slow. His hand cupped my bare
breast, and my leg swung over his hip. We spent long, sumptuous
moments touching and kissing without words, and this time when we
came together the slow build exploded all around us like
fireworks.

For all we didn’t have, we still had
a lot.

For the rest of the trip he treated me like a
queen. We never brought up the future, and he was very skilled at
making me feel like the present was all that mattered. We worked
hard during the day, where we both played our parts and hid away
what was real behind the closed door of our hotel room.

It only started bothering me when the fans were
younger, college-aged and far more forward than I could have ever
been. The public Vanni was a ladies’ man, whose self-assured
swagger onstage had earned him a legion of faithful fans. They
expected him to be sexy and raw and accessible, because in their
minds he belonged to them.

And maybe in fact he did.

But I wasn’t too happy with the fact many of
them tried their level best to get closer to him, up to and
including slipping him hotel keys or requesting he sign their
underwear – while it was still on.

Thankfully I was able to talk him out of
signing one girl’s panties, but the extent some of these girls were
willing to go to, especially after drinking or other questionable
recreational habits, actually made me worry for his safety. There
didn’t seem to be any real boundaries between fans and the object
of their affection.

I brought it up our last night in Austin, but
he teased me that I was simply jealous. Before I could protest he
tickled me into submission and we spent the rest of the night
making love. This activity was quickly becoming my distraction of
choice.

The next morning as we packed he
came up from behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m
going to miss you,” he whispered against my ear.

“I’m never far away,” I assured. “A few hours
by plane anywhere in the country.”

He turned me around and folded me
into a close embrace. “How about next time I come to
you?”

“To Nashville?” I asked. “Why would you go
there?”

Another kiss atop my nose. “Because you’re
there, silly. And I’ve just decided that is where I want to spend
my thirtieth birthday. If you’ll have me.”

I didn’t verbalize it but it
occurred to me in that moment that was all left in life I really
truly wanted.

Nashville, Christmas 2008

~Andy~

It was torture to pick up Vanni from the
airport and not fly into his arms when I first laid eyes on his
long, dark hair. I kept reliving our time in Austin together over
and over, and his random, rushed emails were warmer and more
endearing even if they were brief.

I had undergone a subtle but
distinctive change in the weeks leading up to Vanni’s visit, while
I prepared my house for my houseguest. There was no charade
necessary in Nashville. All the people we needed to conceal
anything from were spread out across the country and nowhere near
my tiny house on the outskirts of the city. So he would stay with
me, in my home, in my bed, and I would get to play house for a week
while we shared his birthday and even Christmas Eve together. I
wanted New Year’s Eve as well, but the tour was scheduled to begin
the last week in January in Seattle, so I knew that there was no
way to keep him from his life for that long. They had incorporated
dancers into the live performances, and they needed finish their
rehearsals bringing it all together.

I was actually surprised I got the time I
did.

So I did some uncharacteristic spending and
splurged on new linens for the bed, new towels, a matching set of
dishes and an entire refrigerator full of food. I was an okay cook,
but it was worth the effort to be able to have him all to myself
rather than keep up appearances around town just in case someone
recognized him.

No one would care where he stayed in my home,
or what we’d do together while he was here. No one even really
knew, except maybe my grandmother, who grew suspicious of my
holiday activities when I told her that I would probably be unable
to go with her to church on Christmas Eve.

My lovely grandmother surprised me
and actually supported the idea of my having a guest, and a male
one at that. Maybe she was concerned I’d never settle down and be
cursed to roam the country struggling to make ends meet. She
insisted on meeting him one day during the week, where she’d cook a
southern feast in his honor. When I bashfully told Vanni he
surprised me double by agreeing to go.

We were finally able to be real in front of one
person, and an important one at that. It had me especially hopeful
for the holidays.

Granted I knew that chances were
slim to none that he’d go down on one knee and promise me forever,
but I found myself looking forward to his being able to be honest
about what I was to him.

Maybe then I’d finally know exactly what that
was.

I was so relieved that I never had to deal with
living in the fishbowl I didn’t realize all the normal stuff I was
missing. Even just walking through Central Park holding hands was
now off limits.

I kept trying to remind myself why exactly that
was. The Lourdes scandal was over months ago, surely his fans would
forgive him if he moved on. I was already going to shows and
attending events, how much different could it be?

It was dangerous trying to dodge some of these
mental land mines. This is exactly what I told myself I couldn’t
do.

But as he walked toward me in the airport I
couldn’t help the way my heart soared just to see that smile. His
face was scrubbed clean and his hair pulled back, and he wore a
turtleneck and overcoat with a dark pair of sunglasses obscuring
his face. He masked his rock god persona so effectively I barely
recognized him.

The same could not be said for a couple of
college girls standing by the luggage carousel. I heard their
excited gasp as he approached, as they dug out their phones to snap
a picture. He gave them a smile which of course meant they could
run over to him, and I watched the interaction from where I stood
about six feet away.

There were hugs, more photos, an
autograph – and one lucky girl got a kiss on her cheek since she
was coming home for the birthday she happened to share with
him.

Likely story, I thought. But that they even
knew when his birthday was brought the reality home to me that he
was public property now. Even in my hometown he still didn’t belong
to me.

He allowed the interaction to linger until
their ride appeared, and he waited until after they left in a
giggly, giddy huddle to cross those remaining feet between
us.

He gave me a friendly bear hug that nearly
lifted me off the ground and planted a chaste kiss on the cheek.
These were acceptable PDAs for any platonic relationship, and
certainly no more special than the girls who had just left. The
only difference was I got the murmured command, “Take me home,”
into my ear. It made me break a few speed limits to get him back to
my place where I could finally have him all to myself.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and followed
me up the steps to my wide country porch, and paused only briefly
while I unlocked the door. Before I knew what was happening he
swung me up into his arms and carried me across the threshold, a
gesture that didn’t help my romantic delusions in the least little
bit.

The minute we were inside he bent for a kiss,
which I happily returned as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Where’s the bedroom?” he whispered against my lips, and after I
nodded my head toward the direction of the hall he kicked the front
door shut behind him and carried me to the place I had long come to
fantasize he’d be.

He placed me onto the bed and followed quickly
behind, his weight pinning me down as he kissed me like he had been
waiting to do so since September. My orange tabby jumped on the bed
to inspect this interesting new development, but Vanni wasn’t
willing to share me yet. “Sorry, Simon,” he said as he gently
pushed him off onto the floor. “It’s my turn.”

We didn’t come up for air until the sun had
sunk and the room grew dark. He was breathless and glistening with
sweat as he collapsed beside me. “Now that’s what I call a
homecoming.”

I wanted to tell him this could be his home
whenever he wanted, but I didn’t want to spoil his sweet words with
something as scary as reality. Instead I leaned over to him and
traced my hand along his chest. “Hungry?” I asked.

Again with the smirk, before he flipped me on
my back with lascivious intention. “Only for you,” he said in
between kisses that trailed down my body.

We didn’t make it out for actual food until
roughly 10:00 p.m., by which time Simon had decided to punish us by
not giving us any attention at all. He was missing quite a sight.
It wasn’t every day you’d see a naked man stroll around my kitchen,
or for me to be in a similar state. I don’t think I had ever gone
out into my kitchen or living room without at least wearing a
robe.

After a quick snack of cheese, wine
and fruit that we fed each other, he chased me back into the
bedroom again and we fell laughing back into bed. That night I fell
asleep in his arms, lulled by the steady, strong sound of his heart
beating against my ear.

He woke me the next morning with
tiny, well-placed kisses, and as I reached into the nightstand for
a condom I realized that my stash was getting low. We were much
more active the night before than I expected. “Looks like we have
to get more of these when we go out today,” I said with a teasing
smile.

“You’re the boss,” he said with a
smirk, and actions, that said otherwise.

When I brought him breakfast in bed later, he
asked what I had planned for him for the day. “I thought we’d see
the sights, I could show you my town. Was there anything special
you wanted to see?”

“More do,” he said. “I was thinking that it’s
been a really long time since I’ve had a Christmas tree. I noticed
you didn’t have one so I thought we’d go pick one and decorate it
for the holidays, such as they are.”

A part of me wanted to “aw” until my
jaw hurt, instead I just reached over and kissed him. “Anything you
want,” I said.

We did go and see a few sights, since he’d
never been to Nashville before. But even at the Grand Ole Opry he
was stopped by those who recognized his face from Jasper’s media
blitz. It soon became apparent tourist spots were out of the
question, so we went to a tree lot and picked out the most robust
specimen they had. Since I’d never had a tree we also had to pick
up decorations, which took up the rest of our afternoon as we drove
around the city looking for stuff to hang on “our tree.”

By nightfall we were both exhausted, and so we
grabbed some barbecue takeout on our way back home. We were fairly
content to hold off the actual decorating of the tree until his
birthday, after we got home from eating dinner with my
grandmother.

The next morning he brought me
breakfast in bed, where we stayed for hours talking. He told me
about his mom while he rubbed my naked shoulders. He spoke softly
and lovingly about the woman who had worked two jobs to support him
after his dad split when he was only two. He didn’t even remember
him, he admitted sadly.

I stroked his hair as he laid his
head on my shoulder and told me the story. His mother did the best
she could but wasn’t really around, so he was left to raise himself
in one of the rougher, poorer Philadelphia neighborhoods. When he
was approached by a street gang his mother decided to uproot them
and move to Brooklyn to live near their only surviving relative –
his great aunt Susan, who promptly decided he needed to be more
productive with his time. That was how he found singing, thanks to
the grandmotherly figure who taught piano lessons twice a
week.

His voice softened as he spoke of the lace
doilies on her furniture, the plastic fruit on her table, and the
upright piano that was decorated only with an antique metronome
that would tick almost in rhythm with the ceiling fan that cooled
their tiny living room in the summer. “When things weren’t going
well that metronome reminded me to slow down, to count, to
breathe,” he said. “It was the only thing I wanted to keep when she
passed, but it was given to her church instead. She had studied to
be a nun originally, very old school Catholic. So she didn’t take
any of my shit,” he recalled fondly. “She passed away about three
years ago. A year after my mom, ironically.”