All Note Long (16 page)

I
f Michelin could nap with Lucky every day for . . . oh, say, two or three years, he might start to get caught up on sleep he'd lost since insomnia came to town the year he quit drinking. And his side ventures might suffer, he might write fewer songs, agree to less promo, reduce all the obligations he used to fill the sleepless hours, but, man, his happiness quotient would be unreal.

As it was, his life felt very surreal for the next few days. They dozed in between orgasms on Saturday right up until it was time to dash to the airport, then apparently Lucky wasn't done sleeping, because he slept the whole way back to L.A. slumped against him. Michelin couldn't lie—it was the best plane trip of his life. Then more orgasms back at his place, more sleeping, and suddenly it was Friday again. Sure, he'd done Gloria's bidding during the week for promo for the new album, but his life felt like it was lived from night to night, counting down the hours until he could get Lucky in his arms again.

As a guy who had spent the last decade not thinking all that much about sex and being fairly content with sporadic sessions with his own hand up until the weird restless months before he met Lucky, being obsessed with sex and worrying about when he could get Lucky naked again was a bit weird. And yeah, that happiness quotient rose with each day—more than he thought possible.

Lucky had picked up the dog on Sunday because apparently she made a pest of herself at Lucky's mom's place. Of course, it had
nothing
to do with Michelin asking him every so often all weekend how the dog was getting on. And if the dog had greeted Michelin with enthusiastic doggie kisses, well, she was a canine. All she knew was that Michelin didn't like to waste food scraps. About Wednesday, he got tired of tripping over her on the patch of tile floor between the dining and living areas and ordered her a dog bed. Simple thing, one of those plaid cushions befitting one of Rob's ranch dogs, but Lucky gave him a
look
when he took it out of the box Friday afternoon.

“What? She can take it with her to her new place.” Michelin fluffed the bed and put it in the corner, so she had a good view but not too much sun. Lady was some sort of spaniel, retriever, and shepherd mix, and she got hot easily. She probably needed a good professional grooming of her thick coat, but Michelin knew that suggesting that would be tantamount to admitting he was adopting the beast. “Speaking of, I want to meet whomever you find. Want to make sure they know not to give her cheese and—”

“
Dude.
” Lucky laughed. “You guys are
perfect
for each other. When are you going to admit you're keeping her?”

Around the time I admit I'm keeping you.
That was the thing about living evening to evening—Michelin was well aware that this couldn't last, that this was the most temporary of highs.

“Gloria's on her way here,” he said, avoiding the question. “She's got a bee in her bonnet about something. Probably more stuff I need to do.”

“Did you talk to your manager about the concert? You should probably get that on your calendar.” Lucky knelt down to pet the dog, not meeting Michelin's eyes.

“Haven't had a chance,” Michelin lied. Add the concert to the list of things he didn't want to talk about, didn't want to risk breaking this bubble of happiness over. “I've been super busy. And Gloria's probably going to occupy the rest of my day. I might not have time to hang with you until dinner.”

“Oh! I was just coming in to tell you, I won't be around tonight.” Lucky looked up from the dog, grinning. He bounced on his heels. “Carlos is shorthanded. Thank fuck. He's decided to end my exile. Said the ABC folks have finished their investigation. He says as long as the paparazzi keeps at bay, I can come back.”

Poof!
The happiness bubble popped, reality jamming its way back into Michelin's life. He sank into a chair at the dining table

“You're dancing tonight? I figured you'd be on the leave of absence as long as . . .” He trailed off, realizing the size of the hole he was digging himself.
As long as we're together.
He might as well just ask Lucky what the scheduled breakup date was if he was going to say stupid shit like that. And he didn't want to come off like some jealous boyfriend who didn't want him dancing.

Even if he totally was one.

“Trust me, my bank account is grateful for Carlos's change of heart. I still have to pay rent and get the money to the video director.”

Michelin bit his lip hard enough to taste blood to keep from offering money to fix Lucky's concerns. There
had
to be a way for him to help Lucky financially without Lucky going into porcupine mode.

“What about the video for Ruby?” he asked finally, not finding the right words to offer help.

Lucky sighed. He'd met with Ruby twice during the day in the last week when Michelin had been busy with promo obligations. “Lovely as Ruby is, her video's barely paying anything.”

“Ah.” Michelin's chest ached and his hands clenched and unclenched. Not saying what he really wanted was killing him. “And you've . . . missed dancing at the club?”

“Yeah.” Lucky fixed a stony glare on Michelin. “I have. I dance, Michelin. It's what I do. I should get a main stage slot tonight, and I can debut one of the routines I've been working on here. I can't wait.”

Lucky sat backward on the chair at the head of the table. Michelin had watched him practice a routine involving a folding chair that made Michelin damn jealous of the chair, and him sitting like this reminded Michelin how much he'd wished he could keep that routine to the privacy of his house.

Don't be a jealous asshole.
He tried to force himself to smile, but had a feeling it came out more like a grimace.

“Oh . . . well, that's good.” Michelin's voice was weaker than his grandma's tea.

“Are you gonna be cool about this or do we got a problem?” Lucky's eyes were like missiles, waiting to launch at Michelin if he chose the wrong answer.

Knock. Knock. Knock.
Gloria's insistent rattle came right as he realized that lying was probably his best bet. Thank fuck. He raced to the door.

“We're not done,” Lucky called after him, but he was already letting Gloria in. Her look of horror at the dog waiting patiently to sniff her up was worth the price of the chow and the hassle of ordering the dog bed. Michelin waited a good long second before calling off the dog and ordering her back to her bed.

“We've got a problem,” she said, sliding off her fancy sunglasses and removing her phone from her oversize bag. “Big Mart pulled your album. We don't even know exactly when—sometime in the past week, it started disappearing from shelves, and now it's not even on their website.”

“What? How can they do that?” Lucky asked.

“They're the largest big box chain in the country. They can do whatever they want. Michelin was supposed to get a featured slot on the website, and that apparently never happened either.”

“Did they announce why?” Michelin sank down next to the dog, petting her, trying to slow his racing pulse.

“Of course not.” Gloria took a chair at the dining table. She pulled out her tablet. “You think they held a press conference? One of the LGBT news outlets uncovered the story.
That
was plenty embarrassing—our marketing team should have been more on this. Obviously the label is demanding an explanation, but this was a very quiet blacklisting. And that's not all.”

“It's not?”

“The same site uncovered dozens of reports of country stations down south refusing requests for ‘Graduation Day.' One station went on record as saying that it has ‘homoerotic overtones' and another said it had a ‘political agenda,' and other stations are refusing requests for
any
of your songs. We did know that some right wing radio show went off on you on Tuesday—”

“Today's Friday. You're just telling me now?”

“I didn't want to upset you. I was hoping it would blow over. But it's starting to snowball, which means we need to rethink our approach.”

“How is the label going to fight back?” Lucky leaned forward. “Are they going to call for a boycott—”

“Slow down a minute,” Michelin said, far more harshly than he'd intended.

Gloria's mouth twisted and her eyes hardened to steel points. “No one's talking protest.”

“Thank goodness.” Michelin couldn't hide his relief. Fear of this kind of reaction had kept him closeted all these years.
Banned.
Bile rose in his throat.

“I'm getting a soda.” Lucky pushed away from the table with near-palpable disgust.
He
would protest, loudly and publicly. Much as Michelin hated disappointing him, he simply wasn't Lucky's kind of brash. His throat burned and his hand shook against the dog's fur. Lucky strode away from them, shaking his head at Michelin.

Gloria waited until he was gone before speaking again. “Good. I'm glad he's giving us a minute, because your... arrangement is coming under some fire. And I know it was my idea—”

“It was. But what does my ‘arrangement' have to do with places banning me?”

“The label is thinking now is not the time to be so
visibly
gay. No gay rights causes, right now. I heard some rumors about you and a benefit concert—”

“I'm not doing that one.”

“Thanks be for small mercies.” Gloria's smile was too sharp to be comforting. “So no fund-raisers right now. No shout-outs to gay causes on your social media. And no boyfriend.”

“No boyfriend?”

“We all know it was just a publicity stunt, right?”

“Right,” Michelin echoed, thinking of all the ways it had totally evolved beyond that, thinking about this last week spent biding time from one private moment to the next, resenting every public intrusion.

“So you can stop having Lucky at events, stop going pet shopping and on outings, stop having him over here—”

“No-no-no Lucky?”
Fuck.
He couldn't talk. “B-b-but . . .
friends.
”

“You're friends now, I get that.” The look Gloria gave him was downright pitying. “Just be . . . I don't know . . .
text
friends or something. We're not going to announce a breakup or anything like that. We just want to present the most
masculine
image we can of you.”

“The fuck?” Michelin swore he felt the rap of his mama's knuckles as soon as he cursed. “Sorry, but seriously? I'm not
man
enough for the label now? You need me in bigger belt buckles? Wider hats? Need me to start chewin' or what?”

“No one's suggesting you take up tobacco.” Gloria's pinched expression suggested that perhaps the other suggestions had been raised. “We just need you to lay low while the label greases whatever palms it's going to take to get Big Mart to bring you back
quietly.
And the iLuvMusic stations are still playing you—we've got to keep them happy while we deal with these
rogue
local stations.”

“I can do the no politics, easy.” Michelin kept right up petting the dog, like it was the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe it was. “And you know I'm good with a low profile. And keepin' the focus on the music. All that's good.”

“Good. I knew you'd see the logic.” Gloria tapped her phone a few times, clearly ready to move on to to the next item on her agenda.

“But I'm staying . . . friends with Lucky.” Hell. He really didn't know what to call Lucky without the fake label Gloria had given them at the start of this whole farce. Would Lucky still consider himself Michelin's boyfriend if it weren't for this publicity stunt? Did sleeping together every night this week make them real boyfriends?

“Fine. Fine. Be
friends.
But no need to flaunt it, right?”

“All the PDA was your idea!” And true, it hadn't really ever been a chore. But still, all the public stuff had
not
been his idea.

“It's possible I overestimated the public's readiness for a gay country music star, especially one . . . showing it off.”

“I don't want to
flaunt
it. I only want to keep a . . . good thing going.”

Gloria made a face like Michelin had just let one rip. “I don't care what you do in
private. Discreetly.
Not my concern. I'm here because the label is legitimately frustrated that sales aren't anywhere near what we anticipated. At this rate, they may have to rethink the release schedule of other singles.”

“I get it.” Michelin rested his face against the soft fur of Lady's back. “I get it, okay. Me being gay is one big hassle for the label. And I'm doin' what I can to make it easier, but I'm saying the same thing I said a couple of weeks ago—the label doesn't pick my friends.”

Gloria shook her head sadly. “He really is a great kid. Funny. Bright. And a good friend. But we've all got to focus on the future, right?”