Exotic - Chapter 30: Chapter 30

Dentist's Office picked up after two rings. Jamie was never more than arm's length from his phone.
"You're alive," he sounded genuinely relieved. I realised that in the year I'd known him, I'd never gone as long as two weeks without at least making an appearance at Crescendo. When I thought about it that way, it wasn't hard to see how I'd fallen so hard from grace with my academics.
I was sitting with my bare feet in the grass in a park block about fifteen minutes from school. My sneakers were lying a few feet away, tossed off in hast so I could dig my toes into the dirt and centre myself. My thighs itched from the tickle of the buffalo grass. I was going to regret lying back in it, but in the moment, I couldn't make myself care about low-key allergic reactions. The classes I was missing, the haughty eyes of mothers on me, the minor sting of the malformed rash in the crease of my knees; none of it troubled me.
"Sorry, Jame. My life is hectic right now," I confessed. "But I'm free tonight?"
"Good, because Zsa's flat out doing sets by himself," he sounded somewhat distracted, probably rushing to his computer to mock-up a poster for that night. "Hasn't slept in a week, I swear."
"I'm sorry about going off-grid."
"Nah, I don't think it has to do with you. I can hardly get him to leave at the end of the night," he groaned. "I told him I have the cash to spare if he needs a loan, but it doesn't seem to be about making rent. Have you spoken to him lately?"
I pulled my shirt over my mouth, chewing nervously on the collar, "Yeah."
"Is he doing alright?"
I didn't know. I hadn't checked in on him since he'd called me about Peter. He'd been commenting on my posts, so I had been content in the knowledge he didn't hate me, but I hadn't considered how he was coping with losing the one. Even if Peter turned out to be less than noble, Zsa Zsa had thought of him as God's gift to Earth for a while there. Letting that go was admirable, it showed he knew that he deserved better, but it had to hurt.
"I'm not sure. I'll keep an eye on him tonight," I assured Jamie.
"And... your appearance tonight is locked in and social-media official," he clicked something with a presumed flourish. "Speaking of. Do you want me to link your Instagram for Saturday? The turnouts going to be huge, so if you want me to push your socials just give me the word."
I frowned to myself. "Saturday?"
Jamie paused shortly as if he was waiting for me to tell him I was joking, before he groaned at the realisation that I had no idea what he was talking about. "Rocky Horror night, Steph. I've had you locked in for three months."
A resonant fuck echoed from the back of my throat. A month ago, I would have been counting down the days to the event. I was co-hosting the screening, with Zsa Zsa as Frankenfurter and me as a notably hornier version of Janet, and I hadn't even cracked the sheet music. I'd been the one who insisted on singing Touch-A Touch-A Touch Me live, and I had completely neglected my duties.
Saturday was supposed to be for Aaron. Saturday was the one day I had to make things right with him, or else I feared our friendship would dissolve into high school obscurity.
But I had responsibilities to Jamie; my professional reputation to uphold. Jamie was forgiving, but I hadn't exactly been a model contractor.
"Seph?" Jamie asked, anxiously, and I realised I'd gone almost a full minute without speaking.
"Shit, Jame, I completely forgot," I babbled. "I think I've double-booked myself."
Jamie sighed, long and loud, over the line. I cupped a hand over my face, unable to come up with a better excuse, something to make everything okay between Jamie and I. I was disappointing everyone who cared about me, one after the other like toppling dominos. It's my best friend's birthday just didn't cut it as far as excuses went.
I could have lied, of course. But I was sick to my stomach of it.
I was sick of it all. Sick of managing my life like I was balancing an exhaustive set of scales. Whenever I put effort into one end, I had to let the other go and deal with the consequences of my neglect later. I didn't want to choose one or the other. Being Sephora Utah had its perks but there was no escaping that my life in the clubs was built on a lie. Being myself, being Miles Stewart, wasn't exactly a beacon of truth either; not anymore. I lied to Aaron, I lied to Max, I lied to Lauren, I lied to Alba. I lied to anyone and everyone I needed to keep my nightlife separate because Sephora Utah was a sacred state of mind that I didn't want to be soiled by the mundane and ordinary.
But Aaron was just about the most extraordinary person I knew. Max was a far cry from his tight-lipped teammates; he spoke up for what he believed in, took hits for those who couldn't fight back, never once dropped the ball as an ally to his brother. Lauren was the freshest breath of air I'd had in a while, a girl who had backed me up without hesitation despite hardly knowing me. And Alba could have informed the school of how she met me in a heartbeat, destroying everything I'd carefully crafted with a phone call home and word with the principal, but she'd only ever wanted to help me.
And then I went and got upset when they rightfully called me out on it. Stormed out of the school. Avoided them. Agonised over what they wanted, when all they wanted was me, the real me.
Mask left at the door.
No more running away.
I needed to put more faith in the people who loved me. And stop running to the person who wouldn't look me in the eye at school because he was afraid of what people would think. I'd once appreciated Caleb's shifting gaze because if Aidan caught either of us staring, there would be hell to pay. But Aidan hadn't been there that morning.
Caleb was the only one who knew all of me, as Alba had put it. I didn't know how I'd gotten it in my head that he was the only one who deserved to.
"Alright, well..." Jamie was saying. "I'll have to make some calls, or..."
"Never mind," I cut him off quickly. Before I could overthink exactly what I was doing, exactly what it meant. "Of course I'll be there. I'm not missing Rocky Horror, not for the world on fire."
Jamie immediately breathed a sigh of relief. I suspected he'd had no solutions to me dropping out. "Thank fuck. Alright. Are you sure you don't need tonight off to prepare, then?"
"Nah. I need to cross wires with Zsa anyway," I assured him. I needed to go shopping, desperately. "I know every song in that musical backward. Just cut everyone and I'll do the whole thing solo. Live."
Jamie barked out a laugh. "Maybe next year, tall poppy. See you tonight."
I kissed the air by the speaker and sat in the silence of my own creation for a few minutes, deep in thought. It took all the strength in me not to phone him back and tell him, no, never mind, family business, can't do Saturday. I'd never been very strong.
In the back of my mind, a memory of Lauren snarked, I'm not being mean because I think you should tell everyone the truth. I'm being mean because you should tell Aaron the truth, and I think it's stupid that there's even a question.
I wasn't about to give up the small amount of free time I had by returning to school, so I caught a bus out of town and set to work accumulating my Janet outfit. An elderly cashier at the second-hand store gave me a tight-lipped smile as I paid for a pink nightgown in cash. A spotted young adult didn't even blink as I emptied a shopping basket full of cheap makeup and clean tights over the counter at the pharmacy. I was able to take the white bra and tennis skirt set through the automated checkouts, thankfully. Saturday was going to be the most naked I'd ever been on stage; certainly not how naked Sephora had ever gotten in my mind, and not something which would be an issue once I had my battle armour painted on, but the thought did make me blush a little.
Reece was out at poker that night, so I was able to get out of the house without any issues; not that he'd ever stopped me before, but since he'd accused me of sleeping around I had no doubt he was going to start using it as an excuse to get me back under his thumb.
Zsa Zsa was in the dressing room when I arrived, and I nearly dropped my jaw when I saw him. His skin was lacking its usual gleam, and his eyes were drawn down by deep grey bags. He looked like he'd been sleeping outdoors for a week, dark hair unwashed and lips chapped. He was picking a spot above his brow with his face twisted in concentration.
He'd always had this poise and effortless beauty to him. Seeing him look so human, and miserable, stopped me in my tracks.
He glanced up at me, and rolled his eyes at my expression. "Jesus, I know I've seen better days, but you could at least fake your usual swoon upon seeing me. It might make me feel better."
I dumped my belongings by the door and approached him with my arms outstretched. He climbed down from the counter with a sigh, accepting my hug hungrily. He had to hunch to get his arms around me, towering over me even in sneakers.
I squeezed him tight. "You okay?"
He made a noise which was neither positive nor negative, simply fed up. "I'm... what do you always use? Peachy."
I pulled back and gave him a stern stare. "You know I use that when I'm terrible but don't want to go into details."
He patted my shoulder, in a way that made me feel my age. I didn't like the patronising nature of the gesture; I thought Zsa Zsa, Grayson, and I were closer than that. "Don't worry your pretty head. Let's just kill it tonight, okay? We have at least ten people out there excited to see us."
I made a face. I knew I'd forced him to drop topics of conversation with similar dismissive comments, but he looked so worn out. I understood why people got irritated at my throwaway jokes when I wanted to stop a conversation getting serious. I wanted to know what was going on, and he was brushing me off. "Has Peter been around?"
Zsa Zsa's automatic flinch at the name gave me all the information I needed, but he tried to play it off by turned away, sitting at the mirror, and opening a tup of moisturiser. "Yeah, he's been around. Emanuel doesn't let him past the door. I've asked Jame to leave my name off posts because it's how he's finding where I am every night, but he just bar-hops until he finds where I'm working and tries to follow me home. It's pathetic."
His voice cracked a little, hinting that pathetic was just what he'd told himself it was. Having the person you'd adored grovelling for your attention and walking away with your head held high was a hard thing to do. God knew what I'd do in his situation. It was easier to forgive and forget than walk away from someone who desperately wanted you back. Not that my virgin ass knew anything about that.
"And...?" I prompted.
He sighed listlessly. "And, it's getting to me. He's getting to me. I'm old enough to know the I'll change, I'll be better for you line is bullshit but damn it. He makes me want to believe it."
I remained silent, no advice to give. But I'd cracked the lid on Pandora's box.
"It was just so nice, you know?" he aggressively slathered moisturiser onto his cheeks. "Having someone. I'm not into hook-ups, I like knowing people. And I really thought I knew him. And every time he opens his mouth, I feel like I know him, and this one thing that he did was completely out of character and it doesn't make sense. If it was anyone but you telling me about it, I'd probably have a hard time believing them."
I swallowed, but my voice still cracked. "Why?"
"Because you're just about the most honest person I know," he dragged his fingers down his cheeks, exacerbating the bags under his eyes. "And I've known you long enough to trust your character over his."
A year. A year Zsa Zsa and I had known one another, and I'd only learnt his name a week ago. He trusted me with the intricate details of his private life, and he didn't even know my name. And he thought I was honest.
The irony physically hurt me. "Please don't."
He turned, visibly surprised. "Don't what?"
"Say stuff like that," I sat adjacent to him, tipping out my makeup bag. "That I'm honest. You're putting me on a pedestal I don't deserve."
Zsa Zsa face didn't move. He watched me fumbled through my foundation, mascara, powder, and contacts case with a completely expressionless stare.
"What are you telling me?" he finally asked, voice low and serious.
I realised that my retort might have sounded like a confession to whatever lies Peter had told him. I immediately turned around to defend myself, but I was like a deer in the headlights of Zsa Zsa's steady gaze.
I didn't like how easy it had gotten for me to lie to people.
I forwent my instincts and stuck out a hand. "I'm Miles."
Zsa Zsa blinked once, twice, looked down at my hand, and then back to me. His face broke out into a grin, a relief to be sure and he slapped my hand in an easy high-five and fist rather than shake it. I was pleased he corrected my awkward formality. Handshakes were just not us.
"Wouldn't have pegged you for a Miles," he hummed. "It's not a blonde name."
"What?" I scoffed, turning back to the mirror. The tension was shattered. "Go on. What did you think my name was?"
"I don't know. George. Alex," he clicked his fingers. "Chad."
I gaped at him. "I do not look like a Chad."
"You could totally pass for a Chad," he argued. "Besides, I'm sure you had your suspicions about my real name, and I'm sure they are equally as offensive."
I'd never really considered it. Zsa Zsa Magnifique fitted him like a glove, and any other name including Grayson didn't really fit with his illusion. Maybe he was more of a Grayson in his day to day life, working where ever he worked nine to five. Maybe his confidence was a mask, like Sephora was for me, and I didn't get to see the side of him that didn't glow with confidence.
He got back to trying to pop the pimple on the arch of his brow. I realised I was kidding myself. Zsa Zsa was just about the most honest person I knew; I'd always envied that in him.
It was good envy, though. Aspirational envy.
Don't wanna be an American, period
Don't want to live in a nation's delirium
Can't you hear the megalomania?
The blatant mind-fuck of America.
I'd put the nights set together on a whim. I dedicated it to my best friend, an emo who never got the memo that emo was dead. I imagined Aaron in the audience of twelve, head-banging awkwardly to my adjusted lyrics.
Don't wanna be an American, period
Nation controlled by a... fucking idiot.
Information Age of oblivion
Plus I don't meet American criteria
Later that night, as Zsa Zsa shook his ass to Nikki Minaj for menial tips (looking his usual picturesque self, all his exhaustion hidden under a layer of paint) I sent Aaron a text, bolder than I usually would be as Sephora's delicate hands gripped my phone.
hey. we're going out on Saturday. dress code:
I sent him a bunch of stills from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. He wasn't the biggest fan of the old movie, preferring more modern edgy content and having a particular, offensive aversion to musicals that weren't Tim Burton originals (I couldn't even get him to sit through Sweeney Todd, because he'd cracked up the second Johnny Depp started singing).
He responded quicker than I would have, if I was insisting on being mad at him.
Lauren?
I replied quicker than I would have curled up in my room; leaning against the bar with my legs out and crossed at the ankles, a tiny smirk playing at my features. At least it wasn't a direct rejection.
i'm handling it.
The ellipsis blinking on and off gave me uncharacteristic anxiety in Sephora's skin. Lyle asked if I wanted a refill and I passed him my glass wordlessly.
Sounds like you're having her terminated.
An echo of a joke. I smiled broadly.
it's the cleanest way to do things. no one's feelings get hurt.
i kid, obviously. i'll explain everything. all of it. Saturday.
I texted him the address for Crescendo, heart pounding in my throat. I typed the street incorrectly three times, my muscles seemingly overtaken by baseline survival instincts telling me I was making a dire mistake. Once it was sent, my hackles stayed raised. I watched Aaron muse over his response in ellipsis form.
I'll think about it.
It was as good as a resounding yes. I suppressed the urge to squeal and jump, knowing my heels were too high to risk anything but a slow walk. Lyle slid my new drink into my hand and I let it sweat into my hand, bobbing over to the stage to scream for Zsa Zsa, since no one else was giving him the enthusiasm he needed.
He wound up pulling me on stage. On quieter nights we could pretty much go off the fly, and I bounced on the spot and mouthed along to the rap as he danced circles around me. The tiny audience seemed to appreciate the interaction, and we made a hot seventeen dollars in tips to split.
As I was peeling out of my outfit, chatting animatedly to Zsa Zsa about Rock Horror night, my phone buzzed on the dressing room counter. I expected a message from Aaron, or even Max, but found a notification from Caleb staining my screen.
I've earned my parole. Are you free Friday?
Despite all logic, my heart skipped happily across my ribcage and I found myself typing out the affirmative before pausing. Caleb hadn't just disappointed me that morning; he'd showed himself, and he'd reconfirmed his old sentiment of not friends. He might have been perfectly sweet to me in the shadowy confines of the night, when we were alone and there was no chance of his reputation being spoiled. There was no chance of that because he knew I wouldn't tell, not after everything we'd been through. Not with everything I felt for him.
He had me wrapped around his finger and the power imbalance was starting to make me uneasy. We'd made our pact as equals. He'd shown his entire family a photograph of me in drag, and I'd barely called him out for it. My blind crush had weakened my resolves.
Yet I still leapt at the opportunity to be close to him, even after he'd made it obvious at school that he wasn't willing to change so we could have a relationship outside out night lives. I was stronger than that; I wanted to be stronger than that.
Aaron had told me he didn't want me getting hurt. Heartbreak had always been on the cards when I went up against Caleb Proust. Breaking my own in preparation would make the hit more bearable.
busy. enjoy your freedom.
I ignored the self-chastising part of my brain which reminded me that I wanted nothing more than another night with Caleb, alone, pulsing to the music and only a whisper apart from him. With all the excuses of the rowdy Friday night club to brush against him and lean over to talk directly into his ear and alcohol to justify my longing.
"Do you want me to walk out with you?" I asked Zsa Zsa as we shimmed into street clothes. He was back to looking worn down, eyes sunken back in his head. He yawned obviously.
"I'm going to ask if Jamie needs help clearing the balcony for Saturday," he muttered, shoulders hunched and his head resting on his shoulder. He bought up his knees to his chest, hugging them there. It made him look childishly timid.
I shrugged my backpack up onto my shoulder, walking over to crouch in front of him. "Is Peter out front?"
He sighed obviously and flipped his phone around to show me a barrage of messages and three missed calls.
"Jesus Christ," I groaned. "You haven't blocked him?"
He shook his head. "He's got a bunch of my stuff at his house. And he's still got a door key to my house. He keeps telling me he'll return it, but he wants me to come to his place to pick it up, and I know if I do that I'll just jump his bones."
"You've got more self-control than that," I assured him.
"No, I don't," he laughed miserably. "I feel like I could have walked in on him fucking my sister and I'd still find some way of justifying it in my head. And I know that's just stupid hormonal lust, not love but... I miss him. It would be so easy to forgive him."
I chewed my lip. Zsa Zsa looked dejected, and I couldn't help but feel responsible.
"My mum said to me – when I realised the delivery boy for our local paper was never going to love me back..." I said softly, emotion clustering in my throat as it always did when I spoke, thought, remembered her. "She said when you stop thinking they're hottest thing on earth, you start to see the shit that actually matters."
Zsa Zsa laughed again, a little lighter. "Like what?"
"That's what I asked. She said their soul."
Zsa Zsa snorted loudly.
"Yeah, yeah. She was a total hippie," I admitted, squeezing his knee. "I think she was trying to say that in two years or so, you'll look at that person and you won't see the person you fell for, you'll see the person they really were. And if it's an ugly picture, you'll be thankful you got out. Because some people will wake up one day with that lying next to them, and realise they've spent a good portion of their life with someone they don't recognise."
He placed his slender fingers over my knuckled, and tensed them around my hand. I smiled reassuringly at him.
When he spoke, his tone was Zsa Zsa's usual self-assured flippancy. "Well, may your hippie love doctor mother give me strength. I'm going to ask for my damn key back."
I shimmied my shoulders happily. "Get it, girl. And give it to a trilingual government worker with rippling abs who deserves you."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I knew it was a mistake to ignore that he was a Scorpio. I need to find myself a nice Aries to settle down with."
"Keep your standards high," I insisted. "Don't get caught in a rebound. Bounce back with someone extraordinary."
He winked at me, and simply by smiling his face seemed to light up again. He turned back into the mirror and gave himself a long hard stare, clearly psyching himself up to make necessary phone calls. I left him to converse with himself, wrapping his shoulders in a hug before leaving the club. I waved to Jamie, who was polishing the balcony banisters with one hand and nursing a whisky glass in the other.
"Saturday!" he yelled to remind me on my way out the door.
The street was cold and relatively empty. A few people lingered on the path, waiting for Ubers and supporting themselves against streetlights. I was calling myself a car when I heard someone call to me from down the road.
"You."
I turned, and wasn't surprised to see Peter approach, but it did freeze me to the spot. I had hoped that seeing him would spark some sassy comment that would show he didn't scare me, but the way he lumbered towards me reminded me so blatantly of Aidan that my tongue turned to caramel, slicking behind my teeth.
He was moving quickly enough that I wasn't sure he'd stop until we were chest to chest. His size might have been alluring to Zsa Zsa, but the thickness of his arms and broadness of his shoulders only made me think of how much stronger he was than me. How easily it would be for him to knock me down if I spoke out of line.
I was saved from having to choose between fight or flight by the swinging of the door, and an equally hulking man stepping out into the street, stepping through Peter's beeline to me and stopping the man in his tracks. Emanuel folded his arms and stared down Peter as if his eyes were the barrel of a gun.
"I told you to go home," Emanuel barked, utilising a pitch and volume he only ever used professionally. His size was what made him so effective in his position, but I'd thankfully never been on the receiving end of his intimidation act. He was sweet ninety-nine percent of the time, so when he turned it on you knew he was pissed.
I released the tension I hadn't realised I'd been holding through my shoulders, confident that I was safe behind Emanuel's body shield.
"I just want to talk," Peter sounded irate. He'd obviously built up an antagonistic relationship with Emanuel during his time camped outside Crescendo. He craned his neck to meet my eye. "I'm not mad, I just want to talk."
I hated how he sounded like he was reassuring me when he said I'm not mad. "I have nothing to say to you."
"I get it, it looked bad," he continued. "But... look we don't know each other. You don't know me. I would have never cheated on him. That's not the kind of person I am, I'm good for him and I love him..."
"Go. Home," Emanuel boomed. "Or I'll call the police."
"For what?" Peter demanded. "For talking?"
"For harassing people," Emanuel didn't miss a beat.
"Jesus," he actually rolled his eyes. "I'm not harassing anyone. I just wanted to explain myself. You've got me wrong, and I get why you told Grayson what you told him, but you've got it wrong. I think you owe it me to tell him what really happened."
"I told him exactly what happened," I protested, taking a step back despite Emanuel's defence of me.
"You told him you saw me flirting. Trying to sleep with someone. You should have told him you saw me talking to someone, and that you didn't know what was going on because you didn't," Peter raised his voice. His jugular vein pulsed beneath his lotus tattoo. "You implied something that you had no right to."
"I just told him exactly what I saw," I retorted.
He took a heated step forward, and Emanuel put up his hands. He easily took Peter by the shoulders and shoved him back, nearly toppling him over the curb. Peter glowered at us both after righting himself, jaw clenched so hard it seemed like he might break his teeth.
"Please," he changed tactics on a dime, and it unnerved me how quickly he could go from predator vision to puppy dog eyes. "Just tell him I need to see him. Tell him I still love him."
"He's got your messages," I told him, stomach slowly unknotting itself. "Now leave him alone."
Peter looked like he wanted to say more, but Emanuel cut him off.
"You leave us all alone. Find yourself another watering hole," he said gruffly. "You're not achieving anything out here. He already left through the back."
Peter jerked upright, cursed under his breath and jogged off down the block. I released whatever tension was left in my body, uncoiling into relaxed pose, and rocking back on my heels.
Emanuel turned around, eyes slowly filling with concern. "You alright, Seph?"
I nodded assuredly. "Thanks so much."
"The guys a jackass," Emanuel snorted. "You got a ride home?"
I nodded again. "Will Zsa be alright? Peter's been trying to follow him home."
"Oh, Zsa's still inside," Emanuel assured me with a smirk. "I just thought he deserved a night of peace. He's just waiting for his Uber. Speak of the devil..."
I glanced over my shoulder and saw my car pulling up. I let Emanuel engulf me in a bear hug, before escaping the night into the back seat of my Uber. The drive was thankfully quiet.
It was the early hours of the morning when I arrived home, the car pulling up behind Reece's returned pickup truck. The porch light was on. Reece never left the porch light on for me, so it was indicative that he hadn't gone to bed.
I padded over the porch, pushed quietly through the door, and prepared myself for a lecture. But the house was quiet. I was right in assuming Reece hadn't gone to bed, but he was asleep in the armchair in the living room. He'd turned it around, so it faced the door, which almost made me laugh under my breath despite everything. He'd obviously planned a far more dramatic confrontation, but 3am was clearly a bit late for a work night.
Reece's head hung to the side, mouth hanging open and breathing shallowly. He didn't look particularly comfortable, splayed out in the cushions, but he was obviously dead to the world. I considered by passing him to get to my bedroom, but in the interest of his chiropractic heath – if he threw out his back from sleeping upright and couldn't work, I would no doubt be to blame – I nudged him awake on my way up the stairs.
He awoke with a groan, scrubbing his face with one knobby hand. His fingers were slightly yellowed from tobacco.
"Miles?" he sighed, as if it could be anyone else.
"Just headed to bed," I told him, stepping up. "School night."
"Where were you?"
Reece was less imposing when he was visibly exhausted.
"Just out," I told him, taking another few steps up to my room.
"You missed..." he cleared his throat of sleep-induced phlegm. "You weren't at school this afternoon. One of your teachers called. Ms. Hassan."
I felt my lungs shrink, and my throat constricted. Alba had assured me that Reece would know nothing about her and our sessions. Knowing she'd phoned my home filled me with the hot flush of betrayal. "What'd she say?"
"Not much. Just wanted to know why you missed her class," he rubbed his eyes, staggering to standing. "I thought we were done with ditching school."
We. I hated that. As if he'd had any influence on my decision to stop missing my classes.
"I had to retake a biology test. I missed her class because it ran late," I lied. "I'll sort it out tomorrow."
He yawned again, into his fist.
"Can I go to bed?" I asked impatiently.
"We're talking about this tomorrow."
"Sure, Reece."
He looked like he was about to blow his top at my tone but caught himself at last minute. He gave me permission to leave with a wave of his hand, and I graciously took it. I shut my door, threw my backpack into hiding in the closet and collapsed onto my bed.
The ceiling seemed to have more cracks than usual.
Sleep came gradually, and then all at once. That night, I had dreams inspired by Rocky Horror, with Tim Curry strutting across a field of sheep, and red Marilyn lips making obscene noises against a black background, and Caleb Proust in gold spandex shorts.
It wasn't worthy of analysis. But it did remind me that Crescendo wasn't going to be safe for him of Saturday. When I woke up the next morning, I texted him carefully.
i'm performing @ crescendo this Saturday. probably best you don't come.
He didn't respond. It told me my message had been received loud and clear.