Confounded: Part III - 22. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14 --==Mitchell’s POV==--

“Whacha doin’?”

I’d just gotten into bed, it was late Thursday evening, just before midnight.

“Who’s this?” I asked, sniggering. “How’d you get my number?”

“Oh ha, ha, ha,” Tom chuckled, and I could imagine him rolling his eyes. He should be at the airport by now. “About to board.”
He sounded tired.

He’d flown to London on Tuesday in the mid-afternoon, landing at 10am local. From then on, my phone had been on the receiving end of a metric ton of messages and calls, keeping me apprised of his day. I hadn’t asked him to do that, but I definitely wasn’t complaining! Quite the opposite.

**********

It kinda began right away, as I drove off at noon on Tuesday. I hadn’t even left the driveway yet or my phone rang and we continued talking while he packed his bags, sometimes with my help; don’t forget this, don’t forget that. It felt nice to be included, something he seemed to want to also do. Well, he also hadn’t wanted to say goodbye, chiding himself for accepting the ‘gig’ as he called it.

“I so wish I hadn’t accepted this gig,” he said, sighing. “I don’t wanna go. Maybe you should turn around. Take the first exit, then come back here.”

“Don’t be silly; it’s your job. Gotta pay the bills. You still want that place in Big Bear, right? Well, this pays for it.”
He huffed at that.

“You could buy it for me, Mr. Moneybags.”
Ha!

“Sure. Do I get a key?”

“Hell no! My hideout.”

“Then no can do, Mister. This ATM stays closed. Word to the wise; if you want something, you should give something in return.”

“I gave you my virginity? Four times, as I recall?”
I snorted. He gave me no such thing. And it was five, thank you, counting the interuptus.
“Hey! It felt new to me! Everything we did was new for us both. RIght? Come on. No? You’re not gonna go for it, are ya?”

“Keep trying?” I returned, chuckling.
He was an ass.

Seriously, he was. Tom always seemed to go for exaggeration but…there was usually a grain of something there he was trying to convey. Not really subtle but I caught on to his ‘style’ of conversing pretty quick.

“Fine, you can have a key.”

“Oh, thank you so much. I foot the bills, you put out?”

“Hey, it works?”

“There’s a word for that,” I sniggered.

“Yeah, relationship.”
My eyes flicked to the phone. It wasn’t a videocall but…
“Oooh, I said the R word. Woops.”
Idiot. We hadn't really settled on a term for this, yet.

“You may call it whatever you wish.”
It didn’t sound wrong to me. Sounded fine to me, actually.

“Sooo…I can tell John?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you Richard Gere’d my Julia Roberts?”

“That I WHAT!?”
He chuckled when I began to laugh.

“John knows me. He’ll know something is up as soon as he claps his eyes on me, tomorrow. Can I tell him about you?”
Ahhh…

“I have no problem with that. Wait…what are you gonna tell him?”

“Yeah, too late, man. You sure you’re a big-time CEO with mad negotiating skills? Because I’m not really feeling that right now; you gave in like this.”
In the background I heard him snap his fingers. I chuckled. Ass! Again!
“I’ll just tell him I met this incredible, amazing hot fuckwand and that we’re on the road to a white picket fence, 2.3 cats and a Volvo.”
He would not.

“You know what? You tell him whatever you want. Just be ready to put your money where your mouth is.”
His turn to chuckle as I called his bluff.

“Oh, you have no idea, do you? Alright, let me paint you a picture; I tell him this and he’ll wanna be your manager in two seconds flat.”

“Why?”

“W-why? Hey! Dude, I’m a star, man. Get with the program.”

“So? You still go to a toilet and stink it up, just like anyone of us.”
It was silent at first; then he roared at that answer.

“Nice! Oh god, I love it, that’s so true!”

“Both feet on the ground, pleb,” I chuckled, “and I can take care of myself just fine, thank you.”

"Yes sir!” He chuckled as well. “Alright, kidding aside; you’re fine with me telling him? I'm horrible with secrets, anyway. Can't keep my trap shut.”
Nope, he couldn't. His mind worked at top speed and things flew out of his mouth at the thought.

“Yes, I’m fine with that. I’m here, with you…” I answered, reiterating what we spoke about on Sunday.

“If you were here with me, we wouldn’t be talking…”
Grrr….

“Tom!”

“Sorry. Sorry! Dammit, I heard you. Thanks.”
Ass! Learn, young man….learn.

‘And?”

“And I’m here with you.”
No pause on that answer.

“Good answer. Now; you done packing?”

“Almost. Just need to pack the condoms…”

“You leave those exactly where we left them,” I warned.

“Fine, I can just buy em,” he quipped back.
Really, he was such an ass! ASS!

When I returned home, Tom just about left for the airport and we continued our conversation, right up to when he got to the gate, to embark on the flight. And then I was alone.

But I didn’t feel alone. Nor was I, not really.

Throughout the flight, he kept texting, even sending me a picture of the food. Then of himself, smirking at the camera, and a selfie midair, when a fan recognized him and they made a picture together. Then, when they hit the east coast of the US, he prepared for sleep and signed off. For me, it was around 8pm. I made dinner (alright, I ordered in), did some things around the house, smoked a cigarette (pilfered from Tom when he wasn’t looking), then got ready for bed.

The next morning, I woke up to a few messages from him, having landed safely and on his way to the recording studio. Then a picture of the entrance to Abbey Road (with a text saying ‘send it to your dad!’, and another with him and the producer, a bank of buttons and whatnot behind them, waiting for the other artist to arrive.

By then it was 10am and the gate rang; the guys from the electronics store arrived, to scope out the kitchen, see where they could put up a TV. From there, I got swept away with that, hearing texts arriving on my phone but ignoring them because apparently, my current system was completely out of date. The TV in the living room wasn’t up to snuff, the audio system needed updating; I ended up letting them do a whole inventory of my home and taking their suggestions to upgrade, agreeing to quite a big job of upgrading to a new sound system, all-round new hardware, everywhere. Apparently I can shower with music now, at the push of a button on my phone and all wireless.

When I told Tom about it, when I finally got around to answering his texts after they left, he seemed celebratory, welcoming me to the 2020’s. Oh, ha ha, ha.
But it felt good to change things. I’d let things slip for far too long and that was on me. I told him as such; I got a kiss-smiley in return, with a message saying ‘change is good!”. Then he sent a picture of him and John (a large, bald headed man, covered in tattoos), with their feet up on a bank of dials, sliders and whatnot, waving at the camera and bored expressions on their faces.

They were waiting because apparently the recording session had hit a snag when the singer they'd be working with had gotten stuck in Germany, having to stay there overnight. Then another booking had prevented them from using the studio in the morning, so they’d had to wait until all that was resolved. Late in the afternoon, well, his afternoon, they had finally gotten to work, finishing not too long ago, recording deep into the night.

**********

There was an eight hour time difference with London; it was about 8am in the morning over there and he had a long flight ahead of him, landing here around noon, tomorrow. He yawned audibly.

“I hope you can sleep on the flight,” I chuckled.

“That’s what drugs are for,” he quipped, “and booze.”

“Don’t be an ass,” I growled.
He was riling me up, I knew it too.

Tom didn’t do drugs, he’d assured me. Never even smoked weed, something I have done myself. Over three decades ago, sure, but I did. To prove it, he explained certain things to me, like how dependency on that worked (he’d seen it in colleagues) and had John, his manager and self-described best friend, actually send an email, pledging a solemn oath that his pupil did not touch drugs. Beyond the call and it was nice to actually receive an email from the man who had meant, and still meant, so much to Tom. In a postscript attached he told me that he was looking forward to meeting "the incredible, amazing, hot fuckwand”. Right. So don’t call Tom’s bluff, he’d actually do it. I blushed, I think, when I read those words.

“Hey, I’m a rockstar; I have a reputation to uphold.”
Pffft! He had no such reputation.

If anything, he was known to be very kind to his fans, and rather shy. All day yesterday and the day before, I’d listened to his songs and they were definitely in the rock spectrum, with clever lyrics. At times it was quite dark and his earlier material was definitely angsty en certainly moody. His music contained lots of synthesizers, drums that made you think of a freight train, relentlessly thumping, coming at you. His lyrics detailed fire, metal, buildings, machines, mist, hail, ice, cars, guns & bullets. Holy hell!

To be completely honest, overall? It wasn’t my kind of music. Far too dark and moody, making me fear for the future of mankind. Yikes! But apparently it spoke to masses of people. There were lots of fan videos to find (and I watched many). I watched him creep forward through clouds of dry ice, bare chested or with just a leather jacket on (plus leather pants with appropriate bling, chains and such), rasping into the microphone like the world was ending and the audience singing along with him, soaking it all up, his guitarist (Jet) beside him in similar clothing, displayed on some sort of wind machine, hair flying, legs spread wide and looking like rock gods. It made me chuckle. Too dramatic. But, a pretty good show! Good sound and theatrical.

Yet some of his songs were pure gems. Those were mostly ballads and I listened to several on repeat. I knew at least two of them by heart now. His voice was haunting with one instrument. He had a song, a Manilow cover, with just his voice and a violin. It gave me the chills, with a timbre that went right through you. Apparently he’d recorded it for a fan who was dying, using her name (Mandy) in the lyrics. I listened to it for hours on repeat, finding it a rather emotional experience. Another with just his voice and a piano had me shedding a tear the first time I heard it, a song called Darkness. It was about the second World War and apparently he wrote and recorded it in one go, right after watching a documentary about the emergence of the Nazi’s. It was at once a horrible song (for its lyrics) and a beautifully raw, powerful account that warned against populism. He’d played the piano himself and John was reported to have caught it, as a one off, never meant to be released. It was a fan-favorite and apparently he rarely performed it live, finding it too difficult. There were no videos of him singing it live and if any were in existence, fans were asking for a bootleg of it.

Finding his official video’s online, they were all in black and white and none featured him. I also landed on his Wikipedia page, which listed his albums (some ten), chart positions and sales figures. My eyebrows certainly had gone up a few times. Wow. He did quite well in Europe.

The only pictures that were on there were of him with different colored sunglasses while performing. One from a distance on a street somewhere, wearing regular sunglasses. None were shown without and his outfits, when performing, generally consisted of no shirt, variations of colorful leather vests (white/red and blue, black jeans, shiny belt buckles, chains and always surrounded by steam or dry ice. Sometimes all I could see was a shadow, moving in the haze on stage. It was a bit menacing.

I found out that there was a stereotype concerning gothic fans. Apparently they mostly dressed in black, wore makeup (white face paint seemed to be a thing) and a dramatic dress code. They might feel quite at home in a haunted mansion. When I told him that, during one of our phone conversations, he laughed and agreed.

“But they’re the best sort of fans. Very loyal, a lot of them travel together and you see many of them at different shows, all over. It’s a sort of lifestyle for them. Some go to almost all festivals, the entire season.”

I did look at the crowds at his concerts and yes, some were that; overall though, they seemed to be a mixed bunch. And they sang along, loudly, with every song. Tom would sometimes stop singing and hold the microphone standard out to the public.

“Why do you never take the microphone off the standard?” I asked him. It would be easier to move on stage.

“Because it just looks cool, swinging that thing around,” he chuckled.

He had no known personal social media presence, like Twitter or Instagram, other than an official presence listing tour dates and appearances. All over, his relationship status was believed to be single but because his last album had been dedicated to one “Silver”, it was thought he might have a relationship now. He was known to be gay, having said that in an early interview when his career took off.

I laughed out loud when I read that bit about Silver. Ridiculous. That was too funny!

There was also plenty of commentary on his physique with lots of objectifying going on; rather offensive at times, I read one or two before closing that. Yuck.

As said, among his fans he was known to be very kind, evasive in general but always willing to pose for a picture or sign autographs if you could catch him. Oh, and apparently on meet & greets he gave them a hug and a thank you. There was a link to his touring page. It revealed the latest dates where he’d perform (I wrote at least ten of those down, in the coming two months), featured his last album prominently, had a merchandise section, discography and a small biography with generic information.

And nowhere was there any mention of drugs or drunken behavior.

“Ahuh. Rockstar my ass; take your green tea and a vitamin pill. Both feet on the ground, crooner,” I laughed.

“Consider them firmly planted on the floor,” he chuckled in turn, “asshole. You still picking me up tomorrow?”
Absolutely!

This week had been very strange for me. I’d rarely looked forward to calls or messages before I met him, but now I found myself checking my phone far more times than I usually did, to make sure it was charged or I hadn’t missed any of the above. And when it rang, or beeped/buzzed, my heart rate went up just that little bit, and caught myself smiling stupidly when I saw his name scroll across my screen.

How old was I again? Seriously. But I enjoyed it and couldn’t wait to see him again.