All Note Long (25 page)

“I better get these kids inside.” Lucky's mom started shooing kids through the sliding glass door.

“I'll help start rounding stuff up. We should probably head out soon.” Bernita was only too quick to join his mom.

Both were gathering up the kids way faster than they would have had Rico and Jeanne been the ones getting cutesy. Lucky would have to call them on it later. Wasn't like Lucky was about to start making out with Michelin in front of his family, but he also wasn't about to start watching his hands and his words. But whatever, this was the first time he'd brought a real boyfriend around. He'd educate them later.

Even if them running from potential gay PDA was a bit over the top, Lucky didn't mind his first real chance to be alone with Michelin all day. He tugged him closer, although it was a bit like moving cement blocks.

“Come on.” He sat up enough to kiss Michelin's neck. “It's just us out here now, and I'm not going to let them scare me out of cuddling you.”

“Okay, okay.” Michelin relaxed about two millimeters. “Just so we're clear, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to let myself hang on you when I take you back home.”

“When, huh?” Lucky liked the sound of that, even if meant Michelin being less physical.

“Yeah,
when.
I'm fixin' on keeping you a good long while.”

“So you liked it here enough to come back?” Lucky tried not to sound like some needy kid, but this was the first time he'd brought someone he was serious about to meet the family. With all the time Lucky spent around his family, he needed whomever he was with to be okay with that and like coming around.

“Oh yeah. In fact . . .” Michelin shifted a bit. “I liked your cousin's band. But his guitar is for shit. I figured, though, I better ask you before I go offering to hook him up with something better.”

“You figured right.” A warm feeling spread through Lucky. Michelin was starting to get it. “Make him work a bit for it. You got a gig coming up where you can use an extra roadie? Need the pool area's landscaping touched up? He's good at that. Give him a job to do, then pay him in music stuff.”

“I can do that.” Michelin toyed with Lucky's hand a bit. “Rico's playing needs more practice, but your cousin Enrique, his voice is really distinctive. I'd like helping them.”

“Yeah, they're great guys.”

“Will you miss your family a lot if you get the Vegas gig?” Michelin asked, voice deceptively casual.

“Not going to be a Vegas gig, probably.” Lucky groaned. He'd been avoiding telling Michelin the whole story, but he couldn't put it off forever. “I didn't end up making the video with Steve.”

“No?” If Michelin felt relief, he did a pretty good job of hiding it.

“Turned out to be a bunch of homophobic BS. I didn't want my name associated with that.” He briefly filled Michelin in on the events of the taping, including Steve's stupid “big reveal” plan.

“Good for you.” Michelin rubbed his shoulder. “But just so as we're clear, I didn't have any place telling you what gigs you could take. Even if you would have done the gig, I'd deal.”

“I didn't turn it down for you.”

“No.”

“I did it for
me.
And you were right. I'm worth gigs that make me feel good about me. I shouldn't have to take gigs that make me sick inside.”

“And the Vegas gig would make you feel good?”

“Beyond good.” Lucky groaned. “But now I have to decide how to make it still happen, in a hurry.”

Michelin's stroking of Lucky's hand turned into a more deliberate massage. He studied the textured concrete patio. “Is there any universe where you'd let me help you?”

Lucky had been thinking more about swallowing his pride and asking his parents for help. But if he stayed with Michelin, if they made this thing work, this issue was going to come up again and again. He thought for several minutes, and Michelin didn't prod him, instead giving him his space to work through this. That helped.

“Yes,” he said finally, willing his voice not to shake. “But I want to write everything down. A
loan.
Not a gift. And a reasonable schedule for me to repay you for anything involving cash.”

“But you'll let me use my connections? That's going to lower the price, and that's just a fact. I can call in some favors, if you'll let me.”

If you'll let me.
Michelin wasn't insisting on doing it his way and seemed to get that even asking him for this much help was a huge deal for Lucky.

“You can call in your favors.” God, it cost him to let Michelin do that, but he knew that it was the right thing to do—to find a balance between being independent and accepting help. “But I'm serious about any money being a loan. I want it all written down, formal like.”

“I'll have my business guy keep all the receipts and draw up some papers. Would that be good enough?”

“Yeah.” Lucky nodded. “I can live with that. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Michelin gave him the same dopey grin he'd given him when he'd been with the kids.

“And you're going to be okay with the dancing? I mean, I'm hoping I don't have to dance go-go much longer, but so much depends on the next few weeks. But if you
really
can't stand it—”

“I can live with the go-go dancing.” Michelin squeezed his hand. “Not that I'm not rooting for bigger and better things for you, but that's because you deserve success. You deserve your dreams to come true, and I want that for you.”

“Gloria and the label are going to have kittens if you insist on keeping your go-go boy toy around. Just warning you.”

“I think the piss-off-the-label ship sailed last night when I did the benefit. And I'm done listening to other people where you're concerned. I want you by my side. Go-go dancer, star of a revue, whatever your profession. I don't care. I just want you.”

“I'm going to kiss you now,” Lucky warned. “I don't care who might be looking. You can't make a speech like that and expect I'm not going to kiss you.”

“I'm bracing myself.” Michelin laughed and leaned in.

Lucky gave himself over to the kiss, poured all the love he still had trouble saying out loud into it. And maybe Michelin would sing a different tune if shit hit the fan with the label, but right now, this was damn near the perfect moment.

“I
have bad news.” Gloria's clipped tones didn't allow for niceties like greetings.

“Yeah?” Michelin should have known better than to answer his phone. He was in his master bedroom's study area, watching as his pool area got transformed into a video set. As promised, he'd called in some favors with some production folks and, working together, they'd come up with the idea of filming here rather than trying to rent somewhere, further reducing Lucky's costs. Once the crew arrived, though, Lucky had shooed him upstairs, saying he needed to be able to concentrate.

He hadn't heard from the label or Gloria since the weekend, and today was Wednesday. The way he figured it, he was well overdue for a chewing out from her. But this time, he was prepared to stand his ground.

“I'm being removed as your publicist.”

“What?” That Michelin hadn't been prepared for. “They're firing you because I did the benefit concert? You did tell them I didn't even tell you I was going, right?”

“Oh, they're not firing me. Not that they don't
want
to.” Gloria gave a brittle laugh. “But I think they're worried you might cause some backlash if they did—”

“Hell yes, I would.” Michelin and Gloria didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things, but no way did he want the woman losing her job on his account.

“But I'm being reassigned. There's a couple of young guys with debuts coming out soon. Clean-cut, straight-arrow types, highly marketable.” She sighed. “You know the drill. The label wants to see them on the top of the charts.”

“Emphasis on
straight,
am I right?” Michelin didn't know why he was pissed. It wasn't like he couldn't afford to hire his own damn PR.

“The label has to put its resources to what it sees as a high likelihood of commercial success. It's nothing personal.” She sounded like she hadn't slept in a week.

“Except it is.” Michelin felt bad for her, but he still was pissed at the big brass at the label. “What does this mean for future albums, do you think? They gonna bother to promote me at all?”

“They're not yanking the summer tour, but they're also not pushing it hard. Off the record . . .” Gloria said, words as careful as if she were dodging puddles in one of her white pantsuits. “I'd get a new label for your next album. Go smaller if you have to. The label's lost faith in your marketability, but your audience
is
out there. In fact, you've got a ton of new crossover fans. Play to them.”

This was what he'd wanted to avoid all along—being pigeonholed into a niche market, but now that it was reality, he felt strangely free. He'd sing to the people who wanted to hear, whomever that ended up being. Country fans, gay fans, straight fans, small-town folk or big-city dwellers. He'd go where the audience was.

“I'll do that. So the label's going to let the shock jocks and Big Mart win?” He shook his head. That was the part that didn't sit well with him at all. He wanted there to be some big concrete victory to pin his hat on.

“I'm sorry, Michelin. I wish things were different,” she said sadly. “But these small-town stations . . . we can't force them to change.”

“Nope.” His sigh was almost heavy enough to rattle the windowpanes. Below him, Lucky was warming up, joking with the camera crew. Maybe it was enough that
he
had changed, that he wasn't the same singer now. And with all the pressure being put on the stations and Big Mart, he had to believe that someday change would come. They couldn't resist the direction the rest of the country was moving forever. And until then, he and Ruby and the other singers on the fringe of mainstream country would have to keep the pressure up. And for the first time, he was willing to take on that role.

“I like you, Michelin. I really do.” Gloria sounded more than a bit wistful. “I've got twenty years in with the label or I'd go rogue myself, keep on working for you. But I've got my eye on some younger PR wizards. I'm going to help you find someone.”

“Hey now, we both know I've been a major pain in your backside. You'll be happy to see the last of me.” Michelin kept his tone light.

“Not hardly. And I want to hear how you and Lucky get on. I'm being relocated back to Nashville—you look me up next time you're in town.”

“Will do.” Michelin exchanged platitudes with her for another few minutes—the sorts of things one said to feel better about the inevitable. The call ended with promises to keep in touch, but instead of feeling down, Michelin found himself overwhelmed with relief. Everything he'd feared had come true—total media circus, loss of fans, backlash from radio stations, label quietly removing support—but now he knew where he stood. Now he was free to define his own career, his own music again.

Down by the pool, Lucky had started his routine. Pride, swift and unfamiliar, surged through Michelin, made him smile like an idiot, made his toe tap to some invisible beat. Maybe the worst had happened, but the best had also happened, and Michelin wasn't trading that for anything.

* * *

Lucky got his video in right at the deadline, then proceeded to spend the next three weeks as jumpy as if he were on a steady diet of uppers and coffee. Finally, his phone rang right as he was packing his bags for a trip to Nashville for a music award show with Michelin. Michelin's new stylist, a lovely chick named Judith who doubled as a personal shopper same as Jennifer had, was in charge of getting their tuxes ready, but Lucky still preferred to choose and pack his own casual wear.

Buzz.
The phone rang a second time. Lucky about dropped it when he saw that it was his agent. She'd been decidedly cool toward Lucky ever since he'd walked out of the Steve Brewer video, but hadn't fired him as a client. Yet.

“How picky are you feeling these days?” She opened with the sort of shot Lucky had been expecting.

“Not very,” Lucky said cautiously. Truth was, his bank account was back at dangerous levels due to not getting very many shifts from Carlos at the club and the last few auditions he'd gone on not panning out.

“Remember that underwear gig that you almost got last year, and then they passed you over at the last minute?”

“How could I forget?” He'd been
this
close to being able to quit the club, then the deal had fallen through and they'd gone with another model-slash-dancer.

“Well, Gavin Luther has had a change of heart. They'd like to sign you to a two-year contract as a Platinum Boy for a print and video campaign.”

“Holy crap.
Yes. Yes.”
He put down the shirts he was folding and did a little dance around the room.

“Of course, I told them that they'd have to work around your schedule.”

“I'm pretty open, actually. I'll be in Nashville for a few days, but then back.”

“That's good, because this isn't my only piece of news for you. You'll be working the underwear campaign in around your new schedule for the Vegas revue.”

“I won?” His happy dance turned into a full-on boogie. Michelin came to the door of the room, and still Lucky couldn't stop dancing.

“You did indeed. I'm emailing contracts and information about both gigs now. Looks like you won't be hurting for cash for a bit. If you don't back out, that is.”

“I won't.” Even as he promised that, Lucky looked over at Michelin, who was watching him dance like a fool, and wondered if he was doing the right thing. Could their relationship survive his success?

Soon as he hung up with the agent, Michelin swept him up in a huge hug. “Did you get it? Did you?”

“I did.” Lucky filled him in on the details about the underwear modeling, too.

“That's amazing.” Michelin tumbled him sideways onto the bed. “I'm so damn proud of you.”

“Are you going to be okay? Both gigs are me wearing little clothing—”

“This means your collection of colorful drawers is about to grow. I'm not complaining.” Michelin leered at him.

“Be serious for a second. I'm about to be in ads in all sorts of gay publications and men's magazines. Are you going to be okay with that? And with me being in Vegas? How are we going to cope?”

“Slow down.” Michelin gave him a long kiss, one that steadied his nerves a bit. “Am I crazy about sharing your gorgeous body with the world? Not necessarily, but you've got a gift, Lucky. You really do. You keep telling me how I deserve happiness. Well, you deserve success. You really do. I'm not going to be some jealous idiot and stand in your way.”

“And the long distance thing?”

“Well . . . I've been thinkin' on that a lot. I had a feeling you might get this gig.” Michelin looked away, suddenly sheepish.

“And?” Lucky prodded his ribs.

“You'd probably be opposed to me buying a place in Vegas that you could stay in—”

“Yup.” It was still a bit soon for that. He might be okay with Michelin paying for certain things, but no way was Michelin buying him a condo or any such nonsense.

“So I think what you should do is find a place you can afford. One that's cool with dogs visiting overnight if you can. And since I plan to be there every chance I get, maybe at some future point, you'll let me start paying half.”

“Every chance you get, huh?”

“I've got the tour and other gigs, but other than that, I can pretty much work anywhere. Vegas is as good as any place.”

“But your home is here.”

“No, my home is where
you
are.” Michelin kissed him sweetly. “Until you decide you've had enough of my sorry tail, my home is with you. Sure, I love it here. And eastern Oregon will always have a part of me. Love my Nashville place, too. And maybe you'll work on letting me help you with plane tickets to visit me here and there, but if not, I'm cool with coming to you.”

“I'm not getting sick of you.” Lucky buried his face in Michelin's neck. “And yeah, we'll work up to you paying rent and plane tickets. But I'll be coming back to L.A. on my own plenty, too. My mom wouldn't let me stay away. I meant what I said when we got back together—I want to make this work with you. I love you. You're my home, too.”

They kissed for a long time, tongues tangling, lips seeking something more than simply physical solace. Their bodies were making promises their tongues weren't quite ready to speak aloud.

Finally, when they broke away, only one doubt remained in Lucky's head. “You know the gossip columns are already going to have a field day with me walking the red carpet with you this weekend. You sure you want to deal with what they're going to say about me being an underwear model?”

Michelin laughed. “Oh, I'm not scared of a little gossip. Not even a bit. As long as I'm with you, they can't hurt me.”

And then he kissed Lucky, banishing the last of those doubts, replacing it with hope, potent and true.