Chapter 7: Don't Follow Me
The diner is mostly empty apart from the crew this early in the morning. I enter the small establishment after everyone's already ordered and settled down. I took forever to wake up when the bus came to a stop. We've refuelled the bus and now need to refuel ourselves, and I rub the residues of sleep out of my system as I head for the booth with Pete.
I've told my bandmates that the thing with Brendon and me is over, but that doesn't mean Joe wants to be friends or that he isn't thinking I'm a fag. Brent still looks murderous at the sight of me, and Spencer probably thinks he did the right thing and saved me from the perils of mind-blowing sex. Sure, because that's really what the problem was.
Pete doesn't judge as he just wants things to work. He's pleased with me right now, so I end up sitting across my sworn nemesis since he's probably the only person who'll have me.
"We ordered for you already," Pete says as he sips his coffee, reading a newspaper that's at least a week old. I nod tiredly and look around the diner, seeing Brendon and William in a booth by themselves across the room, talking and laughing as they smoke cigarettes. Spencer's by the phones, receiver pressed to his ear.
"Who's he talking to?"
"Haley," Pete notes, voice professionally neutral. "Must be easier for him now that he doesn't have to sneak around so much."
"True."
"You've got four interviews before lunch today."
I instantly feel a headache coming on. "Great..."
"That's what I like to hear!" he says, completely ignoring my blatant sarcasm. He then looks around to make sure we are alone as he lowers his voice. "Listen, I was talking to Joe, and he seems to have calmed down a little. I don't think he thought you and Brendon had actually put a stop to that nonsense though you said you had, but then we all saw Brendon leaving with that kid last night, and that's not the first time recently, so..."
"Yeah, I saw them leave too," I say, which is true. I did. Not the blond kid; that was the night before. Last night it was a black-haired kid, devilishly handsome with broad shoulders. Not in a million years would I have guessed that he swung that way, but he did. It's funny, really. Before I met Brendon, I didn't know a single gay man. This summer, I've seen more than I fathomed there was in the country. Queers always find each other in crowds, exchange looks, signal each other somehow. When Brendon wants to fuck, he will find that one gay guy within a hundred miles and do him. "Whatever," I tell Pete. "I really don't care what he does. I'm not fucking him anymore."
"I know you're not. But hey, I can still fire him if you want me to."
He means it, and the suggestion feels like a punch to my guts. "We're almost done with the tour so I don't see any need for that."
"Just saying," he replies and, after a pause, adds, "You did the right thing, you know." I hear the smile in his voice like he actually thinks everything's working out now.
"I know."
Spencer joins us in the reject booth shortly after. "How are things back home?" I force myself to ask. He probably thinks it's sarcasm, me referring to his disaster of a union as 'home' and, really, it is sarcasm, but he seems touched that I asked in any case.
"Apparently Suzie's growing loads," he says, sounding proud again. Suzie's a baby. She cries, sleeps, sucks nipples and shits her pants. Is that anything to be proud of? "Haley's coming to LA for the birthday party Pete's been organising. Her mother will look after Suzie. It'll be good for her, getting a break."
