“Right.”
“Along with it being plain fun because buying shit just can be sometimes.”
I smile. “Okay then. I didn’t ask for it…doesn’t mean I’m not going to use it.”
And Nash grins. “That’s my girl.”
Sound techs and other assorted people started arriving at the house earlier to install the recording studio on the bottom floor. They’re fitting the rooms with sound-absorbent paneling and changing out the glass to something that performs a similar job. With so many people coming and going, I was able to slip past the paparazzo in his car across the street, and head to the grocery store. And the baseball cap and loose button-up shirt over the top of my tank helped to hide my identity.
We may still be persona non grata in town. However, I had to get out and stretch my legs and breathe the fresh air. I have of course locked my social media accounts. Though it hasn’tstopped the media. There’s an article online featuring photos from various friends’ accounts over the years. Including some shots from school and college. And then there are the anecdotes and opinions from acquaintances and old friends.
Given there’s nothing I can do about it, I am doing my best to ignore it. Which is obviously not going great so far. But onwards and upwards and all that shit.
What Nash and I both need right now is a taste of normal. Along with something to take our minds off the media interest. So I am going to cook us lunch. We shouldn’t be relying solely on Grandma to keep us fed. She’s busy enough with her groups and Charlie. And we are supposed to be adults. Also, the food delivery options in town are limited.
Nash’s baseball cap is pulled down low on my brow. It’s summer so we’re having salmon and pea risotto with whatever gourmet ice cream catches my eye. And hey, at least now I can buy a bottle of wine without any fake pregnancy guilt. Of course, what any good risotto really needs is bucketloads of parmesan cheese and fresh lemon juice.
I’m busy throwing lemons into my market bag when I hear a voice say, “Aaron Porter? That’s his name?”
And I freeze.
“Yeah,” says a nearby stranger. He’s about middle-aged and medium height with white skin and a shaved head. And he’s talking to someone standing next to a display of watermelons. “The singer. He’s famous. You must have heard of him.”
“And you think he’s in our town?” Amy from the yarn store stares at the stranger in confusion from behind her cart. Then she turns to another local. “Mac, have you heard of some guy named Aaron? He’s a star or something.”
“He’s big in folk and rock circles,” adds the stranger. Who absolutely has to be a reporter.
Mac the mechanic mulls over the question while carefully selecting corncobs. “I don’t remember anyone called Aaron.”
“You sure about that?” asks the stranger. “I’m willing to pay for information about what he’s been doing here in town. Photos were taken of him on Main Street just a day or two ago.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looked like him?” Amy leans on her cart. “I saw this show that said we all have an exact replica of ourselves out there. Like a doppelganger.”
“You just never know, do you?” asks Mac.
“But I do know.” The reporter shakes his head. “It was definitelytheAaron Porter.”
“Hey, have you heard of this guy?” Mac turns to ask Isa.
She’s walking past with a basket on her arm. And the woman has assembled a fine selection of cookies and chocolate. “What guy?”
“The singer Aaron Porter,” says the reporter. “He’s dating a woman by the name of June. Someone said they’ve been seen around town.”
Amy cocks her head “Who told you that, just out of curiosity?”
The reporter gives them the most bullshit grin. “You can’t expect me to give up my sources. I’m not lying when I say I have cash on me right now for any information you might have about the pair.”
“Country music isn’t my thing,” says Isa.
“Have you seen him though?” asks the reporter, in a frustrated tone of voice.
And Isa says nothing, continuing on her way.
“I could use the extra money.” Mac scratches at his stubble. “Where did you drive here from? You know, your car could probably use an oil change.”
Which is when Bernie appears, carrying a gourd. “What on earth is going on here…move, please!”
“Hey Bernie, this man is after information about the singer Aaron Porter and his girlfriend named June,” says Amy.
