Page 11 of The Comedown

“Holter. And no, he won’t.” I just told him that.

“Holter. Shit, sorry,” Julez says before telling Bare, “Kid’s inside. Call me if you need anything.”

“Excuse me?” Am I not speaking clearly? Is that the issue?

“What?” Julez asks like he’s genuinely confused.

“That’s my son. I decide who’s around him, and if anything, Bare would be calling me. Not you.”

“But you’ll be with me all day.”

“Have you ever taken care of another human being? Or been responsible for one? Do you even understand what that entails?”

“I trust Bare with my life.”

“Is that supposed to impress me? Yesterday I watched you pass out from exhaustion and…who knows what else. You clearly don’t give a shit about your own life.”

Something that looks an awful lot like shame colors his face a split second before he wipes away all emotion to relax back into an unbothered slouch.

“So, then, give him your number ’cause he ain’t leaving this bus unless your boy does.”

Since we don’t have time to conduct an actual interview, I advise Bare to stay far away from my son while he’s on my bus, giving him the typical instructions I’d give any guard. Basically, don’t get too close unless absolutely necessary. Keep eyes on Holter and Mary, but not hands. Hands, the ones that can kill apparently, are to be used on serious threats only, but never, ever my family.

We exchange numbers, making Julez laugh.

“What?”

“This isn’t gonna work.” He gestures at me

“This is what I was told to wear,” I say before he bends forward, lining his shoulder up with my stomach and lifting, taking me with him as he stands again.

“Put. Me. Down,” I grit, keeping one hand on my head and one on my ass because I honestly don’t know what’s worse—my wig falling off or my ass hanging out.

“Nah, I don’t think so, Poohbear. You’re too uptight and we’re about to be together the whole day. If there’s no chemistry, nobody’s gonna wanna see our show.”

“We don’t have any chemistry because we don’t know each other.” Literally. “And tonight’s show sold out twenty minutes after the tickets went live.” That’s why they added a second night here.

Also, Poohbear? What?

His hand covers the one at my ass and I snarl, squirming in his hold, but he just chuckles, telling me, “Don’t worry. I won’t let anybody else see.”

The fact that he used the word “else” does not escape my notice, and even as his hand remains, I don’t remove mine, so we go into the building exactly like this, with Julez growling, “Eyes down, motherfucker,” to every person we pass, even women.

Once we’re on the seventeenth floor, Julez sets me back on my feet, and with the hand on my head already balled into a fist, I swing at his face. He jerks back though, missing my punch with another laugh.

“You seem to struggle with the concept of permission, so let me spell it out for you, you do not get to touch me again unless I permit you to.”

Julez holds his hands up in innocence while his face shows straight sin.

We spend the next thirty minutes with our separate teams, getting camera-ready, then we meet up again in the hallway. The interviews are being held in a hotel, a different one than where we’re staying, and we walk into the first room with smiles in place but no more “chemistry” than we had downstairs.

Julez shoots ahead of me, angling one of the chairs so it’s not straight at the camera or the interviewer next to it. When I don’t immediately move to sit, he waves me forward, telling me to take a seat in the chair he just repositioned.

Okay…

As I attempt to drop into the seat as gingerly as possible, Julez continues to stand in front of me, and only when my legs are tightly crossed and I’m fully situated, does he finally sit in his own chair.

Four interviews later—four cramped rooms full of people, lighting, cameras, and mics later—Julez is still doing the exact same routine every time we enter. He makes sure my chair is angled away from anyone’s view, then blocks me while I fix myself. It’s like he thinks he’s protecting my virtue or something, which is wholly unnecessary thanks to me having lots and lots of practice at this sort of thing, but I can’t bring myself to stop him since I actually find the gesture…cute, maybe? A tad domineering, but in a sweet sort of way. No other man has ever made the effort, so maybe I’m just not used to it.