Page 63 of The Comedown

Collette

We play in Colorado, Utah, and Arizona, and for each show, I remain onstage almost the entire time. Instead of pushing my voice past its very clear, very thin lines, I don’t sing once my set’s done. I try not to even yell. I do keep Julian company though by either engaging with the crowd or I play around with him in a couple little choreographed pieces I put together. They’re nothing like the time I straddled him, but still flirty and fun, enough to get the fans’ tongues wagging while mostly keeping Julian’s hands to himself—as impossible as that is. He’s been diligent about being on time for everything, and even though he pretty much always smokes throughout his performances, he’s been mindful not to do it in my face again.

They added a show in Los Angeles for tonight, and the closer we get to showtime, the more anxious I feel about performing in California again. Julian’s been a completely different person since our first few days together. Even during the long stretches on the road over the past week, he’s been hopping on my bus instead of his own. Along with Holter and some of my other team members, I get him to play cards or watch movies or have blindfolded drawing competitions that I swear Julian cheats at because his are always so good.

I kind of like it, the routine we’ve established. There’s a synergy between us finally that I didn’t think was possible when I first joined The Family Julez Tour.

But now, I’m nervous. I’m nervous he’ll revert back into the person he was the last time we were in this state because that person, I don’t like at all.

“What are you doing after appearances today?” Julian asks around a bite of Jell-O—from the sound of it.

They added the LA show last minute, then were surprised it didn’t sell out immediately, so now Julian and I have to go out and do a bunch of publicity to try to sell more tickets. We have a couple radio shows, a ribbon-cutting at a grand opening for a record store, and they want us to swing by a fashion show some reality star is putting on. We don’t have to sit for it luckily, just take pictures on the step-and-repeat outside.

I lift my head from the portable massage table, smiling at Julian’s half-empty cup of his beloved strawberry Jell-O as he bites another spoonful into his mouth.

“I have a thing.”

“What thing?” The suspicion in his voice fills the bus with an additional tension I really don’t need right now.

“I’m going to the children’s hospital.”

“How long will you be?”

“Why? Are you gonna miss me?” I tease as I lower my head to the headrest.

“Yes.”

I push my face down a little deeper to hide the blush now burning my skin. He has to be lying. There’s no possible way he could miss me. He’d have to be away from me to actually miss me and we’ve been together almost nonstop lately. Except at night. I don’t let him stay on my bus overnight and he doesn’t ask to.

“You could come with me,” I say muffled.

“That might just feed the rumor mill even more,” Irelynn says. “Jollette was the number one trending hashtag for like twenty-four hours after your dinner together at Alma.”

Our little private escape to the stairwell to talk didn’t help either. It looked like we snuck in there to fuck. We didn’t, but that doesn’t matter. The truth rarely does anymore. Photos show projections nowadays, not facts.

“Jollette,” Julian sneers. “Is it too much to ask that we get a decent couple name like Culian?”

“Good luck. The simps have spoken.”

“You’re thinking of stans. They stan us.”

With my head cranked to the side, I give Irelynn a look, asking her, “Would you please tell him they’re called simps?”

“You’re both wrong. They ship your relationship.”

“Alleged relationship,” I say, just to be clear, because Julian and I are not a couple. Far, far from it. If anything, we’re co-workers.

Who spend most of their off-time together.

But not their off-time during nocturnal hours.

Except sometimes after a performance when we all go out to eat together.

Or when we get lost in conversation and next thing I know it’s after midnight and I have to say a very awkward goodnight to Julian because although he doesn’t ask to stay the night, he doesn’t not ask either.

I don’t even know what not asking is.

“Alleged,” I repeat. “That’s all they ever are—alleged. Any man I’m photographed with gets their name blended with mine for at least a week. People will lose interest in Jollette when they realize there’s nothing between us, then there’ll be another made-up couple name trending in no time.” And on and on it goes.