Page 23 of High Notes & Hail Marys

You do some quick mental math. “There must be at least a couple hundred separate outfits.”

Maeve nods. “Yup. I think it’s actually closer to three hundred. But keep in mind that so many of those are back-ups, and also that we maintain two complete show sets. While Sterling’s performing in one location, we already have the “B” sets and costumes and staging all getting set up at the next city.”

“And all that’s going overseas in a couple of weeks, pretty soon?”

“Some of it is already there,” Maeve says. “But yes. There’s a one-month break between the last U.S. date and the first night in Stockholm. It sounds like a lot, but there’s just an insane amount of logistical stuff involved. Sterling’s tour manager, Ezra, has their hands full. I don’t envy them their job.”

“It’s not like you’re any kind of slouch,” Sterling tells Maeve. He’s been intently watching your conversation with her, and this is the first time he’s spoken up in a few minutes. “Everyone knows you’re the best in the business. There’s a reason that other artists are always trying to poach you off my team.”

She shrugs. “I’m very happy where I am, Ster. Can’t get poached if I don’t want to leave.”

He twists in his chair and kisses her on the temple. “Good. Go do something fun. You are supposed to be relaxing this weekend. I wouldn’t have let you come along if you said you’d be working all day. I would’ve left you in New York.”

“Where I could work all day without you knowing about it?” Maeve arches one perfectly-shaped eyebrow. But she relents, and gathers her tablet and some papers scattered on the countertop. “I booked a massage and dinner in town. I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Kai, I mean it. I’m really glad we got to meet in person.”

You agree, absolutely charmed. Maeve heads off in the direction of the garden wing.

Sterling smiles. “I didn’t know that you were so interested in behind-the-scenes tour stuff.”

“I didn’t either. The more I learn about it, the crazier it gets. You should make a documentary or something.”

“It’s not out of the question. We have a crew around pretty much constantly. Just in case we want the footage later.” Sterling jumps out of his chair. “How about that walk?”

***

The Cliff Walk is a rocky, elevated trail that divides the crashing gray-blue of the Atlantic fromthe tidy streets and wide lawns of Newport on the other side. It runs for three-and-a-half miles, winding past most of the historic mansions that the city is known for. In latest September, the peak of tourist season is past, and most visitors are further inland. Only a few passersby rollerblading or pushing strollers share the path with you and Sterling. Apollo is leashed, walking obediently ahead and occasionally getting distracted by other dogs.

At a quarter ‘til six, the sun is starting to sink toward the ocean. Despite the fact that it’s no longer very bright out, Sterling is wearing big sunglasses and a baseball cap. Without asking, you know it’s so that he doesn’t get recognized. You walk together, fingers laced. Whitecaps crash against the rocks, and the air is taking on a distinct chill. Gulls wheel overhead, yelling nonsense to one another.

When sunset starts in earnest, a fiery show spread from horizon to horizon, you two find a bench and sit to watch. Sterling’s sunglasses cover half his face, and you don’t like it.

“Are we good?” you ask tentatively. The conversation has been flowing well, and Sterling hasn’t mentioned anything about what happened earlier. The insecurity is entirely yours, but it’s been nibbling at your gut like a hungry fish with sharp teeth.

He looks straight ahead. “We’re fine. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Don’t… like, don’t bullshit me.” You’re worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, your incisors little saws. It wouldn’t be the first time you bloodied it this way, but you’d prefer to stop. You try to focus on complete honesty instead. “I’m happy to be here. I’m glad to be with you. I feel like we started off on a bad foot. I guess I don’t want you to think… um. I don’t want you to think that you can’t trust me.”

“It’s not bullshit, Kai. I’m not mad. You did something that a lot of people do. It’s not the end of the world. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you screwed up. If I didn’t trust you, we wouldn’t be together.”

“But…” The words keep evading you. Sterling has what your mom would callthe gift of gab. Of course he does; he’s a writer. You struggle a bit more, and you are struggling now. “It’s something that was important to you. I want to understand it. If you have boundaries, I want to respect them. I just wish that we could talk about it. I’m okay signing stuff for cover-your-ass purposes, but I want us to discuss things.”

Sterling nods. He’s still not looking at you. As if he’s not thinking about it, he tugs off his cap and ruffles his long hair before putting the hat backon, backwards. The curly ends stick out riotously. At this moment, he could be any guy in America out on an evening walk. His white sneakers are dirtier than a lot of your teammates would be able to handle. His legs are long. If you had to guess, you’d say he’s about 5’10”. (It’s another factoid for Wikipedia.) He’s fucking beautiful, to the extent that it’s slightly concerning. And that’s not even the half of it. He’s funny, and considerate, and the most talented person you’ve ever met. He kind of scares the shit out of you.

“Discussing stuff is hard.” He looks in your direction finally, his eyes still hidden behind his glasses. “I guess contracts are easier.”

“I can stop myself from feeling you up in public,” you say. “It’s probably better for my image, too. Maybe I should care about that more. You just need to tell me where the line is. I want you to be comfortable. And I don’t want to, like, freak out any teenage girls. The Graylings are kinda intimidating. I don’t need them coming for my head.”

“I can’t promise that won’t happen anyway,” he tells you ruefully. “I meant it when I said my fans are amazing. Most of them. A small percentage are completely unhinged, and that’s why I pay for round-the-clock bodyguards. It’s not the haters that scare me. It’s the obsessed ones.”

“Don’t get off the subject,” you prod him gently.

Sterling sighs and looks around. The sky is flaming, layers of orange and gold extending out over the water. Most of the other people on the Cliff Walk are watching the sunset as well. Nobody is paying much attention to two men sitting close on a bench. Finally, hesitantly, he pushes his sunglasses up atop his head. Seeing his blue eyes is a revelation.

“Like I was saying earlier, only part of it is my image,” he says. “I’m almost thirty. I can handle my fanbase knowing that I’m an adult in an adult relationship. More of it has to do with my own hang-ups. Have you ever heard of demisexuality?”

Mystified, you shake your head. “Demi-what?”

“It’s on the asexuality spectrum. Demisexuals don’t experience primary sexual attraction, like lust at first sight. They only maybe feel sexually attracted after they’ve developed an emotional attachment, and sometimes not even then. A lot of people don’t know what it means. It wasn’t even defined as a term until 2006 or something like that. Before that, people were justpicky. Or had a really hard time forming relationships.”

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