It is almost evening when Max, our driver, lets me out in front of the red brick building that has become so familiar over the years.
“Surprise!” I singsong when Simon opens the door of his house on the Upper East Side.
His face is puzzled, then looks worried when he notices four huge suitcases behind me and several garbage bags on the sidewalk next to Max. Apparently, over the years, I’ve accumulated a lot more stuff than I thought.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“I was evicted from my hotel room.”
He studies me for a few seconds to see if there is a follow-up to my explanation. “Can’t you find another one?” His voice becomes more suspicious.
I shake my head and flash one of my most beautiful smiles. “Evan tried, but as soon as he gives my name, suddenly all the hotels in Manhattan don’t have free rooms. Apparently, the paparazzi scare guests and the word has spread,” I say, motioning across the street where the photographers are having fun with our outdoor conversation.
Simon looks up, annoyed, and beckons Max and me to come in. I pick up the suitcases as fast as I can, along with the bags that our driver cannot carry, and I run the five steps that separate me from the landing of my friend’s house.
“So you’re looking for a home? Why did you come here?”
Out of all of us, Simon is the one who needs calm and stability. He loves silence like I love women. I understand the annoyance of my sudden appearance, but I’m desperate. I’m basically homeless. Max takes his leave and walks out in a hurry, no doubt afraid that Simon will turn me down, and I’ll end up sleeping on his couch with his family.
“Where else do you want me to go?”
“I don’t know. There are four of us in the band. Am I really your last resort?”
He invites me into the living room of his townhome, which extends over seven floors. It looks like a jungle in here. There are more plants than in Central Park, and I suspect there is far too much oxygen; I read somewhere that too much oxygen can be toxic and that you can go into narcosis. I think it was an article about scuba diving, but you can never be too cautious about certain things.
“Damian and Lilly fuck like rabbits on every surface of that house. Thomas and Iris walk around naked taking artistic photographs at their navels. Do you think I can go and live with them?”
A smile raises a corner of his mouth, and I know I’ve won him over.
“I see your point. They scare me since finding their women. I was used to their outings. Seeing them move in together within a few months is disorienting.” He chuckles as we leave the formal living room to move into the kitchen that overlooks the back patio.
We sit at the table near the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the small garden, which opens up to a lot of natural light on the warm-colored furniture in here. Simon hands me a beer from the fridge and I take a generous sip of it.
“So, what do you plan to do?” he asks me after a while.
Him and his need to plan for the future. He could just live day to day like other rock stars, but instead, he’d like to start a family and settle down before the age of thirty. He’s even investing in funds for his future children and their upbringing. He doesn’t even have a woman and he’s already thinking about kids. In my opinion, he’ll never find someone to start a family with—only a psychopath invests in kids who are technically still sperm.
“We could live like we did when we shared the room at Joe’s before we became famous!”
The bottle of beer he is about to sip from stops in mid-air. His wide-open mouth and eyes make me almost burst out laughing. He’s terrified at the idea of having to live with me for more than a few days. I love him, but I think I would go crazy with the multitude of plants here. But I want to keep him on the spot a little longer.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, why not? It will be fun. Like the old days: beer and chips for dinner, action movies on the laptop in bed, and porn when we want to warm up a bit!”
“You were the one who ate beer and chips. I was trying to make decent meals. You were the one obsessed with Die Hard, I wanted to watch something else. And most of all, you were the one getting off on the loud porn when I was trying to sleep!” he blurts out, outraged.
I laugh and drink my beer. “It’s too easy to get under your skin. You’re too funny.”
I hear him muttering something incomprehensible as he goes to the sink, rinses the bottle he just finished, and slips it into the recyclable bin under the sink. Doesn’t he have a cleaning lady, this guy? I hope he doesn’t force me to make up my bed every morning because I swear, I’m going to sleep on the street with the pigeons.
“So? Do you have a cook for dinner? A catering service that provides meals?” I ask when I feel my belly grumbling. Considering I no longer have room service, I am a bit disoriented.
Simon turns around and looks at me like I’ve gone crazy.
“I’m a grown man. I usually feed myself!” he replies in disbelief when he realizes I’m serious.
“Why should you worry about it? You have the money to pay someone to do it for you.” I’m genuinely interested.
At least when Damian and Thomas were single, they ordered takeout or went out to dinner. Simon looks like the perfect couch potato, middle-aged, divorced, who eats meals alone in a kitchen without a TV, who rinses his dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, and who prefers to read a book instead of sitting in front of the computer and killing himself with porn.
He shakes his head and turns to grab the laptop lying on the island’s marble counter. “You know what? This is far too much news for today. I don’t feel like cooking. We’ll order out.” He gives up, or maybe he simply lets me win so as not to argue.
The sense of disorientation I felt while leaving what has been my home for three years loosens in my stomach, and I finally manage to relax. As much as I try not to take myself too seriously, I was distraught that Simon might tell me to find other accommodations.
