Author's Note:
I apologize immensely to the subscribers for the delay on these final updates. Many thanks for your patience and your readership.
This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.
Thank you.
The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series Glee.
Approximate words this chapter: 9,500
Thursday April 30, 2020
The interview, as it aired
The television-screen quick-faded from the black following the commercial-break to the image of talk-show host Bryce LeWynn sitting in the chair on the right side of his stage set facing the couch on which John and Dave sat, Dave farthest to the left and John in the center, closest to the host. LeWynn was smiling and waving his arms, holding them high above his head, from his seated posture to the studio audience which was applauding on-cue; Dave and John were both smiling, acknowledging the applause and turning to face their host. Bryce was dressed in a smart-looking dark-blue suit which played strong against the burgundy furniture and spare lighter-blue background of the television studio set while both Dave and John wore more casual ensembles with black sport-coats: Dave's was over a dark blue dress-shirt worn open at the collar and fire-engine-red pants while John wore black pants and a cloth cap matching his jacket over a loud lime-green turtleneck.
"Hey, hey, hey!" LeWynn called out toward the camera as the image zoomed tighter on his face and the noise from the audience quieted. "Today we have author John Kelley and his agent, partner, and soon-to-be-husband Dave Karofsky."
The audience responded with a customary round of applause punctuated by a few enthusiastic yells and exclamations which caused John's face to light with a smile as he visually addressed the audience and Dave nodded and smiled in a more restrained manner while clapping at the announcement of John's name.
"As I'm sure many of you know, John Kelley is the author of Blessed Blundering of Two Bears and the Cosmic Summer: An Informal Manual on Dating Gay... or a Worst-and-Best-Case Scenario, at the Very Least. If the title is a mouthful and hard to remember exactly, a lot of readers have found the book itself unforgettable, even indispensable, so I'm just going to dive right into this. Welcome, this is author John Kelley to my immediate right and his agent and fiancé, Dave Karofsky, to his right."
The audience gave another quick round of applause, though quieter this time, as the talk-show host spoke directly to John, casual, as if on personally-friendly terms.
"First, congratulations on the engagement, gentlemen."
John and Dave both nodded and smiled, speaking politely overlapping words thanking the host.
"Second, congratulations, John, for the book doing so well."
"Thank you," John replied quickly, smiling and appearing almost melodramatically happy as Dave smiled and nodded at the words.
"You're cracking the bestseller lists," LeWynn commented with his signature subtle southern drawl, "not too shabby for a first time out."
John grinned hugely, clasped his hands together in front of himself, and trembled slightly as if enthralled by some collective sense of adulation around him. He turned his face toward Bryce and spoke, "Well, I had been self publishing online for a little while prior to the book."
LeWynn nodded, acknowledging his familiarity with the genesis of the novel. "Yes, you're referring to the way you generated interest in the work by publishing the early chapters to an original fiction website?"
John nodded quickly, childlike. "Yes, but even before that, I had been writing fan-fiction, and a lot of my readers followed me into my original work. I guess you could say that they consider me a god or something."
John's smile seemed now a fixture while the interviewer visibly jerked: a kind-of suppressed double-take.
"Okay, then, so you had a substantial following with the fan-fiction work you'd written?"
"Yes, I think to them, to my original fans, I've become the book-world's equivalent of a diva."
LeWynn nodded stiffly at the obvious oddness of John's response as he continued, "Okay, then tell us about..."
"I mean," John cut off the host's words as he furthered his earlier statement, "I'm gonna be up there with Judy, Liza, and Celine someday, only the writer-version."
The long-shot camera caught the three seated people on the stage: Dave on the left and Bryce on the right seemed to both react to the statement, becoming visibly rigid, while John, in the center, silently giggled and raised his folded hands from his lap to his chest, almost appearing to hug himself.
"Okay, then, John, what can you tell us about the movie?" LeWynn spoke slowly at first, sounding as if the slight change of subject was unplanned but preferred.
The fixed-smile left John's face in favor of a slightly confused expression as LeWynn spoke again to clarify.
"The movie? The film that's being made of your novel?"
"Oh!," John's face brightened with a exaggerated nod and a melodramatic, affected smile. "The movie is being produced through Finehaus Pictures, an independent company that's been around for a while but has managed to stay independent."
"Was it important to you to be working with an independent production company?"
"Um," John paused, widening his eyelids and rolling his eyes melodramatically. "It wasn't an initial concern, but it turned out well for me in the end. I've written the script myself, I'm involved in the casting process, and I'm directing as well. I don't think I'd have had that freedom with a major studio."
"There were some well-known directors interested in this project at various times. I understand that Gus Van Sant and Kevin Smith had both shown interest in directing the film version of your novel."
"Y-yeah, but," John interjected, almost too quickly before the interviewer had finished, "the studio understands that this is my project and it should be left in my hands."
The long-shot camera, once again, caught Dave in the left-periphery, shifting nervously in his seat and rolling his eyes subtly as John finished his statement.
"Well, from what I gathered," LeWynn continued, "you do have a background in filmmaking in the form of a well-received documentary some years ago."
"That's true also," John beamed, "my arsenal of creative gifts is boundless!"
LeWynn's eyes widened for a moment as his jaw gaped slightly before he composed himself for his next question.
"Can you tell us anything about the cast or about the plans for the movie itself?"
"The cast hasn't been finalized as of yet, but we are trying to hold ourselves to a shooting schedule which begins in August and runs possibly until October if need be."
"That seems like a pretty large window," LeWynn noted.
"Well, being that the cast isn't finalized yet, it gives us that more of a cushion."
"Will the shooting itself take place on-location in Portland?"
John shook his head before responding. "No, I've relocated the setting of the story to Hollywood."
"Oh," LeWynn was visibly taken aback. "The Portland locales seemed so integral to the story itself, the distinctly Portland attitude toward the gay community plays such a huge role in the setting of the novel, not to mention other distinctly Pacific-Northwest features of the story, like the music scene and the fandom element."
John shrugged and grinned again. "Yes, well, you're not likely to find a Dr. Who-themed bar anywhere but Portland, but there are suitable Hollywood substitutes like," John went silent, with a flirty grin for a moment before continuing, "well, maybe I shouldn't give anything away too early."
"Well, okay, we'll just have to wait to see the movie for that one, I guess..."
LeWynn and John both laughed, dispelling the odd tension of the interview, before the next question.
"So, did you have the idea of a movie in mind when you wrote the book?"
John cocked his head and shrugged for a moment before beaming another gaped-mouth, vacant smile and delivering an answer.
"I certainly wouldn't have ruled it out. The creative mind, I think, makes room for all those options, but the bottom line was that I just wrote what my heart and soul told me to write."
"Well, the book itself is pretty open-ended," LeWynn remarked. "It almost suggests a film, or an option for a sequel film, or at least a follow-up novel built in, wouldn't you say?"
"Life itself is open-ended and unpredictable," John voiced with melodramatic emphasis, the smile never leaving his face. "The book is about what happens to these characters over a course of several months, leading into the summer. What happens after that is either yet-to-be-told, yet-to-happen, or up to the reader."
"So, we're not necessarily intended to believe that what begins to happen with this couple in your book extends beyond the end of that summer?"
"Well, like I said, it's up for grabs at that point," John smirked again childishly. "I mean who can really know? The characters themselves don't even know at that point."
"True," LeWynn nodded and paused before asking his next question.
"The structure of this book is very playful: a novel disguised as a self-help book or how-to manual with a great deal of very accessible, good-natured humor. What gave you the idea to take that particular approach?"
John extended his folded hands and tilted his head to one side, still grinning hugely. "Well, people like me, we create. It's what we do. It's like a gift from heaven, and who knows where those ideas come from?"
LeWynn's reactions were progressively more blank with each new answer, and the audience had become uncharacteristically silent. When the camera panned or pulled back wide enough to show Dave, his expression appeared at times impatient, at other times completely blank.
"Now, you published the early chapters to an original fiction website," LeWynn began his next question. "At one point, you ceased posting new updates, and the updates finally came in the form of your completed novel. Was that a calculated move, or just a fortuitous coincidence?"
John's smile trembled, appearing, for the first time during the interview, forced; and his answer wasn't immediate.
Filling the void of silence, LeWynn furthered the question: "Was that delay in completing the online writing instrumental in ultimately securing your publication deal?"
"Um, maybe I can add some insight here," Dave spoke from the far side of the seating arrangement. "John was watching the number of readers and subscriptions to the story while he was publishing it online. When it got to, I think, the seventh chapter, the numbers kinda went through the roof. I have a close friend who works in entertainment business, so I contacted him to see if he thought there was a potential in any kind of publication deal."
"Ah, I see," LeWynn spoke, addressing Dave. "This is where the agent comes in."
John's smile relaxed as he nodded, appearing relieved.
"The three of us, that is John, my friend, and me, thought that if John held back on posting the chapters after the seventh one, we might use the readership numbers to see if any publishers would take on the finished work. Meanwhile, John's work-in-progress was getting reviewed and promoted by LGBT websites and blogs. I think there were a couple of book clubs that were reading it also; but because he had serious interest from a few publishers, the decision was made between the three of us that the remainder of the work, everything after Chapter Seven, would remain unseen until it was officially published as a finished work."
"Okay, so that was a definite strategy then?"
"Well," Dave answered, "we were kinda winging it because it was new territory to all of us, I mean, I'm an energy efficiency engineer by day..."
"But I'm sure that acting as John's literary agent is close to becoming a full-time job in itself," LeWynn suggested.
Dave smiled, on the edge of a chuckle. "Yeah, that's true. I mean, back then, it was just both of us with our day jobs, John writing, me editing and proofreading the work whenever our schedules allowed."
"Oh, you acted as editor also?" LeWynn interjected.
"Ah," Dave smirked again, though he seemed to have been caught off-guard by the question, "Yeah, I mean, the writing is all John's, but I read everything before it went live at some point."
John had tucked his head downward, facing toward the floor. He still had a smile on his face, but it had grown exaggerated and nearly grotesque. Though his hat hid a great deal while his head was lowered, it was evident that his face was reddening as Dave spoke.
"Being that you answered that last question, Dave, I want to ask, this work has been compared favorably by critics to the writings of David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs," LeWynn began again, sounding brighter, more interested than earlier, "Do reviews such as these play into your promotional strategy?"
Dave shook his head quickly and smirked almost sarcastically. "Those are excellent writers, and I'd think that any new writer would appreciate being mentioned in their company, but, the truth is, the only reasons why John's book is being compared to those writers is because John is a gay writer himself, like those other writers, but that is where the similarities end. I'd never complain about John's work being compared with David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs, but, seriously, I think the style has more in common with Tom Robbins, or maybe Kurt Vonnegut's more accessible work. I mean, nobody, critics or otherwise, pigeonhole those writers as writing exclusively for non-gay readers."
"This is interesting," LeWynn remarked with an appreciative smile at Dave while John appeared progressively inanimate between them, almost a barrier in the long-shot, "What are you driving toward here, Dave?"
"I guess what I'm saying is that we've already been labeled and compartmentalized to death. David Sedaris is a fantastic satirist, and Augusten Burroughs' memoirs and essays are great, and both authors' work appeals to readers across the board. It's a huge compliment for any writer to be mentioned along side those names, but for some reason, the press and the reviews and the promotion are all stuck on calling them gay writers. When is that part of the machine going to catch up and grasp what a big part of the reading population already knows? That they're excellent writers, and their orientation has no relationship with quality of work, accessibility, or who's interested in reading those books."
LeWynn's eyes narrowed as he smiled, appreciative, at Dave's answer, appearing that he'd achieved the first truly satisfactory dialogue of the entire interview thus far. The room took notice also as stray claps and words of approval were heard coming from the audience.
"You're preaching to the choir here, Dave, but if part of your agenda as John's literary agent is to, um, reform that part of the perception of the industry, well, you have my blessing and support."
"The first-and-foremost goal of marketing John's work is obviously to get it to the readers and promote it successfully," Dave explained. "If our methods of doing so make people on the business side come to the understanding that every book that's worth reading or every movie that's worth going to see will appeal to more than just one specific group of the population, that'd be a good thing. I've been to enough book-signings to know that this book has been read by a pretty varied cross-section of readers. It was marketed with a focus on young-adult readers primarily, but people of all ages and no definable outward stereotype show up at the personal appearances. Sure, it's the young people who've been saying that the story meant a lot to them, but I've talked with guys in their forties and housewives who've been praising the book's craft and technique and writing-style and approach. There was a college-age guy at the one book-signing event who said that his girlfriend loved it and told him he should read it. He did, initially not taking it seriously, but got totally wrapped up in it just after a few chapters. I mean, society on-the-whole has grown up on heterosexual love stories, heterosexual romance-novels, and movies about heterosexual relationships, but people are realizing that good stories with interesting characters can have universal appeal, regardless of relationship orientation. It's already been shown that movies about gay historical figures and gay relationships can have mass appeal, but I'd like to see it come out of that box, to get to a point where an excellent novel about gay characters is seen as an excellent novel, not just a good read for gay audiences."
The audience began clapping in approval and LeWynn beamed a huge smile and clapped himself. John raised his head slightly, and, although he was smiling, his flushed expression took a nervous, nearly desperate, quality.
When the applause quieted, LeWynn spoke again, directing his question toward John and Dave, though addressed to neither in particular.
"Since you touched upon the target audience, I'm going to guess that some of the more graphic material was toned-down."
John raised his head at the question with an expression of slight surprise while Dave smirked and met LeWynn's eyes with his own; both remained silent causing LeWynn to expand his dialogue.
"This novel, as you'd said earlier, began its life on an original fiction website. Those early chapters were pulled when the published, complete novel became available to the buying public. I can say, though, that I've seen and read those early chapters, and they differ somewhat from those in the officially-published work."
"Okay, yeah," Dave nodded and spoke through a slightly-embarrassed grin as John lowered his head again. "Yes, at the suggestion of my friend who was helping us with the promotion of the work, John tamed some of the explicit material in the book. Really, though, I think the results speak for themselves. The book is selling well with the young-adults, and I kinda doubt if that straight college-age guy would have been liked it as much as he did if it went there."
"Hey, but maybe next time, he'll be into it," LeWynn exclaimed, a jubilantly naughty expression on his face.
"Maybe so," Dave pronounced loud through a hearty chuckle as the audience laughed approval, "That'd be alright by me as well."
John remained silent but visibly shook in his seat, possibly a silent laugh along with the exchange or perhaps a manifestation of some anxiety.
"The format of the dating how-to manual lends itself well to the young-adult audience as well, but I guess you wanted to keep it from going into sex-manual territory," LeWynn added with a laugh of his own.
"Well, when the idea happened, what, five years ago, John was kinda lamenting the fact that dating isn't an easy process, and there really are very few people that LGBT people can talk with concerning relationship issues, like there was no instruction book for gay people, and I said that it was up to him to write one himself."
"Oh," LeWynn's jaw dropped in a comically-stunned expression, "So that's where the idea came from?"
Dave shook his head with a dismissive smile while the audience whooped and clapped.
"Um, no, it's not as specific as all that." Dave finally spoke above the din. "I mean, John and I had a string of encounters, events, and, I guess you'd call them dates that finally led us to being boyfriends, and the whole thing seemed like a checklist of what not to do."
"I don't know about y'all in the audience, but the more Dave talks, the more this is sounding like a collaborative work," LeWynn assessed, causing another rowdy ovation to erupt from those in attendance.
Dave smiled and shook his head, humbly facing away from Lewynn, while John's head became fixed in its downward direction; John's rhythmic shake had shifted to an almost imperceptible tremble.
"Well, every artist has their muse, right?" LeWynn deflected the accusatory undercurrent in his previous statement. "You have some book-signing events in the near future, right? Tell us about that, if you would."
As the audience quieted, John remained silent, downright immobile, and, at some point in the last two minutes, the smile had disappeared from his face and been replaced with a stony sneer.
"Maybe the literary agent can tell us about that?" LeWynn pressed when faced with John's silence.
"Oh yeah, I guess that'd be me," Dave appeared to be caught off-guard. "It's from May sixth through May ninth, John will be in the Los Angeles area, then San Francisco, and will end up in Seattle where I'll be meeting up with him. Those will be the last personal appearances until the movie is finished shooting if everything goes according to schedule."
"Okay, then, really good," Bryce faced the camera which pulled into his face more directly as theme-music became audible and the audience applauded on-cue once again. "We're gonna do a break for some words from our sponsors, but don't go anywhere 'cause we'll be right back!"
The screen image faded to an ad for one of the network's other shows. Two product ads followed. Typically, the next part of the show would have consisted of the guests answering questions from members of the studio audience, but when the Bryce LeWynn Show returned after the commercial-break, John and Dave were gone from the stage, in fact, the remainder of the show consisted of segments which had aired previously.
Saturday May 9, 2020
Seattle book-store appearance
Little Miss, Little Miss, Little Miss can't be wrong
Ain't nobody gonna bow no more when you sound your gong
Little Miss, Little Miss, Little Miss can't be wrong
What 'cha gonna do to get into another one o' these here rock 'n' roll songs?
Dave was nodding his head to the upbeat music sounding from the stereo in his mini-SUV. It was set to a satellite radio station which played a mix of rock music from the 1980s and 1990s, and it had supplied the soundtrack to his three-hour drive from Portland to Seattle.
It had been nearly two years since Dave had been present for one of John's book-store appearances, and he was looking forward to the event. To a greater degree, Dave was keen to have the remainder of the evening alone with John: dinner and a relaxed, likely romantic, night together in their hotel room before he drove himself and John back to Portland the following day. The memories of the excellent times they'd had when John's book was first published were fresh enough in his mind: the elation John exhibited when he met his readers, the nights spent in each other's arms, and the long, comfortable drive with his traveling companion, partner, and soon-to-be husband.
Other peoples' thoughts, they ain't your hand-me-downs
Would it be so bad to simply turn around?
You cook so well, all nice and French
You do your brain surg'ry too, mama, with a monkey wrench
Dave had last seen John two days after the recording of their appearance together on the Bryce LeWynn Show. Reaction to the aired program had been wary. Online commentators and blogs generally characterized the event as awkward with one blogger writing, "It was the most uncomfortable talk-show I'd witnessed since Crispin Glover's legendary/infamous appearances on Letterman in August of '87." (Dave shuddered upon seeing the referenced footage after his curiosity urged him to seek it out.)
Some of the commentators bemoaned the lack of an audience-question-and-answer segment while others expressed relief that it mercifully wasn't aired. Dave remembered John's harsh mood-shift that day, and, although they began taking audience questions, John's rapport with those in attendance swung from distant to almost unfriendly after Bryce had interviewed the two of them.
The comments were unanimous about one thing, however: the prevailing opinion that Dave's input during the interview saved the segment from complete inanity.
Little Miss, Little Miss, Little Miss can't be wrong
Ain't nobody gonna bow no more when you sound your gong
Little Miss, Little Miss, Little Miss can't be wrong
What 'cha gonna do to get into another one o' these here rock 'n' roll songs?
The Saturday afternoon traffic was fairly light, and the weather was mild and ideal during Dave's drive north on Interstate 5 from Portland to Seattle; and Dave found the change from his regular routine pleasant, nearly relaxing. In the two weeks since the television appearance, Dave had returned to looking for a suitable (larger) living space for John and himself, a task which he approached with greater diligence than before: he wanted to be in a new place at the earliest opportunity, definitely by the time of his and John's October wedding (he'd grown increasingly weary, in a word, frustrated, with being surrounded by boxes in a living space which functioned only in the most rudimentary terms, and he missed having the option to entertain his friends with an informal dinner or an afternoon watching a televised sports event: these activities were conducted either alone or at his father's or Scoop's and Katie's houses). Dave was also busy with business classes and his regular job. Though the requests for book-signings and personal appearances had lessened (and had been made inconvenient by John's involvement with the film), and calls for television and webcast interviews had stalled altogether (likely fallout from last month's television appearance), Dave was expecting these things to change once the film was finished and promotion for the project would begin (and he was trying to gauge a point at which he could quit his full-time job to work as John's agent full-time).
Dave's regular conversations with Kurt had abated also, being largely reduced to voicemail messages, emails, and text messages as Kurt had also become busy. The west-coast satellite-store project was given a definite go-ahead, and Kurt was tasked with managing the entire project: finding a location, staffing and interviews, interior design, construction, and building inventory. The project constituted something of a promotion for Kurt, and, though he lacked an official title as the exclusive company was small, he had, in a few month's time, become the functional manager-of-operations for the project.
As Dave neared the Seattle exit from Interstate 5 to state Route 518, traffic slowed to a crawl: there was apparently a multi-vehicle accident close to the off-ramp. The book-signing event was at the Nobles Bookseller store in Westwood, scheduled from six o'clock to eight o'clock, and he would have arrived at the bookstore between five-thirty and six o'clock had his commute been without such incident. As Dave's car sat in slow, sometimes stopped, traffic for twenty minutes, he became aware that his arrival time would be affected. He sent John a text message informing him of his likely delay Comically, he was a mere fifteen minutes away from the bookstore in a geographical sense, but the traffic situation would slow his arrival to after the actual scheduled event was under way.
She hold the shotgun while you do-si-do
She want one man made of Hercules and Cyrano
Dave didn't receive a reply to his text message from John, assuming that John was busy on his end, preparing for the typically-polite pandemonium of the event.
Can't be wrong, no you can't be wrong, oh, you can't be wrong...
It was not yet seven o'clock when Dave turned his car into the parking lot of the strip-mall where the Nobles Bookseller was situated in a corner space. The parking lot near the bookstore entrance was filled with parked cars though a few vacant spaces were available at a greater distance from the entrance: a typically-crowded Saturday evening.
As Dave entered the store, he noticed that it was busy with casual shoppers and foot-traffic. The last time Dave attended one of John's book signings, the amount of people who arrived for the event was nearly staggering making the process of locating John a simple one, but there was no obvious concentration of people in any one particular area of the store. As he craned his head as high as he could to get a better view of the farther reaches of the large store, he saw a gathering of people at a place opposite from the area through which he'd entered.
Traversing from the entryway through the center of the store to the area along a far wall where a group of people were gathered, lined, and slowly filing toward the signing table (there were more people present than there appeared to be from the cursory glance he'd taken seconds earlier but certainly not nearly the amount he had seen on the small eastern-state tour on which he'd accompanied John two years prior).
Dave stealthily approached the table to see John sitting at the center, beyond the small crowd, with copies of his book stacked nearby. John was smiling and talking to the young male couple who was facing him from the opposite side of the narrow table while a collage-age girl stood close behind, smiling and bouncing in place, clutching a copy of John's book with an appearance of eager expectation, as she waited, next in line to see him. The line of people waiting to see John extended approximately the length of twenty people, as others joined the end of the line occasionally and some clung abreast of their friends, making the line two-persons-deep at some points.
John nodded and smiled hugely, almost a default expression, a game-face of sorts for these events. As he diverted his gaze downward to the book on the table before him, marker in hand at the ready, poised to inscribe the title page, he caught sight of Dave. Dave nodded and grinned discreetly as their eyes made momentary contact; John's eyes hung on Dave's merely long enough to acknowledge his arrival before his smile became guarded, distancing, and he faced into the book and scrawled in it quickly, his prior mirth seeming to adapt to a self-conscious level.
As the young woman approached with her copy of the book, the larger smile returned to John's face, and Dave moved to an area close enough to hear the sound of the conversations but not near enough to distinguish actual words (and not near enough to be seen as anything other than a bystander). From his vantage-point, Dave could see John's excited expression and hear that the conversation was marked with an enthusiastic tone. He could see the girl smiling back at John and gesturing, with her hands, physical manifestations her excitement in meeting him. Dave admired John's excitement at meeting his readers: this was an element of Dave's attraction to John which had been present since their first summer together. It genuinely warmed Dave to see this unadulterated jubilance rise to the surface in John.
Dave watched further as the girl walked to the other side of the signing table as John stood: the pair of them leaned toward each other as her friend snapped a photograph of the two of them, smiling deliriously. Dave was caught in the visual mirth of the moment, smiling to himself, when a voice from his left-periphery pulled his attention away from John and the group of followers.
"Hey, you're John Kelley's boyfriend?"
Dave turned his head to see the young man who was having his book signed when Dave had first arrived; the young man was with a similar young-man companion.
"Uh, yeah," Dave responded politely while sounding surprised by the friendly intrusion.
"We saw you and John on TV," the more vocal of the pair stated as he and his friend both smiled, nervous but friendly, at Dave.
"Okay, yeah," Dave nodded and offered his right hand to the two young men. "I'm Dave, John Kelley's fiancé."
"Nice, man, My name's Tim," the first man said as he nodded shook hands quickly with Dave.
"And I'm Dom," the quieter of the two said as he shook hands with Dave also.
"Well, nice to meet you, guys and thanks for coming out, on behalf of my partner and soon-to-be husband."
"Um, could you sign our books?" Tim asked, polite though marked with a suppressed excitement as he held his copy of the book and a thin felt-tip marker toward Dave.
Dave's brow creased, a curious expression, though he smiled and took the book and marker from Tim's hand.
"Uh, sure, though I didn't write it or anything," Dave answered as he swiveled his head to find an appropriate surface on which he could sign the book comfortably.
"Yeah, but it'd be really cool to have both of your autographs in it, I mean, you're being husbands and all," Dom added.
Dave and the two young men migrated to a far side of the signing table so Dave could sign their books; though they were a fair distance from the place where John sat, and their presence did not interfere with or distract from John's interaction with the crowd, John registered silent awareness of their presence through shifting glances and sobered expression.
"Okay, I really have no idea what to write here," Dave spoke at a conversational level with the two young men, "How about, like, To Tim, thanks for reading, Dave?"
"Yeah, that's cool," Tim responded, sounding eager and slightly winded.
Dave wrote quickly on the title page, in a corner, beneath John's earlier inscription.
"Uh, my handwriting is pretty bad," Dave spoke, pre-emtively apologetic, "Hope you can read that."
Tim grinned as he gazed at the book. "No problem. I can read my name and I watched you sign it, so it's cool."
"Cool if I write the same thing in yours?" Dave asked as Dom handed his copy of the book to Dave, "Only with your name, of course?"
"Yeah, that's fine," Dom replied as he and Dave both chuckled at Dave's question.
After writing, similarly illegible, in Dom's book, Dave reached to return the marker to Tim.
"Nah, Dave, keep it," Tim shook his head at the offer. "There's other people who are gonna want you to sign their books too."
Dave lifted his gaze to beyond Tim and Dom, and, indeed, a small line seemed to be forming behind them.
"Oh, wow," Dave muttered, almost under his breath as he looked at the marker in his hand then back at Tim, "Thanks, then."
"No problem," Tim replied as Dom nodded, concurrent, "It was great to get to meet you, Dave."
John gave the growing gathering at the far side of the table an expressionless sideways glance as he conversed with another person in attendance, writing quickly in their book, and keeping an ear open for the conversations.
The college-age girl and her friend who had taken pictures with John only minutes prior approached Dave next.
"Why aren't you sitting next to John and signing books too?" she asked, bright-sounding and loud enough to wring a scowl from John's face, several feet away.
"Uh, I'm not the writer here," Dave answered, smiling and politely taken aback, "John is, but, I'm cool with signing your book if you want me to."
The girl immediately handed her book to Dave, and he opened it flat on the corner of the table.
"What's your name?"
"Vicki," the girl replied.
"Nice to meet you Vicki," Dave smiled and shook her hand as he looked up from the book for a moment, "I'm Dave, but I guess you might already know that?"
Vicki laughed. "Honestly, it's embarrassing. I remember you from the Bryce LeWynn interview, but I didn't remember your name."
Dave smiled, biting his lower lip and nodding.
"That's okay. John Kelley is the name you're supposed to remember."
Dave wrote a quick, barely-legible inscription onto the corner of the title page, once again, under John's remark.
"Thank you," Vicki nearly gushed as Dave returned the book to her. "Would it be okay if I had my friend Jen take my picture with you?"
"Sure, no problem," Dave complied as Vicki stood to his side and they both faced the camera.
John was hearing most of the exchange from his seat at the center of the table, and he could see the camera-flash in the periphery of his vision. He felt his neck muscles tighten and his face and head flush red though he tried to appear upbeat and unaffected. As quickly as John signed a book, the line moved forward and another was placed in front of him. This was different than other times, however, as John had become less prone to conversation, merely asking each guest their name and writing a quick message.
"See,"Vicki commented after her friend had snapped her picture with Dave, "if you were sitting behind the table next to John, I could have got my picture with the both of you together at the same time!"
Dave nodded and smiled in agreement as she moved away, waving. "I'll remember that for the next time I end up at one of his John's book-signings."
At the far side of the table, there had accumulated a small crowd. The people in attendance were moving directly from John's quick, perfunctory action to queue again to meet Dave; and being that John had reduced his interactions with the attendees to the level of a cursory task, the number of people waiting for his signature had thinned dramatically, exhausting itself well before the event was scheduled to finish.
John gathered some small belongings which he had with himself and placed them into his messenger bag as he slouched back into his chair and waited for Dave to finish. John's luggage, which consisted of two medium-sized suitcases, an overnight bag, and a briefcase, was in one of the bookstore's inventory rooms, waiting to be moved into Dave's SUV when they departed.
As the line waiting to meet Dave dwindled, a tall, professionally-dressed man in a dark gray suit and tie approached.
"Dave?" the man said.
"Uh, yeah," Dave smiled, lopsided, appearing pleasantly disheveled by the experience of dealing with a friendly mob. Dave expected the man to hand him a copy of John's book, but the man merely extended his right hand in a greeting gesture.
"I'm Richard Heller, Dave," the man said, appearing both professional and disarming. "Nice to meet you, Dave."
"Oh, wow," Dave nearly exclaimed as he briskly shook the man's hand. "And here I was expecting you to want me to sign a book or something. Well, it's great to finally meet you and put a face to the voice."
"Yeah, same!" Heller returned. "So, this was the first time I'd been to one of John's book signings. I happened to be in the area, and I thought I'd swing by before I headed to the airport and back to LA."
"Well, I'm glad you did."
"Have you been to many of John's in-stores?"
"I used to go all the time when we were traveling strictly by car," Dave answered. "But the last one I attended was in, um, Boston, I think, and that was almost two years ago. That was totally crazy next to this. This one is almost like the ones we had around the time the book was first published, but, of course, without people knowing me."
John had stood, slung his bag over one shoulder, and stepped slowly to the far side of the table, approaching Dave and Heller.
"So, you two finally get to meet each other?" John posed with a stony expression.
Dave and Heller both barked affirmative answers in unison before they both chuckled at themselves.
"Hey," Heller almost hollered at Dave, "I never heard from you about the Spell and Glitter show."
"What?" Dave muttered as he shook his head and creased his brow, betraying some level of confusion; John was silent, but his eyes widened upon the statement.
"A rep from the Spell and Glitter show contacted us about a week ago," Heller explained. "They want to get you on the show for an interview. John was supposed to have passed that information along to you."
Dave turned a surprised but benign expression onto John; John shrugged and reddened.
John stumbled. "Uh, I, um, I guess I totally forgot to mention it."
Dave's face huffed into a smile, nearly speaking through a chuckle. "Tom Spell and Troy Glitter want to interview us? That's awesome."
"Um, no," Heller expanded. "They want to interview you, Dave."
"Wait. Why would they want me on their show and not John?"
"Well, you know their show tends to be kind-of serious, concentrating more on business and science topics than the more celebrity-oriented shows," Heller spoke. "Someone there saw you on the LeWynn show and thought you'd be a good guest for Spell and Glitter.
"Um, Dave," John interjected, "I'm really beat. We should be heading to the hotel soon."
"Oh, okay," Dave nodded.
"My luggage is in the back room. I can show you where it is if you don't mind taking it out to the car."
"No, no problem," Dave answered, sounding enthusiastic and eager.
Dave followed John through a doorway into the warehouse section of the store where his suitcases were being held. John lifted his briefcase and instructed, "I can meet you out in the parking lot."
"No problem."
"I'm going to hang here for a few minutes, though. I'd like a word with Rich in private."
"Sure thing."
Dave threw the strap of the overnight bag over one shoulder and lifted a suitcase in each hand as John held the door for him. As Dave departed onto the sales floor and toward the exit, he nodded toward Heller and spoke quickly.
"Nice meeting you, Rich. I'll give you a call about the Spell and Glitter thing, okay?"
Heller nodded in return as John gestured to him to come into the empty store-room.
Who's gonna tell you when
It's too late?
Who's gonna tell you things
Aren't so great?
You can't go on
Thinking
Nothing's wrong
Who's gonna drive you home tonight?
Dave already had the car loaded and running with the radio playing when John met him in the parking lot and flopped into the passenger seat.
"How far's the hotel?" John asked, somewhat loud and raspy-sounding.
"We're at the Georgeville Inn," Dave replied, lively, as he put the car in motion and turned out of the parking lot and onto the road. "It's only about three miles away. Shouldn't take us more than five or ten minutes to get there."
"Good thing."
Dave adjusted the digital navigation device so he could see the screen more easily as he drove.
"You want to get something to eat before we head back?" Dave offered, buoyant, "Or did you want to drop our stuff off at the hotel first and then go out and eat?"
"I'm not really hungry."
"Oh. Well, I am. I haven't eaten since breakfast."
Who's gonna pick you up
When you fall?
Who's gonna hang it up
When you call?
Who's gonna pay attention
To your dreams?
Who's gonna plug their ears
When you scream?
"I'm wiped out, exhausted from the traveling the last few days," John croaked.
Dave exhaled, loud, and nodded. "I can stop somewhere for something on our way to the hotel."
"Can we just go to the hotel?" John's words were clipped and cruel-sounding.
"Yeah," Dave spoke mildly, his words losing their casual lilt. "I can have a pizza delivered or something. Or maybe have something sent up from the hotel restaurant if the kitchen is still open when we get there."
Dave had his phone ringer silenced from the time he was in the bookstore, but he felt his phone vibrate in his shirt pocket as he drove. He would check his messages after he and John had settled into the hotel room.
You can't go on
Thinking
Nothing's wrong
Who's gonna drive you home tonight?
Their room was on the ground floor of their hotel: a typical (and typically clean), comfortable big-box hotel room with a king-size bed, television, and a spacious bathroom with an adequate supply of clean towels. After they had checked in, Dave returned to his car to retrieve the larger pieces of luggage while John, burdened with an overnight bag, messenger bag, and briefcase, retreated to their room.
Upon Dave's return to the hotel room, he placed John's suitcases and his sports duffle bag at the foot of the bed. He saw John's messenger bad and briefcase thrown to the floor, just outside the doorway. He saw that the bathroom door was closed and heard the shower running.
Dave dropped himself into a chair and retrieved his phone from his pocket, placing it on the small dinette-sized table. The man at the desk told Dave that the kitchen was open until eleven, and he could have food delivered to his room. Dave used the hotel room's phone to call in an order for a burger and fries which would be delivered within twenty minutes. Dave was certainly hungry, almost painfully hungry, but he'd have been okay waiting another hour to eat dinner with John. This, though, was to be a meal consumed quickly and indifferently, not unlike being at home by himself in Portland.
Dave felt deflated given his expectations for the evening. He and John hadn't been together away from Portland for some time, and he'd hoped that the evening together and the drive to Portland the next day would be a return to feelings he fondly remembered from earlier times. Shoulda picked up a six-pack while I was out, Dave thought to himself as he reached for his cell phone and lit the screen.
The missed call notification jarred Dave's memory to the vibration he felt on the drive to the hotel. He'd missed a call from Rich Heller, but there was a new voicemail message which Dave accessed.
Hey, Dave. It's Rich Heller. I want you to call me back whenever you get a free moment. We need to talk. Thanks and goodbye.
Dave returned the phone call and Heller took the call immediately.
"Hello. Rich here."
"Hey, it's Dave Karofsky. You called while I was driving."
"Yeah, I did."
"We're at the hotel now. What's going on? Your message sounded important." Dave could hear road-noise in the background between Heller's speaking. "Sounds like you're driving."
"Yeah, I am; on my way to the airport. Listen, Dave, I can't work with John any longer. I see that you're a sensible person, and I'll help you with anything that's currently in the works and get you in touch with any interested parties, but my direct involvement with John is over."
"Why?"
"When you left the bookstore with the luggage and John said he wanted to talk with me? He pulled me into the storage room and totally went off on me."
"Huh? What about?"
"He kept ranting about people paying attention to you and not him, and he was yelling about how he was the artist and you're just some guy who arranges his schedules and appointments, how he's the special one and how he should be getting all the attention. He was complaining about the people who were lining up for your autograph like it was insulting to him or something, and then he obviously got really pissed off when I told you about the Spell and Glitter interview. Heaven forbid I mention something that he said he'd talk to you about days ago but conveniently neglected. This is way more than I want to deal with, Dave. Listen, this isn't the first time John and I have butted heads, but it will be the last."
"Oh, man." Dave was silent for a moment. "Um, I'll talk to him."
"Well, that's fine, and, like I said, I'm happy to provide you with any assistance I can give, but I won't be working directly with John or handling any of his business at this point. Maybe there's someone else that Puffin or Finehaus can recommend, but I'm done with this."
"Okay, I gotcha. I'm sorry about that."
"Hey, it's not your fault, and I don't have any beef with you at all. Just be aware that, as John's agent, you're going to be doing a lot of unnecessary apologizing on his behalf if he keeps this behavior. Not everybody is going to be able to separate the guy from his management."
"Okay," Dave nodded through his answer, still feeling stunned.
"Hey, I'm getting close to my exit, and I don't want to keep you from the rest of your evening in Seattle. Don't hesitate to call me about anything if you think I can help. I won't be taking any calls from John, though, but, then, he really didn't seem to appreciate me being involved anyway."
"Okay, well, thanks, and have a good trip."
"You too. Bye, Dave."
"Bye."
Dave was standing with his phone in his hand when the sound of polite knocking at the hotel room door shook him from his momentary torpor. Dave's food had arrived.
Upon Dave's opening of the door, a young man wheeled a small food cart into the room and placed a covered-plate on the dinette table. The young man asked Dave if he required anything else; Dave declined, thanked and tipped the young man, showed him to the door, and closed the door after he exited the room.
Dave sat at the table and lifted cover from the plate to reveal a large, paper-wrapped burger, fast-food style, and a sandwich-sized glassine bag filled to its limit with french fries. There was also a stack of paper napkins and a half-dozen ketchup packets under the dome: Dave silently considered the absurdity of fast-food packaging contained under the dome of a room-service-delivered covered plate. Uncharacteristically, Dave's preoccupied thoughts found no humor in this particular peculiarity.
Dave consumed his dinner quickly and without attention to taste, though it did cross his mind that he'd have liked to have enjoyed the large hamburger, but his present state of mind allowed him no such luxury beyond inhaling the food mechanically.
When John emerged from the bathroom amid a sparse cloud of steam and the smell of fresh water, soap, and antiperspirant, dressed in loose-fitting shorts and a T-shirt, Dave was reclining in his chair at the table, unmoved from his eating posture.
"Wow, I needed that," John voiced, markedly more cheerful than his earlier tone, as he dropped his open overnight bag on the floor next to his briefcase and messenger bag. "You never really appreciate how awesome a shower feels until you've been taxed with a stressful schedule."
John shot a glance to the table and the plate which bore only crumbs and the remnants of a few smears of ketchup.
"Eat already? You must've been hungry."
"Rich Heller called."
"Oh?" John's reaction noise was quiet, initially more of a wordless sound.
"Actually he called while we were in the car. Left a message. I called him back a few minutes ago."
"What'd he want?" John's neck jerked in Dave's direction, as if he wanted to address Dave, as if there was some importance in the conversation, but he held himself, affecting indifference.
"Um, he said that he wasn't going to work with you any longer." Dave's delivery was strong but not exaggerated.
"No great loss," John seemed to relax after the comment. "That all he called to say?"
"Functionally, yes, but he also said that you kinda went off on him, specifically about the Spell and Glitter interview thing."
John's mouth dropped open as he turned and addressed Dave for a moment, turning away when Dave's eyes penetrated his.
"Listen, John, I think it's awesome, really flattering, that the people at Spell and Glitter want to have me on their show, but if it bothers you that much, I won't do it."
"Really?" John's reaction was breathy, more air than actual voice.
"Geeze," Dave stood and stepped toward John. "What do you think? This is about promoting you, not my fledgling occupation as your agent, strategist, or whatever else I'm going to be doing."
"Okay." Once again, John's single-word reaction was barely audible.
"I gotta ask, though, why does it bother you so much? I mean Heller said that you really flipped out on him."
"Dave, this is my dream coming true," John's voice raised, though it wasn't aggressive in tone. "Maybe I'm a little protective of it. Maybe I get really jealous."
"Hey," Dave advanced closer to John and reached an arm around him; John reacted with a start but didn't shake away from Dave's touch. "Maybe it's part of my dream to see you, actually both of us, happy and successful. I don't get why your reaction to this stuff is so intense."
"I'm sorry," another airy-sounding reply from John as he relaxed into Dave's touch.
"What do you have to be jealous about anyway?"
"I want people to love me. I want people to envy what I have and what I can do."
At this point, John turned himself and pressed himself against Dave, facing his head downward.
"Maybe I don't want to share that with anybody, at least not publicly."
At this, John's voice became scratchy, and Dave felt at a loss although he moved both of them toward the bed and lowered onto the edge.
"I don't really, um, get that, John. We're sharing more than a few things here."
"I know."
"I don't know that I can make a place for jealousy in a situation like the one we have. I mean, have you felt jealous about me before?"
"Sometimes. Not as bad as tonight, though. Don't you feel jealous of me?"
"Uh, no."
"Why not?"
John's voice raised, almost demanding, and the rough, scratchy sound revealed that he was crying. Dave felt John's tears seeping into his T-shirt moments later.
"Why should I be jealous of you?" Dave questioned, calm-voiced, rational, soothing. "You're good at what you do, and I'm pretty good at what I do. Nothing to be jealous about."
"Do you at least envy me?"
"John, okay, you're a really good writer. The success of your book speaks to that. We worked on your book together in some capacity, but I am fine with you getting all the credit for that. I don't want it. I'd rather you have the credit because it makes you happy. But things like jealousy and envy, I don't have time for that where my partner is concerned, and I really don't understand your being jealous of me."
"I'm sorry. It doesn't make sense, I know."
Dave maneuvered himself more centrally onto the bed and reclined, keeping John close to him. John fell asleep, his head resting on Dave's chest, an area wet with his own tears.
Dave lay silent though awake for some time. There was a comfort, a sweetness, even in this strange territory: John was troubled, and Dave was having difficulty understanding John's discontent. But this moment felt right to Dave: the sensation of nausea in the pit of his stomach subsiding as John slept in his arms, somehow correcting the disconnect that distanced them during their waking state, even when he considered the stark contrast between his expectations for this evening and its actual outcome.
Who's gonna hold you down
When you shake?
Who's gonna come around
When you break?
You can't go on
Thinking
Nothing's wrong
Who's gonna drive you home tonight?
Referenced music:
"Little Miss Can't Be Wrong" by Spin Doctors
"Drive" by the Cars