4
Adam
Large concrete and glass buildings eclipsed the rising sun on my walk to the hotel from the coffee shop.
Even though it had been a long time since I’ve been back here in my hometown, the streets seemed familiar.
I still felt like shit and I wanted nothing more than to head back to my hotel and nap for a few hours. It was about a half an hour walk, or a quick cab ride away. But I decided to get some fresh air and walk instead.
It was still early.
The people on the streets were in suits, too focused on getting to wherever they needed to go to notice me. It was during these hours in the day that I couldn’t get enough of. These were the times when I could feel normal again.
Despite my raging hangover, the longer I walked, the better I felt.
I didn’t even want to look at my phone. I didn’t want to look at the time, or any messages that needed my reply. It was the downside of the life I had now.
Would I trade it back for the life I had before all of this?
I still wasn’t sure.
I walked through Chinatown which was on the way to the hotel.
I saw old ladies wearing black fingerless gloves. They were carrying boxes of fruit to display underneath the awning outside their grocery store. Just a few steps down, there was a homeless man who was curled in a sleeping bag, sleeping next to the side of a building. In front of him was a paper cup to collect change. I reached into my leather jacket and put the only bill I had left from the evening and put it in the cup.
Six years ago, money was the source of all my problems. But it was crazy how much money I had now, yet it had only created more problems.
When I was younger, I thought that once I had money, I’d be happier and my mom would be happier.
But that was a lie. I’d been lied to by society my whole life.
I needed to get to the hotel quick before it got any brighter. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this—or worse, getting photographed by paparazzi while walking home looking half-dead and hungover.
I lowered my head as I got closer to the hotel. I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket and tried to blend into the crowd.
I finally arrived at the hotel where the rest of the crew and I were staying. The doorman, wearing a red vest and white button-up with a funny looking hat opened the door for me, and he smiled.
There were people in the lobby. People in suits and people carrying expensive bags. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings reflecting the early morning light.
I should be used to this lavish lifestyle by now. But after so many years, I still thought it was fucking stupid.
I waited for a group of people waiting for an elevator to take it before I took the next one by myself.
I looked at the envelope holding my room key to remind me which room I was staying in. After staying in so many hotels, I couldn’t even remember which floor I was on. This one happened to be on the fifty-fifth floor.
In the elevator, I couldn’t avoid the three large mirrors that reflected how tired I looked. I could barely recognize myself after the night of partying.
Pacey must have judged the fuck out of me after he found me in an alleyway. I was glad it was him, and not someone else—like a cop, or a thief, or a crazy fan.
The night may have ended differently if it wasn’t for his help.
I waited anxiously to get out of the elevator that was starting to make me feel claustrophobic. I wanted to erase Pacey out of my mind. It brought up memories that I’d rather not have to deal with in that moment.
I was glad he was doing alright, and he looked pretty sharp as well.
The elevator doors finally opened, and I couldn’t have gotten out of there any faster. I headed to the end of the dimly lit hallway and into my room. It echoed as I walked onto the white marble foyer. I took my black leather boots off and hopped onto the couch, leaning my head against the armrest.
My black Versace duffel bag was still on my perfectly made bed from the day before. Two pieces of chocolate left by the cleaners rested on the white duvet cover.
This wasn’t my first time staying at the Shangri-La Hotel. But it was my first time in an executive suite, complete with a kitchen, living room, in-house sauna, and Jacuzzi in the bathroom.
Even with everything I could possibly have there, it still felt oddly empty.
I grabbed the remote on the coffee table and turned on the television.
As I flipped through channels, I stopped when I saw a picture of me on the screen. It was a celebrity gossip show. In large capital letters, the headline read:
IS ADAM BLACK PARTYING TOO MUCH AGAIN?
Before I could listen to what they had to say, I turned it off and chucked the remote against the wall. I watched the batteries fly across the room and the remote slide across the bamboo floor.
I hated how people always had something to say about me.
Couldn’t I just live my life in peace? Didn’t they have anything better to do?
There was always someone who had an opinion about me, someone who thought I wasn’t perfect enough. Someone who thought I wasn’t a good role model for their kid. Someone who hated my work.
It made me want to scream. It made me want to punch something.
But if I did, that’d just be another headline.
I lifted one of my arms up and sniffed my pits. I needed to shower and get my shit together before someone saw me like this.
I forced myself off the couch and went into the bathroom.
I stripped out of my leather jacket and my v-neck and tossed them on the cold bathroom floor. I looked down at the new tattoo on my chest that I got a couple weeks back to see how it was healing. I ran my fingers on it and felt the ridges of the healing scar tissue.
In a few years, I had gone from being terrified of needles to loving them. My body was almost completely covered in tattoos. I had already planned what I wanted in the few spots that weren’t.
I loved the hum of the tattoo gun.
It reminded me of rain against a window sill, soothing me from my anxious thoughts. And I could never forget about the painful process.
Fuck, the pain felt so good.
The dragging of the needle and the intense vibrations against my skin made me feel alive. It made me feel human.
There were always strangers who thought I was some God. Like I was the cure for all their problems.
But if they knew me, they’d realize that I was just like anyone else, only with a fucked up past.
I stripped out of my jeans and then my white briefs. Then, I stepped into the glass shower, letting the steamy hot water trickle down my back. It was nice feeling the sweat and dirt wash off my body.
The sounds of the water reminded me of a tattoo gun. And that soothing hum allowed me to breathe again and not think about anything.
I grabbed some soap from a small bottle sitting on a metal ledge in the shower. I lathered some of it in my hands, then ran it over my whole body. My hands massaged my tense muscles that ached from being out in the cold last night, and the soreness from all that dancing and drinking.
Then, the thought of Pacey popped up in my head again.
I was so shocked when he told me he played the harp now. In my head, he was always the pianist. Whenever I thought of him, I pictured him sitting on a bench behind a piano.
I still couldn’t get over how different he looked.
The last time I saw him six years ago, he still had on those glasses. But he’d definitely put on some lean muscle since then, and his jawline was a lot sharper than I remembered.
As I was reminiscing about the past, I heard a knock at the door.
Fuck, it must have been room service. Maybe if I ignored it, they’d go away. But the second knock was louder.
“One second!” I screamed, pissed off that someone interrupted me during the only time I had to myself.
Before I could even turn off the tap, there was a third set of knocks. I quickly wrapped a towel around my still wet body and headed to the front foyer. I looked through the peephole and it was my mom.
There was no surprise there.
I opened it, and she had her arms crossed.
“What did I say about answering your phone?” She asked.
I stepped aside and let her in.
“I was in the shower. What are you doing here this early in the morning?” I said.
“Well, to see you, obviously. I was so worried when you weren’t answering your phone, so I came here to see if you were okay.”
“Well, here I am, okay as ever. God, mom. I hate when you baby me like this, I’m twenty-four fucking years old now, stop treating me like I’m a teenager still.”
“Well, stop acting like one and maybe I’d treat you differently and stop fucking swearing too, it’s bad PR.”
She pointed to my chest, and then looked at me. “What is that?”
“What do you think it is? It’s a new tat.”
“It’s ugly, stop ruining your body that I created. Is it supposed to be a cat? Why did you get a cat tattooed on you?”
“Mom, it’s a lion. And it looks pretty gnarly.”
She walked in without taking off her boots. Her black boots ran up past her knees and the heels clicked against the marble floors. She leaned against the TV shelf and crossed her arms. She looked around as if the room wasn’t meeting her standards.
She cut her hair recently. It was short and black with bangs to her eyebrows. Though it was early in the morning, she wore smoky black makeup on her eyes and fake eyelashes.
Sometimes when I looked at her, I could barely recognize that she was my own mother.
She’d undergone so much plastic surgery in the past few years. She didn’t look fifty-two. Her lacy black top was inappropriate for her age, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
I grabbed clean underwear from my duffel bag and headed to the bathroom to put it on, leaving the door ajar.
“Are we going to talk about what you’re going to say at the interview today?” She asked from the living room of the hotel.
I dried off, and put the new pair of underwear on, then ran my fingers through my hair to comb it back.
Before I could answer, she pushed the bathroom door open. She stood there looking me up and down while I had nothing on except my underwear.
“Jesus, mom. Have you ever heard of boundaries?”
“Boundaries, you’re my son. You came out of my vagina. Don’t tell me about boundaries.”
“God, did you have to really give me that visual,” I winced.
“We have to get serious about how we’re going to deal with this scandal. You know they’ll ask you about it today.”
“It’s not a scandal, and I’m going to tell them what I tell everybody else when they ask me about it. I’ll tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.”
“Right, and that worked out great the last time when you were on live television. Just storming off the set, leaving your bandmates there confused was real smart, Adam.”
“Well, people shouldn’t have the right to be so goddamn nosy about things. It’s really none of their business.”
“You can’t believe that anymore, Adam. You’re not a nobody anymore, and the reality of the matter is that people care about what you do. Your fans care. Your fans’ parents care. The public cares. Hell, even the President was talking about you the other day. I’m not just your mom, I’m your manager, and it’s important that we clean up your image, stat.”
“I’m not a messy bedroom, you can’t just clean me up like that,” I said.
“Well, we’re going to have to do something, or your sponsors are going to continue to cut ties with you. We already lost Pepsi a few weeks ago, what’s next, are you going to lose Guess as well?” She asked.
“If people don’t want to work with me because of a photo that was taken to ruin me, then that’s their problem. I already made a statement, and it’s all I can do.”
“That’s why you have to be more careful about stuff like that. People are evil, and they got paid a lot of money for that photo. So from now on, if you don’t smarten up, I’m going to hire someone to escort you everywhere you go.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I said. “I’m already surrounded by people who follow me around all the damn time—you, my bodyguards, groupies, and my bandmates who are frankly nothing without me.”
“That’s because you’re the star,” my mom said, putting her hand on my bare shoulder. “You are Kingdom 4. Without you, the band wouldn’t even exist.”
“I know that, and that’s why I want to get out and do my own thing,” I said, shrugging her hand off my shoulder. “I want to make music that I actually enjoy instead of having to sing and play what other people want.”
“You’re being ungrateful, and you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I put on the same ripped jeans that were on the bathroom floor and walked around my mom who was blocking the doorway.
“Whatever, I’m over it and I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said. “Just do what you always do and tell me what to say. Give me that phony politically-correct answer that people want to hear, and I’ll recite it during the interview.”
I could see her strong gaze from my periphery. Her arms were crossed and her eyes were judging me.
I grabbed my black Gucci t-shirt with gold lettering and smelled it to make sure it was clean enough to wear. Then, I slipped it on over my body. The fabric clung to my still slightly wet body like a crazy fan who wouldn’t let go after a hug.
I went to the table where my gold chain was, and tried to hook the lobster clasp behind my neck. There was a bit of struggle and my mom must have noticed because she came up behind me to help me put it on.
“What happened, Adam?” She whispered. “Is everything okay?”
I wanted to tell her no. That this whole fame thing wasn’t for me. But I didn’t.
“Everything’s fine,” I said.
She was my mother, but she had no idea how unhappy I was.
I went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, and she followed me.
Her eyes were now glued to her phone. She was probably setting up another interview for me or looking for the next business opportunity to capitalize on the success of the band.
She was my manager so she got a portion of the money I made. Well, I wasn’t really given a choice because she kind of insisted after I was discovered.
I looked out the window while I waited for the Keurig machine to make me a cup of coffee.
The city looked different from up here.
I could see the places I’d go when I was a teenager before I moved to Los Angeles. I could see the park that I used to skateboard at all the time. I could see the strip of bars that I’d sneak into with my fake ID that I bought from a sketchy convenience store near the apartment complex we lived in.
I dreamed of those simpler times every night.
I wondered what my mom thought about the past. I wondered if she actually enjoyed this new life that we had.
“I have to head to a meeting.” Mom said. “I’ve confirmed with the driver to pick you and the guys up in an Escalade and it’ll be waiting for you downstairs soon. Don’t be late this time.”
She walked up towards me. Her heels clicked against the floors, and she kissed me on my forehead. “Love you, son. Good luck today.”
Then she turned the corner, and I heard her open the front door and leave.
She was my mother, and I loved her, but I wish she knew how much pain I was holding in.