Page 78 of Vespertine

“Oh, Nicky.”

“It’s weird. When they were home, I didn’t even think aboutit. Then I was alone and suddenly the idea popped up in my head and I can’tshake it.”

“Well, I’m glad you came here.” Jasper’s voice was scratchy.“After everything, I’m glad you trust me with this.”

Nicky stared at Jasper’s earnest face. “So, Father Jazz,would you be willing to babysit me for a few nights? It would take a load offmy parents’ minds. And mine too.”

Jasper leaned forward, putting a hand on Nicky’s shoulderand then pulling him up for a hug. Jasper’s body fit against his perfectly, andNicky’s pulse thudded in his ears nearly obscuring Jasper’s gruff, “Of course.I always want to help you, Nicky.”

“Hey beautiful,” Ramona sang. Her voice through the tinnyiPhone speakers still held that hint of gravel that so many men seemed to love.“I suppose I should give you the heads-up.”

Nicky fell back against his soft bed and held his phoneabove him so she could see him on the FaceTime screen. “About what?”

“The paps are desperate to find you.”

“Why? Can’t they harass Kanye or Bieber or some Kardashian?”

“Nope, sorry.” She shook her head and grinned. “They’re allbeing very boring. You, however, are being exciting and mysterious. They wantto know where you are and why, and what you’re addicted to and how you got thatway and when you started using, and if you’re fucking anyone in particular andso much more.”

“I’m not that interesting and most of that is commonknowledge.”

“The fucking part isn’t.”

Nicky shrugged, and Ramona rolled her eyes. FaceTime was soawesome and so strange. He never knew if he should look at the screen or at thecamera. “There’s nothing to tell. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in years.”

“Ever.”

“No, years.”

She looked thoughtful. “All right, years. But as long as I’veknown you, there’s been no one.”

Nicky shrugged. “And how is that interesting enough for thepaps to be trying to find me?”

“It’s because you’re the fairest of us all. And you give theimpression of having a lot going on inside your head, but you won’t share it.”Ramona opened a drawer of the desk her iPad was resting on, and she fishedaround inside, finally pulling out an orange lip balm. “It makes them crazy.You’re so aloof. So dreamy.”

“You’re the one with the gorgeous tits. Why don’t they wantto know who you’re getting naked with?” Nicky turned onto his side and proppedthe phone on the pillow opposite.

“Because I scare them. You, though? You’re filthy and gay.They’re dying to know if you’re sticking it in any pretty boy bums, you know.”

“I don’t stick it.” He remembered his fantasy about Jazz theother night. “Much.”

Ramona chuckled, delighted. “You should throw them thatbone. They’d live off it for days. ‘Nico Blue Bottom Boy! Press at Noon!’ Atleast until some celebrity mama takes her brand new baby on a walk in a babyPrada outfit, and then they’ll forget you again. For a day or so.”

“They always come back.” Tree limbs shifted outside thewindow, casting peaceful shadows around the room. “The assholes harass my mom,did you know?”

“Sure. They harass all our moms. Mine hangs up on them. Mick’scries. And Sez’s mother is apparently making good money selling tidbits ofgossip about his childhood whenever she needs money for a vacation or a new car.”

“Fucking hell. What a bitch.”

“Well, that’s what Sez says, but I haven’t met the woman, soI’m reserving judgment.”

Nicky laughed. “Yeah, I hear all that reserved judgment inyour voice. You and Jazz should have a liar’s anonymous meeting.”

Ramona’s eyes darted away from where she was organizing hertravel make-up bag. She shoved it aside and leaned in toward him through thescreen. “Excuse me, did you say Jazz? As intheJazz?You’ve seen him?”

“Yeah.” Nicky sat up and shifted the phone so she could stillsee him. Then he picked at the sole of his cheap tennis shoe. They were alreadycoming apart from the wear and tear of working on the dock and the stairs.Which wasn’t really going too well. He’d overestimated both his skills and hisphysical condition, and underestimated the complexity of such a project. He’dmanaged to tear up a lot of stuff, and actually repair very little.

“Jazz? The same guy that ninety-nine percent of our songsare about? The one who destroyed you, wrecked you, ruined your life?”