The Love Song of Jonny Valentine

CHAPTER 6. Denver

We had two shows in a row in Denver, and the heart-shaped swing worked good, Rog acted like he hadn’t been replaced in Salt Lake City, and the Latchkeys’ base broadened our audience like the label hoped. I really should have been focused on the shows, but all I could think about was how on the second day I was going to meet Lisa Pinto. She was doing advance publicity across the country for her album, and the label thought it was a perfect chance to prove our relationship was serious if we were going on dates outside of L.A. Normal people went on vacation together, but celebs met up when one of them was performing or on set in a different city.

It was going to be a panel of fake candids of us getting ice cream together and then ducking inside a car with tinted windows. The whole thing would take less than an hour, and it was all staged, but I kept picturing Lisa Pinto on her School’s Out! album, and how maybe when we met she’d turn out to be cool and would want to date for real in L.A. Or even just watch TV or play Zenon together or something.

In the morning, Jane and Walter came with me in the car service to the ice cream place. We were about ten minutes late, because of Jane. “Ice cream in Denver with snow on the ground,” she said on the ride over. “It’s official: Stacy’s as brilliant as she looks.” Stacy actually did look pretty smart with her glasses, but when Jane’s in a mood, it’s better not to argue.

At least no one was going into the ice cream place and the parking lot was mostly empty, so we could shoot without much crowd interference. Crowd interference is the worst. A Range Rover with tinted windows was in a corner of the minimall parking lot. We parked near it and stepped out onto the crunchy ice. Walter stood nearby and a woman with short black hair got out and came over to us. “Hi. Denise, Lisa’s manager,” she said.

“I’m Jane, Jonny’s manager, and mother,” Jane said.

“We weren’t sure when you’d show up, so Lisa’s putting on some more makeup.”

“Sorry we’re late.”

“It happens,” Denise said. “Good to meet you, Jonny. I’ll introduce you to the photographer. He only has an hour before he has to fly back to L.A.”

She waved to a guy smoking a cigarette at the other end of the parking lot. He stubbed it out in the snow and came over. I’d guess he was thirty-three and he wore a plaid Western shirt under his jacket and glasses with thick black frames.

“Hey, Jonny.” He didn’t shake my hand or anything. “I’ve already gone over this with Lisa, but what we want is a set of photos where it looks like you don’t know I’m taking them, then a set where you’re on to me, so to speak, and you’re trying to get away.”

I nodded as he explained the different setups and angles he’d use. He was professional about it and knew what he was doing, but what a weird job for a guy in his thirties. There was no way when he was a kid he was like, When I grow up, I want part of my job to be flying into Denver for a few hours in January, directing a couple tween celebs in a staged photo shoot to pretend they’re dating and giving me a paparazzi freeze-out, and flying back. Though I guess most people don’t end up doing what they really want. I’m lucky.

“Jonny, why don’t you stay warm in the car and meet Lisa before we do this?” Denise suggested.

“I can go with him,” Jane said.

Denise gave her a look. “I think it’s best if they had a chance to get to know each other a little on their own first,” she said. “It might make the shoot look more authentic.”

Jane said, “I’ll be in our car.” The only person she’s used to taking orders from is Ronald. And now maybe Stacy.

Denise led me to the Range Rover. My whole body was shaking, so I said, “Brrr,” and wrapped my arms around myself like it was cold, which it was, but not that cold.

Denise opened the back door for me and I climbed in. Putting on lipstick with a small mirror was one of the cutest girls I ever saw in my life. I knew a lot of girls thought I was the cutest boy they ever saw, but I didn’t really think about it except for when I saw a girl like that in person, and then it made sense why they acted so crazy around me, besides me being a celeb. Most celebs are what Jane calls celeb-genic. They look good on video and in photos, but in person, nothing about them stands out, and if they weren’t famous and all made up, you’d pass them on the street without giving them a second glance.

Lisa looked good in her photos, but even better in person. Her skin color was like she had a naturally dark spray-tan, with straight, soft black hair, and when she smiled at me with her perfect rows of tiny teeth, her brown eyes crinkled underneath and made two dimples on the sides of her button nose. She smelled like flowers, too, but you wouldn’t expect a girl who looked like that to smell bad. Even her clothing was cute, a blue coat that seemed like something a British actress would wear. I felt so dorky and clumsy in my puffy winter jacket and winter boots, like a beefy middle-aged white guy with no rhythm on the dance floor.

“So nice to meet you at last, Jonny.” She snapped her mirror shut and shook my hand, and her voice sounded like she was ten years older than me, too. Her hand felt like luxury-hotel sheets. “ ‘Guys vs. Girls’ was a huge influence on me.” She probably meant the song, not the album. Everyone always means just the song.

“Thanks,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to give your album a listen yet.” That was stupid. I should’ve said I was looking forward to hearing it.

“Please don’t, ever!” she said. “I’d be mortified.”

“Okay.” I didn’t even know what mortified meant, but that was also a dumb answer. This was worse than my first live radio interview, when I mumbled through the whole thing and Jane had to keep answering for me.

I hadn’t stopped shivering from nervousness, so Lisa asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m just cold,” I said. The temperature readout on the dashboard said seventy-five degrees.

“I can ask Denise to turn up the heat some more. I’m such a wimp about winter.”

“No,” I said quickly, because I didn’t want Denise interrupting us. “I’ll be fine in a second.”

She smiled, and when neither of us said anything, she asked, “So, I imagine the label is running you ragged on this tour?”

“It’s not too bad,” I said. She said things like mortified and running you ragged, and I said things like okay and It’s not too bad.

“I’ve only had to do a few press junkets for shows. I feel completely out of my element with touring.”

I couldn’t imagine how this girl could ever be out of her element. I could do media-training classes for a solid year, like I did for a few weeks when I moved to L.A., and I still wouldn’t barely be able to talk like her. “I wasn’t good at first,” I said. “It takes some practice.”

“Listen to Mr. Humility over here.” She hit my shoulder, and it probably would’ve given me a boner except it actually stung a little, even through my puffy coat. “You absolutely own the stage, Jonny Valentine.”

I had no idea what to say next. I wish I always had something funny or smart to say like Zack did. I don’t know how people like him come up with a line whenever they want. Maybe that’s why he’s a songwriter and I just sing other people’s words.

Denise bailed me out by opening the door for a second to say they’d cleared the ice cream place and we were going in in two minutes.

“Are your parents here?” I asked.

“Why would my parents be here?”

“They don’t work with you?”

She laughed. It sounded sort of like when an actress laughs in a movie. “My parents can hardly speak English,” she said. “I wouldn’t exactly trust them to negotiate royalties.”

“They didn’t get you into show business?”

“I don’t think they knew the phrase ‘show business.’ ” She laughed again. “A casting director came by my school one day for some parts in a TV movie, I signed up, that led to a few more spots, and now here we are. A parking lot in Denver in winter. Finally made it.” She blotted her red lips on a tissue. “This is a bit silly, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Do you know what they want us to do?”

“I think walk next to each other with ice cream and get into the car.”

“And, like, kiss or something?”

“No, definitely not. That was clearly specified in the contract.”

All my excitement drained out of me like blood leaking out of my body in Zenon. “Right,” I said. “I forgot. That’s good.”

Denise knocked on the window, which meant I might not get another chance to ask if she wanted to hang out again. “Maybe we should do another date in L.A.,” I said.

“Smart idea. I’ll have Denise look at my schedule for another photo shoot.”

“No, like getting ice cream for a real date. On our own.”

“Huh,” she said. “Maybe in the spring? Things are totally crazy for me right now with the album dropping and my shooting schedule. Like I’m telling you something you don’t know, Mr. Double Platinum.”

It was triple platinum, but I didn’t say anything. “So, should my mother call your manager then?”

She grabbed the door handle and said, “Um, I prefer to keep my professional and social lives separate, you know?” It felt a lot colder in the car all of a sudden, and it got even colder when she opened it and a hard wind blew in. “We better move before Denise throws one of her famous tantrums.”

I felt like an idiot during the shoot, acting like this girl was into me when she’d just dissed me. I should’ve spun it like I meant we’d get ice cream on our own so the paparazzi would get real candids of us, but it was too late. The photographer stayed outside the ice cream place and shot us through the window. We pretended to order, but they already had a chocolate cone with rainbow sprinkles for me and vanilla with a cherry on top for Lisa. It was dumb to be getting ice cream when it was freezing out, but no one reading the glossy would figure it out, even with us in our winter coats. Your brain pretty much turns off when you read those things.

The photographer shot us from a short distance as we walked back to the parking lot, like he was trying not to get caught. As we approached the car, he said, “Now pretend you’ve spotted me and look back.”

We turned our heads, and when we were getting into the backseat, he said, “Lisa, I want you to shield your face, and Jonny, stick your tongue out at the camera, like, ‘Screw you, man, I just want to hang out with my girl.’ ”

I did it, and we got inside and shut the door, and Lisa opened the other side and dumped her ice cream on the ground when Denise called out that we were done. Since it was vanilla, it was like the ice cream disappeared into the snow, and the cherry was on top of the whole parking lot. She stuck out her hand for me to shake and said, “It was an honor meeting you, sir, and, of course, playing the illustrious role of your lady friend.” From her seat she did a fake curtsy and bow before tapping on her iPhone. I didn’t know if I should wait for Jane or what, but without looking up she said, “Door’s unlocked.”

I went back to our car, with Walter escorting me. Jane kept typing on her phone and said, “Well, that was a really good use of our time.”

Even if I was way more famous, Lisa acted like she was twice my age, and I should’ve known from the beginning she’d say no to going out. It’d be like me dating a six-year-old. She’d make it as an actress and as a singer, because she wasn’t a normal kid. She was an adult in a kid’s body. If you were just a kid in a kid’s body, you might make it, too, as long as you had good management. If you weren’t either, it was harder to tell.