Part 8
My Allstars Visa, so to speak, had well and truly expired. News of the split spread very quickly, and before we could prepare ourselves for the onslaught, we were overwhelmed with journalists and fans, all wanting the answer to the same question: Why were we breaking up?
In order to assure that we each gave the same answers, therefore not arousing suspicions, we were forced to join together again to give a press conference, just one. Any more and we wouldn't have been able to bear it. The tension in the air was thick and went three ways. Paul despised me for my behaviour and obsession. Rich detested me for ruining his relationship with Paul. But Paul and Rich had no acrimony between them whatsoever, none in the least. They were still very much in love, possibly even more so than before. One still desperately loved the other but weren't making it clear to each-other. So they sat at opposite ends of the table set up on a podium for us, glancing and then looking away while answering the press's questions. It was almost heartbreaking, but after everything that had happened, feelings of sympathy and regret had been numbed. Still, I knew it was time to call it a day. When I had first started my scheming and trickery, it was because I deeply cared for Paul and wanted him back in my arms. But by now, I was doing it so I could spite Rich, and feel victorious and superior over him. That wasn't what I wanted. This process had almost turned me into a monster.
Two months passed, and neither of us spoke a word to each-other since the press conference. I began work on a comedy game show called "Don't Forget Your Toothbrush" and spent a little more time with my family, trying to mend the wounds that i'd inflicted. Victoria still had no idea of what had happened during the final months of the Allstars, and I was grateful for that. For a while I was worried that Druggie Boy would blow his lid, but I had an associate take care of him.
On one particular evening, I decided to go clubbing with a friend who was also in the entertainment industry. After scanning the pages of Drum Media trying to find a venue, we pulled our coats over our shoulders and headed towards The Frolic, a low-key club on the outskirts. We had no idea who was going to be the performer that night, or who the famous faces in the crowd were, and we didn't care - we both just wanted to find a place where we would relax and stop being celebrities. It was refreshing to be able to remove the 'big star' cloak and just be myself, even for a short time.
As we pushed the entry doors open and stepped inside, I heard a man singing onstage. The voice was so sweet, almost angelic. I knew that voice; it couldn't be mistaken. I followed it as though I was in a dream, and there he was, sitting on a bar stool in front of a microphone stand. He was dressed down in a simple black shirt and jeans, singing "Calling All Angels". With each note he reached down into his soul and injected such pure emotion into the song, clinging to the microphone and tilting his head to the lights, bathed in a red glow.
"Every day you gaze upon the sunset with such love and intensity, It's almost...it's almost as if you could only crack the code...Then you'd finally understand what this all means..." He let his lips brush against the microphone, closing his eyes lightly. "But if you could, do you think you would trade it all, all the pain and suffering...Oh, but then you'd miss the beauty of the light upon this earth...and the sweetness of the leaving..."
My friend appeared at my side, he too drawn to the beauty of Paul's voice. I took a few slow and careful steps inside, hiding in a dark corner of the room where Paul would not see me. There was not one person in the audience with their eyes away from Paul. He drew them all into him; he had always had that power over them, he had a style and personality that nobody could ingore. They found themselves falling for him. It was almost like making love to an entire room full of people at once.
During a short interlude in the song, my eyes scanned the room, looking at everyone's faces and how they responded to this beautiful creature onstage. Then my eyes fell on a man leaning against the bar with his elbows, staring at Paul, almost concealed by two large men in front of him. I immediately knew it was Richard. He was doing exactly what I was doing - hiding from Paul's view, frightened of being discovered and the possible reaction it could entail.
Paul's song ended. The audience remained silent for a brief second before applauding loudly in appreciation. A few people whistled. I applauded with them, a smile forming on my face. They loved him, and he loved them in return. He smiled and nodded to the congregation.
He performed a few more songs, and he ended the set with a rendition of "You Really Got A Hold On Me". This wasn't so much a club as a shrine. The audience were on their feet by now, swaying to the music, and when the song ended they gave him a standing ovation. Some people stamped their feet, some whistled, some cheered. Paul rose to his feet and took a short bow, beaming as he thanked them. During the acclamation, I turned my head to see Richard's reaction. He was moving away from the bar, doing an awkard sideways dance towards the 'Backstage' door. Curiously, I followed him, leaving my friend behind. I knew he was watching me leave but he said nothing, unsure of my intentions.
Sidestepping my way through the swarm of people backstage, I managed to find Paul and Richard. They began at seperate ends of the room, talking to other people while casting acknowledging glances towards each-other. I made my way closer to Paul, peeking between couples to see what he was doing. I was merely two metres away from him when I saw Richard approach him. I could tell that they were both feeling uncomfortable, making small talk and avoiding what they both desperately wanted to say.
After a while I watched their conversation grow serious. There was so many different discussions being conducted in the room that I couldn't make out what they were saying, but deep down I knew what they were talking about: how much they missed what they once shared, reminding each-other of the memories they kept and cherished. I saw Paul's hand raise and his fingers gently touching Rich's lips as though he was memorizing his face by Braille, remembering the tenderness, trust and understanding that they had.
I told myself not to become jealous. Over the two months that had passed i'd tried to put my feelings about Paul on the proverbial shelf, trying to bury the demon that had plagued me during those final months of DAAS. It was hard for me to forgive myself for my wrongdoings, and promised myself that I would never do anything like that again. Yet as I watched them, silent vows of undying love flowing from Paul's fingertips to Rich's lips, the memories came rushing back to me, and my covetousness returned.
When they began to walk towards the outdoors area, I followed, trying to sidestep my way around and through the gathering of fans and staff. They disappeared out a door while I tried to navigate my way around a circle of large men who were either deaf or rude, as they had no intention of moving for others to get through.
Finally I reached the door Rich and Paul had exited through and stepped outside, my eyes darting back and forth along the verandah. They were nowhere to be seen, so I turned a corner where an assembly of trees sat. I stopped in my tracks when I found them, feeling as though i'd been slapped in the face. Paul was leaning against a tree stump while Rich stood in front of him, Paul lingeringly running his hand through Rich's hair. They leant forward and their lips met, gently and hesitantly, with the tips of their tongues touching fervently, before moulding their mouths around each-other in a dreamy, passionate kiss, holding one another close and looking afraid of letting go again.
Part 9