“That I had died from a drug overdose on stage,” Layla says. I look at her and she shrugs. I hadn’t heard that one, although I really wasn’t paying attention all these years.
“Um… for me, I guess it would have to be…” The rumor I hate the most is the one I’m constantly emailed about: Are you cheating on your wife? I never answer them, which is probably code for: I am. Thing is, I can’t say that now because they’ll run with it and twist my words. I do what every musician is expected to do; I lie. “Mine would be the constant rumors about my many stints in rehab. I’ve never been in one, nor have I ever been addicted to drugs.”
“Are there any rumors about me?” Leave it to Harrison to be perfect.
“That I’m gay,” JD says.
“We all know that’s not true,” a female voice rings out.
“Damn right, love.”
At the other end of the table, Lem clears his throat. Apparently he’s ready to answer. “Our biggest rumor is that we don’t get along. It’s not true.”
I look down the table and can tell he’s lying. The other two band members haven’t said a thing during any of the questions, only Dex, who I’m assuming is their lead singer. He looks emo, and is probably a pill popping tweaker.
“Number eight.”
My favorite number.
“My question is for Liam and Layla. Have you read Calista Jones’ biography?”
My blood turns cold as I lean in. “That would be an unauthorized biography, and the answer is no.”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t finished with my question,” Number eight says.
“That’s not my problem.” Number eight sighs, but doesn’t sit back down.
“Layla, will you and your daughter be visiting or moving to Beaumont now that it’s been revealed that Liam Page is her father?”
“Are you f –”
“Liam Page is not the father of my daughter. My daughter and her dad have a very good relationship. He’s very active in her life and always has been. This is the last time I’ll discuss this with anyone so I suggest each and every one of you print it clearly.”
I want to applaud Layla for standing up for me and to the reporters, but I’m so fucking pissed off I can’t see straight. My recovery time is nil as the next number is called.
“Number eleven.”
“What’s the best part about performing and recording music?”
Yet again, Lem starts speaking before Layla can and all four of us turn to stare at him. He clearly doesn’t care because he’s rattling off a diatribe about his life. By the time he’s finished, we’ve all forgotten the question.
“Number twenty-two.”
“Liam, how does your wife feel about you being here rekindling old friendships while she’s at home preparing for your new arrival?”
That question gets the reporters riled up and they start firing off questions right and left. It’s not a secret we’re adopting, but it isn’t exactly public knowledge either.
“My wife is fine. Our son is playing in some very important baseball games right now, so she stayed home with him,” I say, dodging the question about the new arrival.
“And the baby?”
“At the moment, my wife isn’t pregnant.” I leave it at that, hoping they get the hint.
I refill my water glass, wishing it was something stronger. I’m starting to get agitated and wonder if Moreno set this shit up on purpose to prove that we need someone like him. Yet again, I find myself suddenly missing Sam because if she were here, then it would be guaranteed a few of these questions wouldn’t be asked.
“Number six.”
“Liam, I’ve read the biography by Calista Jones and am wondering how it feels to have your lover’s personal diaries made public?”