(no subject)
In The End It's Music
Conclusion
****
Adam’s body is hard to maneuver onto the bed. The same agile form that comes alive on stage every night in graceful vitality is now all awkward angles and inelegant flops. Michael pulls off his sneakers, drapes the comforter across his shoulders and stares.
Adam murmurs softly in his sleep and bites his bottom lip so hard he leaves imprints in the freckles. He moves suggestively, swaying his hips a bit in Michael’s direction, his movements sure and practiced, yet vulnerable and yielding at the same time. If that bastard had managed to get Adam home, he sure as hell would be having a grand old party right about now.
He says, “Just try to sleep it off, okay?” turns the TV on low and flops on the bed. Adam’s reaches out and brushes his fingertips across Michael’s shoulder before exhaustion gets the better of him and he drifts off to a restless moan filled sleep.
He wonders how the hell a guy as smart as Adam could act so damn stupid and why he seemed so lonely and miserable earlier in the evening when he’s obviously the god damned star of the American Idol show.
The guy’s had it easy from day one.
Michael frowns and clenches his fists.
Fuck you Lambert…
Michael didn’t have things given to him on a silver platter. He never felt entitled to a god damn thing in his life. God gave Adam talent in spades, charisma to spare, a loving family, good values and then for some unknown reason the Almighty also made Adam gay…
Shit.
He closes his eyes and repeats his final thought until he thinks his head just might crack wide open. God making people gay goes against everything he was ever taught to believe. And yet it makes a hell of lot more sense than someone choosing to be gay. Choosing ridicule and scorn from ass-wipes on Facebook pages. Putting on a brave smile and facing the world when you’re pretty damn sure a big segment of it is against you from the start. And having Bill O’Reilly freaking dissect your love life on national television while you’re in the middle of a god damn televised singing competition!
Fuck Bill O’Reilly…
Michael is home in Texas when he gets the call from Danny and the glee in his friend’s voice is a welcome and warm surprise. When he tells Michael about the kissing pictures being shown on Fox News Michael can’t stop laughing like a good old boy and making fun of Adam’s pain at having his private life make the public news. They giggle about Adam like two idiotic fraternity geeks after a night on the town. Danny is sure that Adam’s going home this week, as sure as he is that he’s going to be the next American Idol. They talk for a while, exchange gossip and promise to keep in touch.
The next evening Michael sits transfixed as Adam, bathed in blue light, sings a haunting rendition of Mad World and gets a standing ovation from Simon Cowell. Somewhere in Hollywood Danny Gokey is crying bitter tears of woe because sure as shit Adam Lambert isn’t going anywhere this week.
It takes Michael a few days but when he finally searches the O’Reilly segment on YouTube he’s surprised by its mildness. The pictures aren’t shocking, just censored pictures of Adam kissing another boy, and it makes him feel weird to realize that something as lucky for Adam Lambert as being in love might dictate whether or not he wins or loses the competition.
Michael doesn’t think he can ever do it with a guy, even one as attractive as Adam. The idea is as far removed from his line of thinking as, well, not watching football on Thanksgiving afternoon. It just isn’t happening so there’s no use in even imagining it. He wonders if it’s the same for Adam just in reverse. Damn. The idea that Adam might be repulsed at the very thought of sleeping with a woman is too much deep thought for him for one day.
He closes his eyes and leans back on the bed. Michael doesn’t remember falling asleep or covering himself with a blanket and yet when he wakes up here he is snuggling under a worn comforter that’s obviously seen better days. Adam isn’t lying next to him anymore and he feels a surge of panic. He swings his long legs over the side and listens.
“Adam?” When he doesn’t get an answer Michael jumps off the bed. It doesn’t take him long to find the other man drowsy and only half awake lying across the rim of the toilet seat. He pushes Adam back against the bath tub, tosses him a towel and flushes.
“Hey,” Michael nudges him softly.
Adam stirs and wraps his arms across his stomach and shivers hard enough to crack a rib. “Oh shit.” When he looks up at Michael there’s confusion in his eyes and a subtle hint of fear. “I don’t remember…”
“Well, you’re lucky Adam. Damn fucking lucky.” Michael offers Adam a hand up and after a second he takes it. “That bastard you wanted to get it on with slipped you a roofie.”
Adam swallows and Michael can tell it really costs him to admit to himself that he was an idiot. Picking up strangers for casual sex is never a good idea. It’s doubly doubtful when you’re Adam Lambert.
“How did I get here?” Adam looks around nervously. “Where is here by the way?”
“Let’s get you out of the bathroom and I’ll explain.”
He let’s Adam rinse out his mouth and wash up and they end up walking across the street to the 24-hour Perkins restaurant. Michael orders a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Adam just stares blankly at the waitress and she stares back. It’s the middle of the night and she’s probably used to all the late night loonies.
He says, “Just get him some hot coffee,” and is mildly surprised that he knows that Adam specifically prefers that choice of beverage over tea.
“Okay, I’m sure you’re curious but give me a chance first.”
It takes a while to explain the situation but Michael starts at the beginning and is relieved that Adam doesn’t interrupt with any questions and is polite enough to wait until he’s finished. Of course Adam being Adam, he starts with the most difficult question to answer of them all.
“Why?”
Crap.
“Why did you follow me?” Adam looks weary and pale and his fingers grip the hot cup of coffee like a lifeline.
Michael is an honest man and so it kills him that his first thought is to say, “I wasn’t following you,” when screw it, who the hell is he kidding? He follows Adam Lambert from the hotel, tracks him across an unfamiliar city, rescues him from a would-be rapist and shacks up with him in a rundown motel all in the course of five very long hours. A lie like the one he wants to tell just isn’t going to cut it so he says simply, “You looked like you needed someone to,” and watches Adam’s expression turn from confused to wary in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t think you should be walking around alone.”
Adam bristles, “I can take care of myself,” and looks slightly offended when Michael snorts. “I can.”
“Well that may be buddy but tonight you couldn’t.” He eats the last of his fries and pushes the plate away. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
Adam shakes his head and Michael is slightly relieved that he doesn’t look green anymore, just a very pale shade of yellow. He stares calmly at Michael and says, “I really didn’t see that coming. I thought he was nice. I thought we could just have sex and part ways and I’d go on with the tour and forget about it.”
And oh yeah, this is weird because the moment Michael hears himself say, “What about Drake?” he knows that he’s swimming in uncharted waters. He’s having a conversation with a gay guy that he maybe does or doesn’t consider a friend, about the special guy in his life. It should feel weirder than it does. Or maybe Michael’s just grown up some on the tour. Either way, Adam’s frown is kind of a downer.
“I’m not sure we’re together anymore.” Adam stretches and yawns and runs a hand through messy hair. “He’s not really into the fame thing. I think he slept with someone else.”
Michael starts, “So you wanted to screw around to get back at him?” and then, “Wait…you think?”
Adam winces and then replies, “Yeah,” He turns toward the window. Michael can’t see anything worth staring at. “I heard from someone.”
“Are you sure though?”
“Drake didn’t deny it when I confronted him.” Adam sounds defensive and looks about as hopeless as Michael’s ever seen him.
“But are you sure?” Michael says letting a fair amount of exasperation seep into his voice. Adam sure can be seriously stupid at times.
He looks at Michael then looks away and when his blue eyes find Michael’s face again he looks embarrassed. “No, I’m not sure.”
“You run in there all accusing and such of course the poor boy’s going to get angry.” And shit just look at him; a god damn relationship counselor. If the boys in Jasper could see him now they’d bust a collective gut.
Adam sighs. “You’re probably right.”
“I am right. I had the same argument with a girl once and I…” Michael starts, then pauses, “Not that I’m comparing Drake to a girl.”
For the first time in what seems like weeks Adam laughs. “No of course you’re not.” He sips his coffee and waits one beat, then two. “Maybe I should call him…”
His voice sounds uncertain and it breaks Michael’s heart just a bit. He’s uncomfortable seeing Adam down in the mouth. “Yeah, maybe you should.”
**************
Adam listens to Michael order an ice cream sundae and hears his stomach growl. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.” He scowls when the action repeats itself only this time louder.
“Well, you should get one too!” He calls the waitress back over and before Adam can say “no”, Michael directs her to, “Make that two sundaes honey, okay?”
“You got it cowboy.”
Michael’s oddly joyous smile lights up the dreary atmosphere of the all night dive. There’s something about the other man that Adam has always found innocent and appealing if a bit jumbled. Michael Sarver is an everyman. He’s the guy you see on the street. He’s the guy who makes your electricity and cable run properly and picks up your trash. He’s the guy who coaches his kid’s softball team, hangs out in bars without his wife and probably likes beef at every meal. He’s conservative, a Christian and a family man. Michael Sarver is what passes for normal in most parts of the world.
Simply put he’s everything that Adam Lambert is not.
Adam likes Michael about as much as you can like a guy who tells you “Where I come from you’re either in the closet or you’re dead” one minute and then defends your honor to the internet and rescues you from a sexual predator the next.
He remembers breaking down and telling his brother what Michael said to him during the top 13 round because, well, hell, it kind of hurt in a way he’s felt immune to for a very long time and Adam needs to talk to somebody who’ll listen to him and not judge his reaction. Since he fears it might make his mother cry and his Dad go off on a tangent Neil’s the one he bares his soul to and then later kind of regrets that he ever did when it makes the rounds of internet fan sites and brands Michael in a way that Adam didn’t intend but doesn’t totally disagree with. Neil doesn’t offer sympathy because that’s not his style but he shows Adam that he cares by hating Sarver’s guts with a passion that scares Adam a little bit but makes him love his brother that much more.
Adam never hides his sexuality from the other contestants but he doesn’t go around wearing a scarlet “G” on his chest either. Keeping secrets just isn’t his style. And hey, if some people want to be upset then that’s too fucking bad. They’re not the ones he’s here to impress.
Adam’s been living in Hollywood for a long time and he’s seen and heard just about every insult and innuendo in existence and yet he still doesn’t expect Michael Sarver to be quite so open about offering his unsolicited rude brand of advice even if the big Texan actually thinks he’s doing Adam a favor. Sarver thinks Adam is in parts impressive, brave and foolish for actually daring to be himself in a city of obvious frauds. He thinks Adam should pretend to be someone he’s not. He thinks Adam should lie.
Sarver lets Adam know that his kind of lifestyle won’t play well in the sticks and middle America and despite having a very thick skin to ward off ignorance, hearing the words “closet or you’re dead” knocks the wind out of his sails and forces him to fight back a building wave of nausea and the onset of a panic attack.
Not here please… Not now…
Adam knows he’s equal to these guys and obviously better than some and yet honestly, what the fuck was he thinking even entering this damn karaoke contest? He excuses himself, hides in the bathroom and stares at his face in the mirror.
What the fuck is he doing in the competition anyway? What fucking chance does he have to even make it past the Country music round?
He starts to hyperventilate and after a few quick breaths he’s fine enough to leave the toilet but the stench of self-doubt clings to him forever like a second skin.
In his circle of friends in Los Angeles Adam is never the odd person out. He isn’t shy about saying what’s on his mind and being himself and he’s determined to carry that view over into the American Idol competition. But something happens when he makes top ten. Something he doesn’t expect but in retrospect he really fucking should have. Adam suddenly finds it thrust in his face that his life and beliefs are not their lives and beliefs. No big surprise there. Not even by a long shot. His experiences as a gay man and a Jew set him apart from his predominantly southern Christian competitors.
Adam is the only person here who knows what it’s like to have unjust expectations and pre-judged opinions of his talent based on his past work and life experience. To have his livelihood and sexuality bandied about as negative indicators of his talent instead of an extension of his professionalism and internalization of his individuality.
“...theatrical…”
Simon utters it like some fucking curse word; might as well say “flaming god damn homo” instead.
Adam sighs and closes his eyes tight.
What’s past is past and the show is over. He doesn’t win and it hurts more than he wants to admit even to himself. Coming in second is great. He gets his platform and a recording contract and any fears he has about tour audiences accepting him disband with the love and support he sees showcased for him in Salt Lake City. The world’s not perfect yet but Adam wouldn’t be true to himself if he didn’t take that acceptance as a very good sign that at least it’s moving a bit faster on its axis in the absolutely right direction.
“Um, you okay Adam?”
Michaels’ voice drags him back to the present. It’s odd to see him on this level, just a normal guy, a good guy, a fucking amazing guy who just might have saved Adam’s life tonight. He thinks about what might have happened and a shudder rips through him with the intensity of a lightening bolt. He replies, “Um, yeah,” and then “I didn’t really say thank you.”
“Well you don’t have to.” Michael says, “And just so you know. You’re very welcome.”
Their ice cream sundaes arrive and Adam digs in with a flourish but stops after a couple of spoonfuls when his stomach disagrees. Ice Cream is his weakness. He thinks of Drake and frowns.
Yeah, ice cream and boys with southern accents.
Neither of them speaks for a moment and then Michael says, “So you’re not going to do that again, right?”
“Right,” Adam says and stares intently at his ice cream. “It was stupid. It’s just been so hard lately.”
“Hard?” Michael looks up surprised and if Adam’s judging him correctly, he’s also angry, “…as in hard for you?”
Adam winces, murmurs, “Yeah,” and sips his coffee. “Some days I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’
“Are you serious?” Michael scoffs.
“Of course I’m serious,” Adam shrugs. “It’s crazy man.”
“Right,” Michael scoffs. “I’m sure it’s been very difficult.”
And actually it’s been more than just a bit difficult. It’s been god damn mother fucking bitch difficult. Tour reviews that praise him and downgrade his friends, hurt feelings, fans shouting at him so loud that he’s forced to wear earplugs to keep his sanity, flashbulbs going off in his face, people touching him, grabbing him, people wanting him, begging him for things that he’s never going to be able to give. Some nights he loves it, other nights it leaves him shaken to the core. Adam wears out his voice, misses a few meet and greets, makes an off-hand remark and causes the universe to flip on its side and do cartwheels.
It’s nearly unbelievable.
“I don’t get you at all sometimes,” Michael snorts and keeps eating. “You sailed through the competition. The judges loved you. They pimped you out like a god-damned race horse from the moment you opened your mouth! You have a recording contract and millions of fans. You’re the star of the god damn tour. Everyone thinks you’re incredible. And still you complain and do stuff to mess it up.”
Adam isn’t sure where Michael’s heading but he has a vague idea and he doesn’t think it’s going to be pleasant. In fact he’s pretty damn sure it’s going to piss him off.
“You’ve had it easy right from the get go. You don’t know what it means to work your ass off for something the way that I do and I get shit on while you get praised.” He shakes his head and twists his mouth into a hideous frown. “Everybody thinks you’re going to succeed. Nobody prejudges you because you’re a roughneck on an oil rig.”
Adam stares at Michael mesmerized. It’s bizarrely fascinating to have his own thoughts slammed back at him from another man’s body and voice. To hear his internal self-damnation played out like some way off base freak show where Adam’s merely the guest star. He mumbles, “That’s not true,” because of course what Michael is saying is absolutely ridiculous.
“Oh no?” Michael practically snarls. “When’s the last time you got your hands dirty doing real work?”
Real work…
“You don’t know me.” Adam tries to remain calm but he can feel the storm brewing just beneath the surface. His head aches and the rest of his body feels equally as shitty and the last thing he needs to do right now is have a full blown argument with the man who might have saved his life. His mind begs him to proceed with caution but he’s so pissed off at himself and Neil and Drake and everybody that he lashes out at Michael without a thought for calm intervention. “You have no idea who I am or what I did to get here. So shut up, okay? I don’t want to say something nasty that I might regret. Because then you might think I’m a fucking Diva.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I miss something? Because before this gig you were a big deal in the theater weren’t you? Or did American Idol conveniently forget to give us the part of your back story where you cleaned pools or paved potholes off the LA freeway for a living?”
Adam starts to stand but sudden rush of dizziness forces him back to his seat. “Fuck you Sarver.”
“Well that’s a nice way to talk to the guy who saved your life.”
“You didn’t save anything,” Adam says, and bites his tongue.
Liar…
Michael helped him tonight and Adam just can’t get his mind around it. Michael Sarver followed his stupid ass across an Illinois highway and tracked him down to a gay bar just to make sure he was okay, because well, shit, just because it looked like Adam needed someone to follow him. It’s fucking hard to believe that the man who once told him to stay in the closet is the same guy who had his back with the Twitter world during the tour. Adam frowns. Never mind being the same guy who helped him tonight when he didn’t even realize he needed it.
He bites his lip. It’s way too much to contemplate and also way too little and the very idea is overwhelming as fuck. Michael’s quick thinking saved more than his virtue tonight it quite possibly saved his life, his relationship with Drake and his career. Adam swallows down a rush of bile and makes a decision.
He looks at Michael and spreads his hands wide across the table. The nail polish on his fingers is starting to chip. He feels vulnerable, naked and more than a little bit nervous. It’s so unlike how he reacts on a daily basis and yet so very much right on target that the confusion makes his head spin. He and Michael Sarver can’t possibly be friends, can they? They’re too fucking different to ever get along. Adam frowns. There was also a time he would have thought the same thing about Kris Allen.
“I didn’t save anything? Well, if that’s the way you want to be about it…” Michael begins but then stops when he notices Adam’s hands.
“No. It’s not the way I want to be about it,” Adam tries. “I want you to understand me.” He swallows and looks away, then looks Michael in the eye and continues. “I want you to understand me because I think it’s important that we understand each other.” And why the fuck is this so hard? Why can’t he just open his mouth like he does at interviews and mesmerize Michael like he captivates the press?
“I appreciate what you did for me. What I said to you was shitty and uncalled for and I’m sorry. I think you’re a good man and I value what you brought to the show this season and what you bring to the tour each night.”
Michael eyes him up like he’s a madman but Adam doesn’t stop. It’s not his nature to play it safe. He waits for Michael’s response. “And I value your friendship.”
When the other man doesn’t respond Adam pulls his hands back and wraps them across his chest. He feels empty and chilled and out of his element. Maybe he jumped the gun. Maybe Michael Sarver doesn’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks. He murmurs, “Sorry, I’m reading you wrong,” and reaches shakily for his coffee.
************
Michael watches Adam silently. His hands are shaking. His face looks tired. It’s freaky to just sit and watch him, to put him on display, and yet Michael can hardly tone down his abstract fascination with the other man long enough to form a coherent thought. He knows it’s pretty stupid to just sit and stare and say nothing for the rest of the night when they’re basically at a crossroads but crazy or not Michael’s tempted to do just that. He considers his options, frowns and exhales loud enough to get the other man’s attention. Adam extended the olive branch. It would be downright rude of him not to reach back.
“You want me to know you?” Michael says, confused. “I think I know enough about you Adam.”
Adam sighs, “If you did you wouldn’t say the crap you just said and actually mean it.” He leans forward puts himself in Michael’s space and continues, “I worked my ass off to get here. I worked shit jobs during the day, anything I could find to feed myself, to keep going for it, to keep reaching for the fucking stars, and I didn’t care what I had to do as long as I could perform and sing for an audience. I folded jeans I lived with broken windows and cockroaches, I starved myself. I sang as a chorus boy in Wicked, and as the freaking understudy, when I knew I could vocally chop the balls off any lead they put up there on stage. I did lame porno reviews in Tahoe that featured more women’s boobs then I’d seen in my lifetime or ever want to see again. I sang demo on songs that were offered away to other singers because I wasn’t deemed “bankable” enough to take a god damned chance on and actually sign to a contract myself. And despite all this fuckery I just got on with it. Did what I had to do. Ignored jibes, insults, and innuendo’s about by sexuality because I knew I had talent and that all I needed was a break to get me noticed and then people would see that there’s more to me than who I sleep with. I freaked out. I got depressed. When I tried out for Idol it was my last chance. I was fucking afraid of never getting a break. But it didn’t end there.”
Adam sits back against the seat and closes his eyes. He lowers his voice and continues. Michael doesn’t dare try to stop him. With the smudged mascara and eyeliner he resembles a waif. It’s very confusing.
“It didn’t end there,” Adam continues, “because Simon and his theatrical bullshit marked me from day one. Not my voice. Not my skills or talent. But the fact that I was theater and theater was a synonym for gay. I had to prove that I was good enough despite being gay. I mean, come the fuck on Sarver! How does someone overcome that shit?” He sags, defeated and closes his eyes. “I never asked for the pimping. But I needed it. Sometimes it embarrassed me and sometimes it made me feel good. But I never asked for it, you know?”
And Jesus fuck how weird is that? Adam Lambert unhinged and open and letting him have it. Sticking him in the gut and twisting the god damned knife. And that stare of his with those oddly shaped blue eyes drilling into his soul. Michael can’t look away from that god-damned stare.
“It’s just…” Adam swallows hard and seems to brace himself for Michael’s response. “I never had it easy and it pissed me off when people said I was “too experienced” and didn’t deserve to be there when…” He gulps and shrugs and looks sick as a dog. “…I deserved to be there as much as anybody.”
Michael isn’t sure why he says what he does but the words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to consider their impact or if he really wants to say them, “I think you’re amazing. I did from the first day I sat in the audience and heard you sing Cher. At first I thought. God damn it. This bastard is singing Cher. Then I stopped thinking. Fuck. You went first. People clapped for you. And every guy waiting their turn was scared shitless to compete against you.” Adam narrows his eyes and Michael decides to just get it all the hell out there. “And during this tour…well, I guess I’ve never seen anyone who belongs on a stage more than you do.”
Adam’s voice sounds small, “Oh.” He looks away briefly and then it’s back to the eye-fuck.
“But you have to understand it hasn’t been easy for me either and I guess I’m just feeling a bit jealous so I mouthed off...”
“No, look, I’m sorry, I…” Adam cuts him off but Michael speaks right through him.
“You had your turn Adam. Now you’re going to listen to me.” Michael wishes to god he had a talent for rhetoric because he has a feeling he’s really going to need it. “I was in jail once, did you know that?”
************
Adam takes a deep breath and waits. He listens to Michael talk in halting sentences about jail and heartache and discovering himself at his darkest hour and damn if some of what he’s saying doesn’t mirror Adam’s own life.
“Getting arrested was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life. I was a mess. I didn’t respect anybody. I didn’t respect myself.” Michael pauses for a second. Adam can see him struggling for control. “I was fighting with my father, my friends, my girl, everyone because I was unhappy and pushing the blame onto them for every damn thing I was doing wrong.”
He winces. “Ah shit Adam…”
Adam feels the weight of the world in Michael Sarver’s plaintive sigh.
“I hated rough-necking with a passion that sometimes made me mean. Did you know it’s one of the most dangerous jobs in the world?”
“I didn’t,” Adam manages. He listens to Michael, captivated. It’s odd to see the pleasant handsome features so twisted with doubt and confusion and Adam wonders if he looks that way too sometimes when he’s feeling fucked up. He wonders if he looked that way tonight standing in the parking lot at the Hilton.
“I got the soul of a poet Adam. I don’t want to be digging in the dirt and risking my life forever. I want to show the world that I’m more than that. Not that I don’t respect these guys and what they do because that’s not the truth. It’s just that I want a chance to be more. I’m not a dumb hick.” He shakes his head and laughs a bit but to Adam’s ears it sounds more bitter than jubilant. “I want people to see past what they view as my limitations, past their narrow analysis of what I should be, to what I can be if I’m given half a chance.” He stares hard at Adam, searching for something, acceptance maybe, or understanding and it’s an exhausting feeling to be on the other end of the microscope for a change.
Adam swallows. Prejudice, hate, false assumptions, all part of his life and oddly enough, in some ways, a part of Michael Sarver’s life as well.
Michael says, “Does that make any sense at all?”
Adam thinks, oh fuck yeah buddy, but replies quietly, “It makes a lot of sense.”
“Did you know I wrote over 900 songs?”
Adam shakes his head, murmurs, “No,” and drinks the last of his coffee.
“Yes sir I did indeed, 900 songs and not a piece of filler among them.” He twists his mouth and smiles and Adam finds himself smiling back. “Well maybe 150 or so are filler.”
“I’d like to hear them someday,” He considers, “Well, at least the ones that aren’t filler, you know, the ones that mean the most to you.”
“It’s a deal.” Michael shakes his head. He looks sad and it feels weird because Adam has a feeling that somehow it’s his fault. Michael says, “Just look at the two of us.”
“Yeah,” Adam clenches his fists tight, “Not exactly at our best.”
“And finding out we’re not that different huh?”
Adam nods. Who the hell would have thought that he and Michael Sarver both had something to prove? That both of them were frighteningly insecure, fighting for respect and determined to do whatever the hell it takes to get their careers rolling. Without American Idol they’d both be languishing in their respective professions, Adam as a chorus boy and Michael as a roughneck, never knowing what they could be and merely hoping for the best.
“We’re both underdogs,” Michael says, and then, “I shouldn’t have made the comment about you not working hard. It was dumb of me. And I know I haven’t been the nicest guy to you in the past. Gokey brings out the idiot in me.”
“It’s okay,” Adam murmurs and waits because really what is there to say that Michael isn’t saying?
“No, it’s not okay. I guess I was raised wrong.” Michael stares at his empty mug and swallows, “Really, really wrong.”
“Now come on…” Adam tries but there’s really no point. He has a feeling Michael isn’t quite finished yet.
“I grew up disliking people like you.”
Adam flinches but doesn’t look away.
People like you…
“I mean gay people, because that’s what I was taught. But it’s ignorant Adam. And I don’t want to be ignorant any more. This tour has shown me something. You’ve shown me something and it hasn’t been easy to reconcile it with stuff that’s been in my head forever but I’m getting there. I hope you know I’m not the same guy who said shit to you at the start of the show.”
Adam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. His head is pounding and his body feels leaden and he’s so fucking exhausted he wants to cry. Instead he yawns so hard that his mouth stretches open and the bones in his back crack and the sound startles them both into a fit of giggles. “God, I am so fucking tired.”
Michael scowls, “Of course you’re tired. And what the hell am I doing keeping you up and out here at this hour when you should be in bed resting.” He bites his bottom lip and lowers his head. It’s a boyish move, the endearing type of shit that Adam always falls for.
When Michael asks, “Are we friends?” it takes Adam a moment to answer. Can they be friends? Adam believes in the beauty of life and the ultimate salvation of forgiveness and the Michael Sarver who hurt him in the past was a very long time ago. On the outside they’re nothing alike. But if you take the time to delve a little deeper the similarities are there waiting to be discovered just beneath the surface.
“Adam?” Michael’s nervousness is palpable. “You don’t have to answer.
“We’re friends,” Adam says and smiles. He reaches for the check but Michael’s hand gets there first.
“You can pick up the next one,” Michael replies with a smile of his own that makes Adam feel three levels of good inside. “Now since we got the entire night paid for at the motel, and I don’t have a clue where we are and you look like you’re ready to drop, what-say we sleep it off, show up in the morning and really give the other’s something to talk about?”
It’s devious and funny and Gokey will probably shit his pants so all in all Adam thinks it’s a grand idea. He laughs and says, “You got it.” Adam stands and groans and looks blankly at Michael’s outstretched hand. He swallows hard and takes it, shakes once firmly, then again. “Thanks Michael,” he whispers, his mind drifting warily.
“Don’t mention it.”
They stare at each other for a second until it starts to get uncomfortable but when they pull apart Adam is left with a peaceful feeling and a lighter heart then he’s had in weeks. Tomorrow he’s going to call Neil and then when he thinks of a proper apology he’ll give Drake a call too.
He pats Michael on the back as they walk out the door. The tour may be winding to a close but in a way their lives are just beginning. He’s not sure what the future holds for himself or for Michael Sarver but he’s knows one thing for certain: they’re both going to do their best to overcome the odds, touch the sky and put the stars in their pockets.
Even though it’s dark when they arrive back at the motel, Adam knows it’s going to be a beautiful day.
THE END
=end=
Conclusion
****
Adam’s body is hard to maneuver onto the bed. The same agile form that comes alive on stage every night in graceful vitality is now all awkward angles and inelegant flops. Michael pulls off his sneakers, drapes the comforter across his shoulders and stares.
Adam murmurs softly in his sleep and bites his bottom lip so hard he leaves imprints in the freckles. He moves suggestively, swaying his hips a bit in Michael’s direction, his movements sure and practiced, yet vulnerable and yielding at the same time. If that bastard had managed to get Adam home, he sure as hell would be having a grand old party right about now.
He says, “Just try to sleep it off, okay?” turns the TV on low and flops on the bed. Adam’s reaches out and brushes his fingertips across Michael’s shoulder before exhaustion gets the better of him and he drifts off to a restless moan filled sleep.
He wonders how the hell a guy as smart as Adam could act so damn stupid and why he seemed so lonely and miserable earlier in the evening when he’s obviously the god damned star of the American Idol show.
The guy’s had it easy from day one.
Michael frowns and clenches his fists.
Fuck you Lambert…
Michael didn’t have things given to him on a silver platter. He never felt entitled to a god damn thing in his life. God gave Adam talent in spades, charisma to spare, a loving family, good values and then for some unknown reason the Almighty also made Adam gay…
Shit.
He closes his eyes and repeats his final thought until he thinks his head just might crack wide open. God making people gay goes against everything he was ever taught to believe. And yet it makes a hell of lot more sense than someone choosing to be gay. Choosing ridicule and scorn from ass-wipes on Facebook pages. Putting on a brave smile and facing the world when you’re pretty damn sure a big segment of it is against you from the start. And having Bill O’Reilly freaking dissect your love life on national television while you’re in the middle of a god damn televised singing competition!
Fuck Bill O’Reilly…
Michael is home in Texas when he gets the call from Danny and the glee in his friend’s voice is a welcome and warm surprise. When he tells Michael about the kissing pictures being shown on Fox News Michael can’t stop laughing like a good old boy and making fun of Adam’s pain at having his private life make the public news. They giggle about Adam like two idiotic fraternity geeks after a night on the town. Danny is sure that Adam’s going home this week, as sure as he is that he’s going to be the next American Idol. They talk for a while, exchange gossip and promise to keep in touch.
The next evening Michael sits transfixed as Adam, bathed in blue light, sings a haunting rendition of Mad World and gets a standing ovation from Simon Cowell. Somewhere in Hollywood Danny Gokey is crying bitter tears of woe because sure as shit Adam Lambert isn’t going anywhere this week.
It takes Michael a few days but when he finally searches the O’Reilly segment on YouTube he’s surprised by its mildness. The pictures aren’t shocking, just censored pictures of Adam kissing another boy, and it makes him feel weird to realize that something as lucky for Adam Lambert as being in love might dictate whether or not he wins or loses the competition.
Michael doesn’t think he can ever do it with a guy, even one as attractive as Adam. The idea is as far removed from his line of thinking as, well, not watching football on Thanksgiving afternoon. It just isn’t happening so there’s no use in even imagining it. He wonders if it’s the same for Adam just in reverse. Damn. The idea that Adam might be repulsed at the very thought of sleeping with a woman is too much deep thought for him for one day.
He closes his eyes and leans back on the bed. Michael doesn’t remember falling asleep or covering himself with a blanket and yet when he wakes up here he is snuggling under a worn comforter that’s obviously seen better days. Adam isn’t lying next to him anymore and he feels a surge of panic. He swings his long legs over the side and listens.
“Adam?” When he doesn’t get an answer Michael jumps off the bed. It doesn’t take him long to find the other man drowsy and only half awake lying across the rim of the toilet seat. He pushes Adam back against the bath tub, tosses him a towel and flushes.
“Hey,” Michael nudges him softly.
Adam stirs and wraps his arms across his stomach and shivers hard enough to crack a rib. “Oh shit.” When he looks up at Michael there’s confusion in his eyes and a subtle hint of fear. “I don’t remember…”
“Well, you’re lucky Adam. Damn fucking lucky.” Michael offers Adam a hand up and after a second he takes it. “That bastard you wanted to get it on with slipped you a roofie.”
Adam swallows and Michael can tell it really costs him to admit to himself that he was an idiot. Picking up strangers for casual sex is never a good idea. It’s doubly doubtful when you’re Adam Lambert.
“How did I get here?” Adam looks around nervously. “Where is here by the way?”
“Let’s get you out of the bathroom and I’ll explain.”
He let’s Adam rinse out his mouth and wash up and they end up walking across the street to the 24-hour Perkins restaurant. Michael orders a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Adam just stares blankly at the waitress and she stares back. It’s the middle of the night and she’s probably used to all the late night loonies.
He says, “Just get him some hot coffee,” and is mildly surprised that he knows that Adam specifically prefers that choice of beverage over tea.
“Okay, I’m sure you’re curious but give me a chance first.”
It takes a while to explain the situation but Michael starts at the beginning and is relieved that Adam doesn’t interrupt with any questions and is polite enough to wait until he’s finished. Of course Adam being Adam, he starts with the most difficult question to answer of them all.
“Why?”
Crap.
“Why did you follow me?” Adam looks weary and pale and his fingers grip the hot cup of coffee like a lifeline.
Michael is an honest man and so it kills him that his first thought is to say, “I wasn’t following you,” when screw it, who the hell is he kidding? He follows Adam Lambert from the hotel, tracks him across an unfamiliar city, rescues him from a would-be rapist and shacks up with him in a rundown motel all in the course of five very long hours. A lie like the one he wants to tell just isn’t going to cut it so he says simply, “You looked like you needed someone to,” and watches Adam’s expression turn from confused to wary in the blink of an eye. “I didn’t think you should be walking around alone.”
Adam bristles, “I can take care of myself,” and looks slightly offended when Michael snorts. “I can.”
“Well that may be buddy but tonight you couldn’t.” He eats the last of his fries and pushes the plate away. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
Adam shakes his head and Michael is slightly relieved that he doesn’t look green anymore, just a very pale shade of yellow. He stares calmly at Michael and says, “I really didn’t see that coming. I thought he was nice. I thought we could just have sex and part ways and I’d go on with the tour and forget about it.”
And oh yeah, this is weird because the moment Michael hears himself say, “What about Drake?” he knows that he’s swimming in uncharted waters. He’s having a conversation with a gay guy that he maybe does or doesn’t consider a friend, about the special guy in his life. It should feel weirder than it does. Or maybe Michael’s just grown up some on the tour. Either way, Adam’s frown is kind of a downer.
“I’m not sure we’re together anymore.” Adam stretches and yawns and runs a hand through messy hair. “He’s not really into the fame thing. I think he slept with someone else.”
Michael starts, “So you wanted to screw around to get back at him?” and then, “Wait…you think?”
Adam winces and then replies, “Yeah,” He turns toward the window. Michael can’t see anything worth staring at. “I heard from someone.”
“Are you sure though?”
“Drake didn’t deny it when I confronted him.” Adam sounds defensive and looks about as hopeless as Michael’s ever seen him.
“But are you sure?” Michael says letting a fair amount of exasperation seep into his voice. Adam sure can be seriously stupid at times.
He looks at Michael then looks away and when his blue eyes find Michael’s face again he looks embarrassed. “No, I’m not sure.”
“You run in there all accusing and such of course the poor boy’s going to get angry.” And shit just look at him; a god damn relationship counselor. If the boys in Jasper could see him now they’d bust a collective gut.
Adam sighs. “You’re probably right.”
“I am right. I had the same argument with a girl once and I…” Michael starts, then pauses, “Not that I’m comparing Drake to a girl.”
For the first time in what seems like weeks Adam laughs. “No of course you’re not.” He sips his coffee and waits one beat, then two. “Maybe I should call him…”
His voice sounds uncertain and it breaks Michael’s heart just a bit. He’s uncomfortable seeing Adam down in the mouth. “Yeah, maybe you should.”
**************
Adam listens to Michael order an ice cream sundae and hears his stomach growl. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.” He scowls when the action repeats itself only this time louder.
“Well, you should get one too!” He calls the waitress back over and before Adam can say “no”, Michael directs her to, “Make that two sundaes honey, okay?”
“You got it cowboy.”
Michael’s oddly joyous smile lights up the dreary atmosphere of the all night dive. There’s something about the other man that Adam has always found innocent and appealing if a bit jumbled. Michael Sarver is an everyman. He’s the guy you see on the street. He’s the guy who makes your electricity and cable run properly and picks up your trash. He’s the guy who coaches his kid’s softball team, hangs out in bars without his wife and probably likes beef at every meal. He’s conservative, a Christian and a family man. Michael Sarver is what passes for normal in most parts of the world.
Simply put he’s everything that Adam Lambert is not.
Adam likes Michael about as much as you can like a guy who tells you “Where I come from you’re either in the closet or you’re dead” one minute and then defends your honor to the internet and rescues you from a sexual predator the next.
He remembers breaking down and telling his brother what Michael said to him during the top 13 round because, well, hell, it kind of hurt in a way he’s felt immune to for a very long time and Adam needs to talk to somebody who’ll listen to him and not judge his reaction. Since he fears it might make his mother cry and his Dad go off on a tangent Neil’s the one he bares his soul to and then later kind of regrets that he ever did when it makes the rounds of internet fan sites and brands Michael in a way that Adam didn’t intend but doesn’t totally disagree with. Neil doesn’t offer sympathy because that’s not his style but he shows Adam that he cares by hating Sarver’s guts with a passion that scares Adam a little bit but makes him love his brother that much more.
Adam never hides his sexuality from the other contestants but he doesn’t go around wearing a scarlet “G” on his chest either. Keeping secrets just isn’t his style. And hey, if some people want to be upset then that’s too fucking bad. They’re not the ones he’s here to impress.
Adam’s been living in Hollywood for a long time and he’s seen and heard just about every insult and innuendo in existence and yet he still doesn’t expect Michael Sarver to be quite so open about offering his unsolicited rude brand of advice even if the big Texan actually thinks he’s doing Adam a favor. Sarver thinks Adam is in parts impressive, brave and foolish for actually daring to be himself in a city of obvious frauds. He thinks Adam should pretend to be someone he’s not. He thinks Adam should lie.
Sarver lets Adam know that his kind of lifestyle won’t play well in the sticks and middle America and despite having a very thick skin to ward off ignorance, hearing the words “closet or you’re dead” knocks the wind out of his sails and forces him to fight back a building wave of nausea and the onset of a panic attack.
Not here please… Not now…
Adam knows he’s equal to these guys and obviously better than some and yet honestly, what the fuck was he thinking even entering this damn karaoke contest? He excuses himself, hides in the bathroom and stares at his face in the mirror.
What the fuck is he doing in the competition anyway? What fucking chance does he have to even make it past the Country music round?
He starts to hyperventilate and after a few quick breaths he’s fine enough to leave the toilet but the stench of self-doubt clings to him forever like a second skin.
In his circle of friends in Los Angeles Adam is never the odd person out. He isn’t shy about saying what’s on his mind and being himself and he’s determined to carry that view over into the American Idol competition. But something happens when he makes top ten. Something he doesn’t expect but in retrospect he really fucking should have. Adam suddenly finds it thrust in his face that his life and beliefs are not their lives and beliefs. No big surprise there. Not even by a long shot. His experiences as a gay man and a Jew set him apart from his predominantly southern Christian competitors.
Adam is the only person here who knows what it’s like to have unjust expectations and pre-judged opinions of his talent based on his past work and life experience. To have his livelihood and sexuality bandied about as negative indicators of his talent instead of an extension of his professionalism and internalization of his individuality.
“...theatrical…”
Simon utters it like some fucking curse word; might as well say “flaming god damn homo” instead.
Adam sighs and closes his eyes tight.
What’s past is past and the show is over. He doesn’t win and it hurts more than he wants to admit even to himself. Coming in second is great. He gets his platform and a recording contract and any fears he has about tour audiences accepting him disband with the love and support he sees showcased for him in Salt Lake City. The world’s not perfect yet but Adam wouldn’t be true to himself if he didn’t take that acceptance as a very good sign that at least it’s moving a bit faster on its axis in the absolutely right direction.
“Um, you okay Adam?”
Michaels’ voice drags him back to the present. It’s odd to see him on this level, just a normal guy, a good guy, a fucking amazing guy who just might have saved Adam’s life tonight. He thinks about what might have happened and a shudder rips through him with the intensity of a lightening bolt. He replies, “Um, yeah,” and then “I didn’t really say thank you.”
“Well you don’t have to.” Michael says, “And just so you know. You’re very welcome.”
Their ice cream sundaes arrive and Adam digs in with a flourish but stops after a couple of spoonfuls when his stomach disagrees. Ice Cream is his weakness. He thinks of Drake and frowns.
Yeah, ice cream and boys with southern accents.
Neither of them speaks for a moment and then Michael says, “So you’re not going to do that again, right?”
“Right,” Adam says and stares intently at his ice cream. “It was stupid. It’s just been so hard lately.”
“Hard?” Michael looks up surprised and if Adam’s judging him correctly, he’s also angry, “…as in hard for you?”
Adam winces, murmurs, “Yeah,” and sips his coffee. “Some days I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’
“Are you serious?” Michael scoffs.
“Of course I’m serious,” Adam shrugs. “It’s crazy man.”
“Right,” Michael scoffs. “I’m sure it’s been very difficult.”
And actually it’s been more than just a bit difficult. It’s been god damn mother fucking bitch difficult. Tour reviews that praise him and downgrade his friends, hurt feelings, fans shouting at him so loud that he’s forced to wear earplugs to keep his sanity, flashbulbs going off in his face, people touching him, grabbing him, people wanting him, begging him for things that he’s never going to be able to give. Some nights he loves it, other nights it leaves him shaken to the core. Adam wears out his voice, misses a few meet and greets, makes an off-hand remark and causes the universe to flip on its side and do cartwheels.
It’s nearly unbelievable.
“I don’t get you at all sometimes,” Michael snorts and keeps eating. “You sailed through the competition. The judges loved you. They pimped you out like a god-damned race horse from the moment you opened your mouth! You have a recording contract and millions of fans. You’re the star of the god damn tour. Everyone thinks you’re incredible. And still you complain and do stuff to mess it up.”
Adam isn’t sure where Michael’s heading but he has a vague idea and he doesn’t think it’s going to be pleasant. In fact he’s pretty damn sure it’s going to piss him off.
“You’ve had it easy right from the get go. You don’t know what it means to work your ass off for something the way that I do and I get shit on while you get praised.” He shakes his head and twists his mouth into a hideous frown. “Everybody thinks you’re going to succeed. Nobody prejudges you because you’re a roughneck on an oil rig.”
Adam stares at Michael mesmerized. It’s bizarrely fascinating to have his own thoughts slammed back at him from another man’s body and voice. To hear his internal self-damnation played out like some way off base freak show where Adam’s merely the guest star. He mumbles, “That’s not true,” because of course what Michael is saying is absolutely ridiculous.
“Oh no?” Michael practically snarls. “When’s the last time you got your hands dirty doing real work?”
Real work…
“You don’t know me.” Adam tries to remain calm but he can feel the storm brewing just beneath the surface. His head aches and the rest of his body feels equally as shitty and the last thing he needs to do right now is have a full blown argument with the man who might have saved his life. His mind begs him to proceed with caution but he’s so pissed off at himself and Neil and Drake and everybody that he lashes out at Michael without a thought for calm intervention. “You have no idea who I am or what I did to get here. So shut up, okay? I don’t want to say something nasty that I might regret. Because then you might think I’m a fucking Diva.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I miss something? Because before this gig you were a big deal in the theater weren’t you? Or did American Idol conveniently forget to give us the part of your back story where you cleaned pools or paved potholes off the LA freeway for a living?”
Adam starts to stand but sudden rush of dizziness forces him back to his seat. “Fuck you Sarver.”
“Well that’s a nice way to talk to the guy who saved your life.”
“You didn’t save anything,” Adam says, and bites his tongue.
Liar…
Michael helped him tonight and Adam just can’t get his mind around it. Michael Sarver followed his stupid ass across an Illinois highway and tracked him down to a gay bar just to make sure he was okay, because well, shit, just because it looked like Adam needed someone to follow him. It’s fucking hard to believe that the man who once told him to stay in the closet is the same guy who had his back with the Twitter world during the tour. Adam frowns. Never mind being the same guy who helped him tonight when he didn’t even realize he needed it.
He bites his lip. It’s way too much to contemplate and also way too little and the very idea is overwhelming as fuck. Michael’s quick thinking saved more than his virtue tonight it quite possibly saved his life, his relationship with Drake and his career. Adam swallows down a rush of bile and makes a decision.
He looks at Michael and spreads his hands wide across the table. The nail polish on his fingers is starting to chip. He feels vulnerable, naked and more than a little bit nervous. It’s so unlike how he reacts on a daily basis and yet so very much right on target that the confusion makes his head spin. He and Michael Sarver can’t possibly be friends, can they? They’re too fucking different to ever get along. Adam frowns. There was also a time he would have thought the same thing about Kris Allen.
“I didn’t save anything? Well, if that’s the way you want to be about it…” Michael begins but then stops when he notices Adam’s hands.
“No. It’s not the way I want to be about it,” Adam tries. “I want you to understand me.” He swallows and looks away, then looks Michael in the eye and continues. “I want you to understand me because I think it’s important that we understand each other.” And why the fuck is this so hard? Why can’t he just open his mouth like he does at interviews and mesmerize Michael like he captivates the press?
“I appreciate what you did for me. What I said to you was shitty and uncalled for and I’m sorry. I think you’re a good man and I value what you brought to the show this season and what you bring to the tour each night.”
Michael eyes him up like he’s a madman but Adam doesn’t stop. It’s not his nature to play it safe. He waits for Michael’s response. “And I value your friendship.”
When the other man doesn’t respond Adam pulls his hands back and wraps them across his chest. He feels empty and chilled and out of his element. Maybe he jumped the gun. Maybe Michael Sarver doesn’t give a rat’s ass what he thinks. He murmurs, “Sorry, I’m reading you wrong,” and reaches shakily for his coffee.
************
Michael watches Adam silently. His hands are shaking. His face looks tired. It’s freaky to just sit and watch him, to put him on display, and yet Michael can hardly tone down his abstract fascination with the other man long enough to form a coherent thought. He knows it’s pretty stupid to just sit and stare and say nothing for the rest of the night when they’re basically at a crossroads but crazy or not Michael’s tempted to do just that. He considers his options, frowns and exhales loud enough to get the other man’s attention. Adam extended the olive branch. It would be downright rude of him not to reach back.
“You want me to know you?” Michael says, confused. “I think I know enough about you Adam.”
Adam sighs, “If you did you wouldn’t say the crap you just said and actually mean it.” He leans forward puts himself in Michael’s space and continues, “I worked my ass off to get here. I worked shit jobs during the day, anything I could find to feed myself, to keep going for it, to keep reaching for the fucking stars, and I didn’t care what I had to do as long as I could perform and sing for an audience. I folded jeans I lived with broken windows and cockroaches, I starved myself. I sang as a chorus boy in Wicked, and as the freaking understudy, when I knew I could vocally chop the balls off any lead they put up there on stage. I did lame porno reviews in Tahoe that featured more women’s boobs then I’d seen in my lifetime or ever want to see again. I sang demo on songs that were offered away to other singers because I wasn’t deemed “bankable” enough to take a god damned chance on and actually sign to a contract myself. And despite all this fuckery I just got on with it. Did what I had to do. Ignored jibes, insults, and innuendo’s about by sexuality because I knew I had talent and that all I needed was a break to get me noticed and then people would see that there’s more to me than who I sleep with. I freaked out. I got depressed. When I tried out for Idol it was my last chance. I was fucking afraid of never getting a break. But it didn’t end there.”
Adam sits back against the seat and closes his eyes. He lowers his voice and continues. Michael doesn’t dare try to stop him. With the smudged mascara and eyeliner he resembles a waif. It’s very confusing.
“It didn’t end there,” Adam continues, “because Simon and his theatrical bullshit marked me from day one. Not my voice. Not my skills or talent. But the fact that I was theater and theater was a synonym for gay. I had to prove that I was good enough despite being gay. I mean, come the fuck on Sarver! How does someone overcome that shit?” He sags, defeated and closes his eyes. “I never asked for the pimping. But I needed it. Sometimes it embarrassed me and sometimes it made me feel good. But I never asked for it, you know?”
And Jesus fuck how weird is that? Adam Lambert unhinged and open and letting him have it. Sticking him in the gut and twisting the god damned knife. And that stare of his with those oddly shaped blue eyes drilling into his soul. Michael can’t look away from that god-damned stare.
“It’s just…” Adam swallows hard and seems to brace himself for Michael’s response. “I never had it easy and it pissed me off when people said I was “too experienced” and didn’t deserve to be there when…” He gulps and shrugs and looks sick as a dog. “…I deserved to be there as much as anybody.”
Michael isn’t sure why he says what he does but the words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to consider their impact or if he really wants to say them, “I think you’re amazing. I did from the first day I sat in the audience and heard you sing Cher. At first I thought. God damn it. This bastard is singing Cher. Then I stopped thinking. Fuck. You went first. People clapped for you. And every guy waiting their turn was scared shitless to compete against you.” Adam narrows his eyes and Michael decides to just get it all the hell out there. “And during this tour…well, I guess I’ve never seen anyone who belongs on a stage more than you do.”
Adam’s voice sounds small, “Oh.” He looks away briefly and then it’s back to the eye-fuck.
“But you have to understand it hasn’t been easy for me either and I guess I’m just feeling a bit jealous so I mouthed off...”
“No, look, I’m sorry, I…” Adam cuts him off but Michael speaks right through him.
“You had your turn Adam. Now you’re going to listen to me.” Michael wishes to god he had a talent for rhetoric because he has a feeling he’s really going to need it. “I was in jail once, did you know that?”
************
Adam takes a deep breath and waits. He listens to Michael talk in halting sentences about jail and heartache and discovering himself at his darkest hour and damn if some of what he’s saying doesn’t mirror Adam’s own life.
“Getting arrested was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life. I was a mess. I didn’t respect anybody. I didn’t respect myself.” Michael pauses for a second. Adam can see him struggling for control. “I was fighting with my father, my friends, my girl, everyone because I was unhappy and pushing the blame onto them for every damn thing I was doing wrong.”
He winces. “Ah shit Adam…”
Adam feels the weight of the world in Michael Sarver’s plaintive sigh.
“I hated rough-necking with a passion that sometimes made me mean. Did you know it’s one of the most dangerous jobs in the world?”
“I didn’t,” Adam manages. He listens to Michael, captivated. It’s odd to see the pleasant handsome features so twisted with doubt and confusion and Adam wonders if he looks that way too sometimes when he’s feeling fucked up. He wonders if he looked that way tonight standing in the parking lot at the Hilton.
“I got the soul of a poet Adam. I don’t want to be digging in the dirt and risking my life forever. I want to show the world that I’m more than that. Not that I don’t respect these guys and what they do because that’s not the truth. It’s just that I want a chance to be more. I’m not a dumb hick.” He shakes his head and laughs a bit but to Adam’s ears it sounds more bitter than jubilant. “I want people to see past what they view as my limitations, past their narrow analysis of what I should be, to what I can be if I’m given half a chance.” He stares hard at Adam, searching for something, acceptance maybe, or understanding and it’s an exhausting feeling to be on the other end of the microscope for a change.
Adam swallows. Prejudice, hate, false assumptions, all part of his life and oddly enough, in some ways, a part of Michael Sarver’s life as well.
Michael says, “Does that make any sense at all?”
Adam thinks, oh fuck yeah buddy, but replies quietly, “It makes a lot of sense.”
“Did you know I wrote over 900 songs?”
Adam shakes his head, murmurs, “No,” and drinks the last of his coffee.
“Yes sir I did indeed, 900 songs and not a piece of filler among them.” He twists his mouth and smiles and Adam finds himself smiling back. “Well maybe 150 or so are filler.”
“I’d like to hear them someday,” He considers, “Well, at least the ones that aren’t filler, you know, the ones that mean the most to you.”
“It’s a deal.” Michael shakes his head. He looks sad and it feels weird because Adam has a feeling that somehow it’s his fault. Michael says, “Just look at the two of us.”
“Yeah,” Adam clenches his fists tight, “Not exactly at our best.”
“And finding out we’re not that different huh?”
Adam nods. Who the hell would have thought that he and Michael Sarver both had something to prove? That both of them were frighteningly insecure, fighting for respect and determined to do whatever the hell it takes to get their careers rolling. Without American Idol they’d both be languishing in their respective professions, Adam as a chorus boy and Michael as a roughneck, never knowing what they could be and merely hoping for the best.
“We’re both underdogs,” Michael says, and then, “I shouldn’t have made the comment about you not working hard. It was dumb of me. And I know I haven’t been the nicest guy to you in the past. Gokey brings out the idiot in me.”
“It’s okay,” Adam murmurs and waits because really what is there to say that Michael isn’t saying?
“No, it’s not okay. I guess I was raised wrong.” Michael stares at his empty mug and swallows, “Really, really wrong.”
“Now come on…” Adam tries but there’s really no point. He has a feeling Michael isn’t quite finished yet.
“I grew up disliking people like you.”
Adam flinches but doesn’t look away.
People like you…
“I mean gay people, because that’s what I was taught. But it’s ignorant Adam. And I don’t want to be ignorant any more. This tour has shown me something. You’ve shown me something and it hasn’t been easy to reconcile it with stuff that’s been in my head forever but I’m getting there. I hope you know I’m not the same guy who said shit to you at the start of the show.”
Adam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. His head is pounding and his body feels leaden and he’s so fucking exhausted he wants to cry. Instead he yawns so hard that his mouth stretches open and the bones in his back crack and the sound startles them both into a fit of giggles. “God, I am so fucking tired.”
Michael scowls, “Of course you’re tired. And what the hell am I doing keeping you up and out here at this hour when you should be in bed resting.” He bites his bottom lip and lowers his head. It’s a boyish move, the endearing type of shit that Adam always falls for.
When Michael asks, “Are we friends?” it takes Adam a moment to answer. Can they be friends? Adam believes in the beauty of life and the ultimate salvation of forgiveness and the Michael Sarver who hurt him in the past was a very long time ago. On the outside they’re nothing alike. But if you take the time to delve a little deeper the similarities are there waiting to be discovered just beneath the surface.
“Adam?” Michael’s nervousness is palpable. “You don’t have to answer.
“We’re friends,” Adam says and smiles. He reaches for the check but Michael’s hand gets there first.
“You can pick up the next one,” Michael replies with a smile of his own that makes Adam feel three levels of good inside. “Now since we got the entire night paid for at the motel, and I don’t have a clue where we are and you look like you’re ready to drop, what-say we sleep it off, show up in the morning and really give the other’s something to talk about?”
It’s devious and funny and Gokey will probably shit his pants so all in all Adam thinks it’s a grand idea. He laughs and says, “You got it.” Adam stands and groans and looks blankly at Michael’s outstretched hand. He swallows hard and takes it, shakes once firmly, then again. “Thanks Michael,” he whispers, his mind drifting warily.
“Don’t mention it.”
They stare at each other for a second until it starts to get uncomfortable but when they pull apart Adam is left with a peaceful feeling and a lighter heart then he’s had in weeks. Tomorrow he’s going to call Neil and then when he thinks of a proper apology he’ll give Drake a call too.
He pats Michael on the back as they walk out the door. The tour may be winding to a close but in a way their lives are just beginning. He’s not sure what the future holds for himself or for Michael Sarver but he’s knows one thing for certain: they’re both going to do their best to overcome the odds, touch the sky and put the stars in their pockets.
Even though it’s dark when they arrive back at the motel, Adam knows it’s going to be a beautiful day.
THE END
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