Chapter Text
“Since when are you even into shit like this?” Matt watches intently as Jared shuffles the deck, before spreading the cards out on the table.
“Since always,” Jared says, "Fate. The ultimate director.” He grins at Matt. “Pick three cards and arrange them in a line.” He points at the middle of the table.
Matt stares down at the cards, before picking three quickly. Overthinking it probably ruins the whole thing.
Jared flips the first card over.
“The Moon,” he says, and raises an eyebrow at Matt, his expression turning serious. His voice sounds far away. “Dreams. Illusion. The subconscious. Everything is not as it seems.”
-
Dear Mr. Jay McCarrol,
Way too formal. Sounds like a homeschooled kid or a serial killer.
Hi Jay!
Too casual and familiar.
Dear Jay,
Gay. Weird.
Matt rips the page out and crumples it into a ball, tossing it into the trash can under his desk.
To Jay,
Perfect.
Matt spends the next 15 minutes staring down at the blank page, struggling to write a single other word. He gnaws at his lower lip, the cap of his pen, his thumbnail. He closes his eyes and rubs his hands against his face. Why is this so hard? All he has to do is write the perfect letter to his idol, craft something that will make Jay understand how important he is to Matt without creeping him out or coming off like a loser. Surely there's a way to say “You helped me survive high school. I’m 22 and I've never had a girlfriend but I've seen you live 5 times. I live in my mom's basement. I have two friends but I'm not sure if they even like me. I make movies that I want your songs to be in” in a way that's charming.
Surely.
-
Matt waits in line for what feels like hours, gripping his first pressing Never Come Down 45 (number 63 of 500, signed on the back.) He keeps the letter in his pocket so the sweat all over his hands doesn't soak into the paper.
“Did you bring anything for him to sign?” Matt asks. Jared shakes his head. He isn't paying attention. He's filming a bird that's gotten into the building and is flying around in the rafters. Matt huffs and shoves his hands in his pockets. It isn't fair that he has to wait in line. If Jay knew who he was, how he's the, the, number one fan, he'd let him cut his way to the front.
Somehow, despite complaining about the wait, Matt doesn't quite feel ready when it's finally his turn.
“Hi,” Jay says, genuinely welcoming. He doesn't even sound worn out from all the socializing. He really is amazing.
Matt just stares at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Jay gives him, to Matt's total despair, a slightly pitying look. Matt assumes he's hallucinating that there's an edge of affection in it.
“Do you want me to sign that?” He asks, pointing at Matt's record.
“The–yes! This!” He holds it out with both hands, like he's a kid who's drawn a particularly awesome crayon picture that his parents are going to put up on the fridge. “I got it off eBay from a reseller, I totally low balled him but I still got it, the fuckin’ dumbass. Anyway, I think it's so cool, like, y'know, retro, indie, the sound is so much richer on vinyl y'know, the song really deserves it–”
“I can't sign it if you don't hand it to me,” Jay says patiently.
Matt's jaw snaps shut, and he places it on the table.
“It's already signed, actually, on the back, but uhm, on the front, make it out to Matt Johnson…”
Jay gives him that smile again. Pity and affection.
“You seem really into music, Matt Johnson," Jay says. Matt can hardly hear him, he's too busy staring at Jay's hands, absorbing the exact way he moves writing his name down. He tugs at Jared's sleeve. He really hopes he's getting this on tape.
“Yeah,” he says, even though, not really. It's just Jay's music he cares about like this. And The Smiths. But he'd never want to meet Morrisey.
“You play any instruments?” Jay asks, in his perfectly calculated small talk voice.
“The drums.” It's a lie. It falls right out. It sounds right. And Jay can't tell it's a lie, he just smiles and nods.
“Oh, also, I want–you need–I have this,” Matt blurts out, slamming the letter onto the table. Jay looks sincerely startled for a moment, before smoothing it over, right back into that perfect composure.
“Read it later,” Matt says, as if Jay was going to open it up and read a three page letter right then and there. “There's nothing weird in it. I promise.” He's aware that adding that probably makes it sound like there's definitely something weird in there.
Jay takes the letter and puts it in his pocket.
“Okay,” he says, like he believes that there's nothing weird in it, and Matt feels like he's about to faint.
“You want a picture?” Jay asks, in a tone that's turning Matt's bones into jelly.
“I-I actually,” he gestures meaninglessly at Jared, who waves from behind his video camera. “It's on–I'm filming–Jared's filming–because uh, motion is so much realer than a still image, don't you think? It captures so much more, all the in-between moments, the dialogue, ambient sound–” Matt cuts himself off, realizing, horrified, that he's rambling, and even worse, Jay doesn't even seem like he wants Matt to stop. He's just looking at him, like what Matt has to say is genuinely interesting to him. Matt falters. “You could–we could, pose for him…?”
Jay gives him the kind of smile where his crows feet crinkle up a little bit, and Matt can't help but smile back, completely starstruck.
When Jay puts his arm around Matt, it makes Matt wish Jared wasn't filming, because there's no way he didn't catch the moment where his eyes got wide the second Jay touched him, the way he couldn't help but lick his bottom lip as his fingers curled against Matt's shoulder. Matt wonders if Jay can feel that he's shaking a little. Matt looks at him, but Jay isn't looking back, he's looking forward, into Jared's camera, flashing a peace sign, big smile. Matt copies him.
-
“Holy shit!” Matt screams in the car on the way home. “Holy fucking shit!”
Jared doesn't say anything, choosing instead to review the footage.
“It's all in focus right?” Matt asks, almost frantic as he speeds down the highway.
Jared gives him a thumbs up.
“Fucking awesome dude, like, this is…this is the greatest night of my life, I'm serious.”
“This shot looks pretty good,” Jared says, pointing at the screen, paused on a zoomed in shot of Matt looking at Jay. Matt almost swerves off the road trying to get a good look at it.
Matt can't sleep that night. He doesn't know how he could. After he drops Jared off and drives to his house he doesn't go inside, he hops on his bike and puts his headphones on. He listens to Jay's second album the entire way through, and finds himself at a defunct quarry about four miles away. As he stares up at the sky all he can think about is how Pitchfork only gave the album a 7.6. It's obviously at least an 8.5. The album showcases a more orchestral and ambitious writing style, more narrative-focused songs, little stories that Matt likes to picture in his head when he listens to it. He had emailed the reviewer multiple times, trying to explain to him that the album required more attention than most other indie pop albums. Idiot. After the fifth email, in which Matt used quite a bit of colorful and at times violent language, he had been blocked.
Nobody can take criticism these days.
-
When he finally does get home, some time around 5 am, he falls asleep, and dreams that he's standing high above the city, wind whipping through his hair, deafeningly loud.
-
Matt spends the summer making a movie with Owen and Jared, and trying to learn the drums. Making a movie because, what else is he supposed to do? Things feel right when they're being filmed. Everything feels fine when he's in front of the camera. It's like travelling into a different world where he's invincible, immortal. Jared really looks like a real cinematographer when he gets into it. Matt's used to him lazily filming whatever crosses his path on a handheld, but on a project he butchers reality into something better, a thousand perfect shots in a row. Owen looks good in front of the camera, his awkwardness accentuated and honored by the film, given a place to shine at last. Matt wonders if they could make a horror movie some day, and he could make Owen his final girl. Matt turns 23, and spends his birthday getting drunk at the lake alone, shooting off fireworks, and fantasizing about burning to death.
Once his mom asks him what the movie's about, and he tells her, “Nothing.” And goes to his room.
It's a movie about making a movie. It's a movie where I play myself but I'm not me.
-
Matt has dreams about being electrocuted, about white-hot pain coursing through his whole body, lightning striking him, like God is angry.
-
Matt's trying to learn the drums because the next time he meets Jay, he won't be lying when he says he plays music. We should start a band, Matt says one day, flat on his back on the floor of Owen's bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn't look over at him when he hears Owen sigh, he doesn't need to, he can picture the look on his face pretty well.
-
In the fall the movie is almost finished, and Matt is getting pretty good at the drums. He moves out of his parents basement and in with Owen and Jared. He smokes pot for the first time and freaks out and swears to never do it again. Jay wins a Grammy. He goes to rehab for a third time. Matt buys a People magazine with him on the cover. Inside, there's a photo of him screaming at paparazzi. Matt smiles at it and tears the photo out, pinning it to his wall.
-
In the winter Matt gets a tattoo of Jay's signature on his upper arm. “Cool, right?” He says, rolling his sleeve up. Jared zooms in on the tattoo silently. Owen looks nauseated. Matt smiles so big that he's scared his face is going to get stuck like that.
-
Jay goes on tour in the spring, and Matt spends his time scrolling through Instagram, trying to get as clear of a photo as possible of what the backstage passes look like.
“Darker blue on the background,” Matt says, as Jared slides around the color setting in Photoshop. “And the text is a little…thicker?”
Jared leans over to look at Matt's phone, before nodding and clicking the mouse a few times.
“Dude, perfect! Just–”
Jared's way ahead of him, tapping the keyboard a few times and fixing the alignment on the text.
Matt cheers like he's won the lottery.
He has to shell out an extra 20 cents at the library for color printing, and 50 cents per sheet at Staples to laminate each pass, and a dollar each for the lanyards. The whole thing costs him less than a sandwich, and Matt laughs to himself as he imagines all the people spending hundreds of dollars on these things. Not him though. Not the number one Jay McCarrol fan.
-
“This is so stupid,” Owen mumbles as they gather around the side door of the venue with a Staff Only sign on it.
“Yeah, stupidly awesome!” Matt says, “you wouldn't even be here if you didn't think it was gonna work.”
Owen rolls his eyes.
“Besides, Jared really does look like staff,” Matt says. Jared shrugs. Maybe he does look sort of official in the all black outfit, the camera, one headphone in.
“We aren't faking being staff, we're faking–” Owen grabs the fake pass and shakes it demonstrably.
“We're faking whatever gets us in there! And you're gonna–you’re gonna see!”
“I'm gonna see you get thrown out,” Owen says. He's saying it like he's just trying to keep the argument going, like he's trying to distract himself. Matt can tell he's nervous. He always gets nervous before they do anything, which is why Matt never cares when he does. And Matt wouldn't care right now anyway. He has a USB drive with the movie they've been making loaded onto it, and he's determined to get it to Jay. This is the mission of a lifetime.
A few minutes later a small group of people leave out of the door, and Jared catches it before it closes, holding it open while Matt and Owen slip in, following behind them.
“Stop walking around like you're sneaking,” Matt hisses at Owen, who's tiptoeing around like they're in an episode of Scooby-Doo. Owen shoves him lightly, but he stops, taking a deep breath as he settles in. Matt follows light and sound to guide him, leading them quickly through the halls towards the sound of guitar feedback and shifting stage lights. (Violet, pink, light blue, green–) Matt can't help but clench his fist nervously as somebody approaches them, but they quickly walk past, not even shooting them a glance. Matt turns back to Jared and Owen, giving them a gleeful grin and a thumbs-up.
The closer they get to their destination, although they aren't even quite sure where or what that is, they become more densely surrounded. Matt doesn't think he's ever seen so many people with walkie talkies in his life. Somebody walks by with a stack of pizzas, and he decides to follow them. Pizza is food, food is for people, Jay is people. It all makes sense in Matt's head.
“Hey–” somebody taps him on the shoulder, a tall woman with red hair in a tight ponytail, glasses, black baseball cap. Matt whips around to look at her, eyes going wide with fear. He can hear Owen make some sort of noise, and he elbows him. Jared backs up slightly to get her in the shot.
“You guys media?” She asks, popping her gum and writing something on her clipboard. She's barely looking at them, and Matt hears the walkie talkie in her back pocket go off multiple times.
“Yeah!” Matt says, pointing at Jared, “we're–yeah! Can you point us to Jay McCarrol? We're supposed to–”
She gestures towards a hallway to their left. “Down there, third door,” she says, before looking to the side, clearly distracted. “Hey!” She starts to jog down the hallway they came from. “I told you not to put those over there!”
Matt shoots an ecstatic look into Jared's camera.
“Holy shit,” he giggles. He shoves Owen again, good natured this time. “Come on!”
“Shhh,” Owen hisses. “Natural, remember?”
“I fucking told you,” Matt says quietly, “I fucking told you.” He's grinning like a maniac.
“And you can brag on the way home,” Owen says, puffing his chest out and walking forward, leaving Matt and Jared to trail behind him. He opens the third door, and Matt pushes Jared through the door first. He looks the most professional. He's their decoy. Matt feels more professional just being around him. He takes a deep breath, and follows behind him, feeling like he's stepping through a portal into some other world as he does.
The room is ugly, and plain, and filled with people. It smells like coffee and pizza and…does cement have a smell? Matt looks around wildly, until, heart stoppingly, suddenly, he sees Jay. He slaps Owen's shoulder, grabs at Jared's sleeve, getting their attention and shaking his head in Jay's direction.
“We're here to interview him,” Matt says lowly, Jared and Owen nod. “We're press,” he says firmly. “We work for a local channel,” he says, like it's true. They all nod in unison, and Matt walks with purpose toward where Jay's sitting on a couch, drinking out of a flask and talking idly to somebody who seems official, rather than friendly. Manager? Assistant?
“We're here for–” Matt says, voice cracking slightly, and Jay and maybe his assistant, maybe his manager, both turn to look at him. Matt bites at his bottom lip, freezing up. To his surprise, Owen steps in.
“We're here for the 7pm interview for–”
Jay's maybe manager, maybe assistant nods, turning away.
“You've got fifteen minutes,” she says, walking away, typing something very aggressively on her phone.
Matt feels like he's going to faint as he steps towards Jay.
“Hi,” Matt says, eyes wide, voice breathy.
Jay looks up at him.
“Are you going to sit down? Or should I stand?”
Matt's face goes red. He hadn't noticed the way he was standing over Jay, probably looking insane as he stared at him. He sits down. He sits down next to Jay McCarrol. Same couch. It all feels like a dream, like there's no way it's really happening. Jared takes a few moments to find the best angle to film them, and Owen just sort of stands there. That's ok. Matt's sure that's a very hard job for him.
“Does it ever feel like too much?” Matt blurts out.
Jay scoffs, a small laugh of shock.
“What?”
“I just mean–” Matt takes a deep breath.
“How do you know when you've made something really good? How do you just keep…making stuff?” Matt asks, because he wants to know, because he wants Jay to tell him. There's a million things he wants to ask, but somehow, that's what falls out.
Jay gives him a smile, the one he gave him before, almost a year and a half ago, pity, affection.
“Do you make music?”
Matt nods. It's only sort of a lie this time.
“Then you know,” Jay says, "You know that you never know,” he says, sounding tired, taking another drink from his flask. “You just have to put yourself out there every time. And you keep making it because it's the only thing you really want to do.”
Matt stares at him, tugging at the threads in the holes in his jeans nervously, trying desperately to think of what to say next.
Jay looks at him, cocking his head to the side.
“I don't think I got your name,” he says.
Matt swallows.
“My name is Matt Johnson,” he says.
Behind him, he can hear some sort of commotion.
“We're late, we're so sorry,” one guy says.
“We can still get ten minutes,” another one says.
Jay's maybe manager, maybe assistant turns around to look at them.
“But they’re–” she looks back and forth, before making an exasperated noise.
“Security!” She shouts.
Matt isn't paying attention to any of this. He's staring at Jay, who's staring right back at him.
“Matt,” Jay says, an intensity, a curiosity in his intonation.
Matt nods.
Owen shakes his shoulder, “Dude, we gotta go.”
Matt isn't listening. Neither is Jay.
“You play the drums,” Jay says, like he's remembering a dream, or a movie he watched a long time ago.
Matt's heart sings, tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He nods.
A security guard puts his hand on Matt's shoulder. He's vaguely aware of him speaking, but he can't hear any of it, he's too focused on Jay, who's looking at him with an increasingly confused expression.
The spell is broken when the security guard hooks his hands under Matt's arms and hauls him bodily upwards, to his feet, but a little higher, so only the tips of Matt's toes touch the ground. Owen is frantically apologizing to somebody. Jared’s backed up against the wall, not to hide, but to capture the full tableau of chaos that's erupted. Jay's still staring at Matt, right into his eyes. He still has time.
He tosses the USB drive to Jay, who, despite being obviously very tipsy, and interested in Matt only in a very guarded way, catches it.
“Watch it!” Matt shouts, desperation in his voice. “Please!” The security guard swings Matt around, dropping him and pushing him toward the door. Matt panics and tries to fight back, just to get one more glimpse of Jay, just to ask one last thing of him. “Follow me on Instagram!” He shouts desperately, “I'll DM you!” Jay gives Matt one last look, one Matt can't read, before he's thrown out the door.
-
“Trespassing! Impersonation! Stalking! We're fucked!” Owen shouts, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he drives, going over the speed limit for the first time in his life probably. Matt isn't listening, forehead pressed against the backseat window, eyes closed. “Jared! Tell him!”
“Sorry, what?” Jared looks up from his video camera, fast forwarding through the footage from the night.
“Tell him we are fucked because of his stupid plan!”
“I mean, we probably would've been detained already if they were really serious about it,” Jared says casually, putting his camera away and searching through his backpack.
“We're gonna be banned from that venue for life, I bet you're gonna have a restraining order now, Matt. Was that part of the plan? Get Jay McCarrol to notice you and get a fucking restraining order taken out on you?”
Matt just smiles dreamily at the mention of Jay's name. He makes a mental note to try and figure out what cologne he had been wearing, something classic and fresh.
“I mean it wasn't that bad,” Jared says, examining the one-hitter he pulled out of his backpack. “Isn't that like, bad press anyway? Indie Rock Legend Takes Weirdo To Court.”
“I told you not to smoke pot in my fucking car,” Owen says.
“He's gonna watch the movie,” Matt says, after a few minutes of silence.
Owen scoffs.
“I mean it, he recognized me! I'm sure he wants to support young up and coming directors!”
Jared snorts.
“You should just use cheaper songs,” Owen says.
“But his are perfect.”
“Just because they work with the scenes doesn't mean something else won't,” Jared says gently.
Matt crosses his arms petulantly.
“He's gonna watch it, and he's gonna give us the rights, and we're gonna submit it to festivals. Three step plan.”
“Or he gets a restraining order against you and you get arrested next time you try and fucking–”
“He's not gonna get a restraining order!” Matt finally snaps, grabbing the driver's seat from behind and shaking it, punching Owen in the shoulder repeatedly.
“Fuck, dude!” Owen yells, swerving in the road.
“Why can't I smoke in here?” Jared asks.
-
Matt doesn't sleep that night He stares at his phone, spending hours trying to write the perfect super casual, super professional message to send Jay. He finally lands on: Hey, it's Matt Johnson. Let me know what you think of the movie.
-
Spring goes by. Jay doesn't read his message, or respond. Matt finishes his third year at college. Owen gets a job as a TA. Jared gets a new camera. Every time Matt's phone buzzes, he hopes desperately that it'll be a message from Jay. Instead it's just texts from his mom and emails from his apartment complex about late rent. He drafts and deletes a message to Jay almost every day, feeling nauseous and desperate every time he does.
-
Matt has dreams about free fall, about toppling from a great height, all control taken from him as he falls down to the earth, the pavement of the Toronto metro area.
-
After a tour, I just want to relax. Unplug, y'know? Just spend a week or so alone.
I bet tour is exhausting! Have you had any crazy fan interactions recently?
Jay laughs, and looks into the camera nervously. It's like he's looking right at Matt.
Yes, he says, but I don't want to talk about it.
Well now I'm even more curious! The interviewer laughs along.
It's just…
Jay shakes his head.
Matt's palms are slick with sweat, heart pounding, eyes huge as he stares at his phone screen.
It doesn't feel quite right to talk about, Jay says.