Dirty Letters

The following day, I went to check my PO box and found the last thing I ever expected: a letter from Griffin.

He wrote me a letter?

To say I was perplexed would be an understatement. I thought the days of receiving his letters were over. He’d called me every day whenever he could from the road, so this was definitely a surprise.

As I held the envelope in my hands, that old familiar excitement ran through me. I’d forgotten how much I missed this feeling of anticipation. It took me aback to realize it was still there. After all, this whole thing with Griffin had been a whirlwind. Everything had happened so fast since California. It still seemed like just yesterday that all we had were the letters.

I raced back to my car to open it.

Dear Luca,

Greetings from a dark tour bus somewhere off I-95 in Bumfuck, Virginia. The guys are off doing what they do, and I’ve locked myself in a bunk for some peace. You’d think it would be miserable in this tiny space, but it’s bigger than you’d think—they call it a “condo” bunk. And it’s nice and quiet in here. It’s perfect for working on new lyrics. The movement of the bus actually rocks me to sleep most nights.

I have a bed and a telly in here and oddly, that’s all I really need. Wait. No. Far from all I need. The one thing I’m missing is you. I know we’ve been talking to each other every day, but those calls are too rushed. And that’s my fault. It’s usually too late to call by the time things have calmed down for me. But such is tour life.

Today’s performance in DC was exhausting. It’s amazing how I can look out into the audience at thousands of adoring faces screaming my name and not have it faze me in the least. I’ve become so jaded in that respect, and it’s a little disappointing. Not to mention, it’s fucking hard to sing “Luca” now. And it’s always the one everyone wants to hear. I keep wanting to change the words. Because there’s just so much more to the story now, isn’t there? If they only knew. Anyway, I need to stop complaining about my job, because I’m really fucking lucky to have it, and I know that. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.

I just wish you were here. That’s all. I told myself this letter was going to be light and fun—bring back the old vibe. Guess I already ruined that one, eh? I miss our pizza nights. I miss food shopping with you. Fuck, I even miss Hortencia. (I refused bacon at breakfast yesterday. Now that’s true love.)

Anyway . . . I miss you.

I heard an ABBA song today and thought of you. It was fucking depressing. “One of Us,” it was called. Listen to the words. You’ll know what I mean.

Also, “Knowing Me, Knowing You,” this letter will hopefully lead to more correspondence. I can only hope that my “Dancing Queen” takes a hint and writes me back. The only question is . . . how the fuck will you get a letter to me? “Mamma Mia,” what a conundrum. Take it as a challenge. How does one receive letters on the road? I don’t care how you do it, just “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” Figure out how to get me your letter. You have my schedule. I challenge you. “I Have a Dream” that you’ll find a way to do it.

Could I BE any more annoying using ABBA songs to communicate with you? (There’s our friend Chandler Bing again.)

God, I’m tired. And wired. And have I mentioned that I miss you?

Later, gator,

Griff

Actually . . .

LOVE,

Griffin

P.S. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” is the answer. The question is, does Griffin love Luca very much?

P.P.S. I dare you to correspond in your next letter incorporating the ABBA songs I didn’t use. Let’s see who does it better. “The Winner Takes It All.” (Another one you can’t use.)

P.P.P.S. A little ABBA trivia for you. What’s the song “Super Trouper” about? I looked it up and it’s eerie how much it mirrors my life right now.

Well, he’d done it. He’d managed to make me smile. Leave it to Griffin.

I clutched the letter to my chest before reading it a couple of more times.

Griffin had given me his entire tour schedule with a special number for the tour manager in case I needed to reach him in an emergency. If I planned this wisely, I could have my letter delivered to one of the venues. That’s what I’d do. I’d call the manager and figure out how to get a letter to Griffin like he’d asked. That meant I had to accept his ABBA challenge, too.

It felt like old times as I settled into my couch later that night and started to write back to him. Talk about déjà vu.

Dear Griffin,

Wow. I learn something new from you every day. I’d never really paid attention to the lyrics of “Super Trouper.” Some believe that song is about how challenging stardom is. The part that really got to me is when they sing about loneliness despite having all those fans. And how stardom doesn’t take away the longing for that one person. Shit. It’s like it mirrored exactly what you said in your letter to me.

I have this fantasy of cuddling next to you at night in your little bunk. In my dreams, there’s no light, but we don’t need it. It’s just you and me and the sound of the road. I think about that a lot. My heart is on that bus with you. Please know that.

Anyway, “Honey Honey,” I’m trying to catch myself before this letter gets too emotional or sad. Because our letters have always been about lifting each other up. (Even when we’re letting each other down.) Lifting each other up should be “The Name of the Game,” but I guess I can’t help it. The emotional side of things is winning out tonight.

“The Day Before You Came” to stay with me, I couldn’t have imagined how much having you here would change the way I see my world without you in it. Now that you’ve come and gone, I see how much brighter things really are when you’re by my side. “When All Is Said and Done,” I am finding it really hard to live without you. But I’m no closer to a conclusion on how this could possibly work between us long-term. I don’t know if it’s too much to ask you to “Take a Chance on Me” when I might fail you. I just don’t have the right answer. All I really want is for you to continue to “Lay All Your Love on Me,” but I’m scared and sending out an “SOS” to the universe to help lead me in the right direction.

God, I totally flubbed up making that fun. It turned out to be a rambling, depressing diatribe about my insecurities mixed in with a bunch of ABBA songs. But do I at least get points for incorporating them like you asked?

Anyway, I miss you, too. So much. Which was the city that you said would have a live feed of the concert I’d be able to watch? I think you mentioned it was toward the end of the tour? I can’t wait to watch you live, Griffin. Even though I should be there in person, please know that I’m so proud of you, how you get up there and perform even when you’re feeling down. That takes a lot. And I know I’m the cause of some of the thoughts that might be bringing you down lately. I want to change that so badly. But I have to change me. And that’s always been hard.

I love you.

Luca

P.S. “Hasta Mañana.” (Figured I’d get one more in.)

A few days later, the phone rang in the middle of the afternoon. My heart sped up upon recognizing it was Griffin.

I picked up. “Hey!”

“You did good, baby. They delivered the letter to my dressing room at The Palladium. I knew you’d come through.”

My heart fluttered. “I’m so glad it got to you. I was really worried that it would get lost or just miss you, and then I’d have to figure out a way to get it to the next place.”

“Nope, it was perfect.” He hesitated. “Listen, I don’t have that much time, because they’re calling me for a sound check, but I wanted to give you a heads-up about something. I figured you wouldn’t know about it if you’re still following through on your vow not to Google me.”

My stomach dropped. What do I not know about?

“Okay . . .”

“They posted some photos on a celebrity website of us vacating the hotel in Chicago during the fire alarm.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief. “I see.”

“I know you sometimes read the tabloids in the supermarket, and I don’t yet know if any of those photos ended up in any of the magazines as well, but I wanted to warn you in case you happened to see it.”

“It’s okay . . . Believe it or not, it doesn’t really bother me to be photographed. I mean, it’s intrusive and not ideal, but it doesn’t make me panic or anything.”

“Well, that’s a relief, because that trip was hard enough without that moment having to live in infamy.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about the photos.”

He sighed into the phone, and I could sense his own relief. I had to pick my battles. With enough going against me when it came to our relationship, the least I could do was let the photos slide.

“I’m still shocked they haven’t figured out your identity. If they were to find out your name was Luca, all hell would break loose. I could only imagine the headlines.” He fell silent for a moment before he changed the subject. “Speaking of tabloids, I called my father today.”

That surprised me. “Really . . . ?”

“Yes. I don’t know what possessed me. I guess I felt like it was time. He wants me to come to London for a visit. He seemed apologetic about what he’d done and wants to make amends.”

“That’s great, Griff.”

“Yeah. I have to tread lightly, though. I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I understand.”

Hearing him say that broke my heart a little. I didn’t want to be the one to hurt him.

I heard someone call his name, and then he finally said, “Shit. I have to go.”

“Go. Get ready for the show. Thank you for calling.”

“I love you, Luca.”

“I love you, too.”