Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > The Singer and The Journalist
The Singer and The Journalist
Rated NC-17 because idk what's gonna happen. XD What happens when a cynical journalist meets a reserved lead singer?
?Blocked
The Singer and The Journalist
So. I suppose this is going to be my new story. I actually like the way this is going so far, and I have alot of ideas for it. I hope you all enjoy it, rate, review, all that awesome stuff. ^_^
Introducing the characters:
Parker Deroux: The journalist. 24 years old, dark brown/black hair, brown eyes.
Patrick Stump (who needs no introduction): The singer. 24 years old, reddish-brown hair, green eyes.
Along with the other guys in the band and other random characters here and there.
ENJOY!
I sat in the press room. I wasn't happy with this meeting. I was sent by RollingStone to interview Fall Out Boy about their new album today of all days.
The room was filled with other journalists, the room was hot, and I was getting rather impatient. I heard that Pete Wentz had a habit of showing up late, but when they said late I didn't think they meant an hour later.
Let me introduce myself. The name is Parker. Parker Deroux. Pronunced Deh-Roo. I am a journalist for RS, and as you can see, I'm not loving my job at the moment.
It's bad enough they send me out here to talk to bands I may care about, but Fall Out Boy? Who did they think I was?
The complaints in my head were interrupted as the four boys walked up to the table and sat at their respective microphones. From the research I've done, I've come up with easy profiles for each of them:
Pete Wentz: good lyricist, frontman, bassist, attracts media attention
Patrick Stump: reserved, great musician, multi-talented, one hell of a voice, wears alot of hats
Joe Trohman: huge hair, doesn't talk much, great guitarist
Andy Hurley: rarely speaks, plays excellent drums, don't confuse with Patrick.
I made myself notes on the sides of my notebook as I watched them answer questions. I listened intently to the other questions before I finally asked my own.
"What's the album going to be like?"
Pete leaned forward to his mic, his black jagged hair falling forwards slightly. "I'd ask the music-maker, not me." he said, turning his face to Patrick. He was shifting the attention. I made another note as I watched Patrick answer the question.
"Well, it's more...consistent than the other albums. It flows together much better. You'll see what I mean when it comes out, I guess." he nervously giggled as the rest of the people around me fired questions again.
"Is it going to be like your old albums? More R&B instead of Pop?"
Patrick stumbled over his words a little as he answered. "It's not like our last album, but it's not like the album before that either. It stands on it's own. The only thing these albums really have in common is that it's our name on the cover."
I scribbled more notes down. I finally had my question. I stood up, nearly falling over wearing the heels that I was wearing but I regained my composure quickly.
"Besides writing the music and the lyrics, what exactly do you do when you're not making music?"
Joe laughed and turned to the other guys. "Video games, am I right?"
Andy smiled too. "Comic books."
Patrick nodded at the both of them and then Pete spoke up. "When I'm not making music I'm usually trying to pick up girls that want to know what I do in my free time." he said with a wink. I sat back down, a disgusted look on my face. I added another note to Pete Wentz's profile: Overly confident.
Soon enough the abomination of questions were over with and the guys stood up to leave. As soon as they got up, I did too. I tried to get out of there as fast as I could. It was getting hotter in that room by the minute with all the hot air the other journalists were spewing. I rushed to grab my purse and my things from the coat check in the building, when I was stopped by a man behind me.
"I wasn't kidding, you know."
I knew that voice. I turned around and frowned. "Pete Wentz."
"At your service."
"I don't need any of your service, thank you very much."
I tried to walk off but he moved in front of me.
"Now that isn't very nice, is it?"
"I never said I was nice."
"Good point. I'd like to know exactly WHAT you are, if you're not nice. I'm Pete."
He held his hand out for a handshake and I sighed as I shook his hand back. Occupational hazard, this was.
"Parker Deroux."
"That's a nice name. We could fight crime together. Peter & Parker. You know. Like Spiderman. Peter Parker."
I understood what he was saying and that he was trying to be funny, but I just blankly stared at him with an unimpressed look on my face. He grinned.
"I know you got that. I can see it on your face."
"I did get it."
"And you're laughing on the inside."
"Yep. The inner me is falling on the floor. Look, I've got to get back to work, so if you don't mind-"
"Can I have your number?"
I blankly stared at him again. Was he really being serious?
"Um, no."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled. "I'll just ask the next time we meet then."
"Oh, there definitely won't be a next time." I said as he smirked. I pushed him aside and headed towards the doors.
"It was a pleasure talking to you, Parker Deroux!" he shouted from behind me.
I shook my head and walked out the door into the warm air of L.A.
It'd been 3 weeks since I had been hit on by Pete Wentz. It still makes me shudder. I really don't want to be involved with a normal guy, much less a rockstar with an ego. Sure, the rest of the band didn't seem as bad, but him. Oh, for the love of god, HIM. I wanted to wipe the smug look off his face every time I pictured it. I sat in my office chair, staring at the computer screen at the blank document. As I started to type the first sentence of my newest album review, a file landed in front of me on the keyboard. I looked up to see my boss, Jean, with her arms folded. Her long red fingernails tapped on my desk as she spoke quickly. "Read your new assignment, do your research and get there in a half hour for the interview." she walked away as I rolled my eyes. I opened the file and clenched my teeth as I read the name.
Fall Out Boy.
Damn you, Pete Wentz.
I walked into the hotel room, showing my press badge to the guard at the door. I walked through and scribbled down notes of what the room looked like. There were four suitcases, however each of their contents were unidentifiable because of the mess they were in. One of them was perfectly closed with everything neatly placed, but the rest of them had clothes, books, and movies sprawled all over the room. I could tell from the numerous hats on the one bed that that bed must've been Patrick's. The couple of vintage guitars leaning on the wall were probably Joe's and the drumsticks on the dresser were most likely Andy's. The makeup case inside one of the suitcases gave away that it was Pete's.
Pete.
I still wasn't happy to be here. I kept hoping that maybe he wasn't here, but I knew for an interview he was probably going to appear. With whom was always questionable. I've seen him being interviewed with each of them. It's always in pairs. Patrick and Pete, Pete and Andy, Pete and Joe, Patrick and Andy...the list goes on. I was interesting to see who would appear today.
I wandered around a bit more, admiring the CD collection on one of the beds. I was startled as a voice came behind me.
"I have a lot of CDs, I know."
I turned to see a bespectacled Patrick Stump behind me with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jean jacket. He's probably the only rockstar I've seen who pulls that off well. I managed a smile and held out my hand. "I'm Parker Deroux. I'm here for Rolling Stone. And yes, you have quite a collection here."
He smiled and shook my hand. He started to pick up the mess of CDs scattered around on the bed to stack them in one pile. "Well, when you travel around the world, it's nice to have something different to listen to everyday. Personally, I like vinyls better, but I'm too paranoid to bring them with me on a tour." I nodded and observed some more.
"Big fan of Prince?" I said, picking up a copy of Purple Rain off of the bed.
"More like obsessed." he said nervously with a giggle.
"Ah, well, everyone has to have an obsession over something."
"And what would yours be?"
"Probably David Bowie. I'm a big fan of every era of Bowie."
"Me too. If you had to choose a favorite?"
"Thin White Duke era. I loved the Man Who Fell To Earth movie." I said absentmindedly setting the CD onto the now neatly organized pile of albums on the bed.
"Good choice. I really liked that movie too."
I nodded and smiled, jotting down some notes. "So, who else is with you for this interview?"
"No one."
I looked up from my notepad and grinned. "No Pete?"
"No Pete."
"Well, this is going to be much more pleasant than I thought then."
He laughed and sat down on one of the chairs and I sat on the edge of the bed. He immediately got up when he seen I was sitting on the bed. "Here, have the chair. I'll sit on the bed."
"You don't have-"
"I insist. Ladies shouldn't have to sit on the edge of beds, especially when they're used by smelly musicians."
I smiled and stood up to sit at the chair, slightly shocked by his gentlemanly charm. What happened to all rockstars being assholes?
"So, what's the new album going to represent for all of you?"
"It's focused on Pete's lyrics more than anything. I'm prouder of this album than I am any of the others we've done so far, so I guess that's saying something. Everyone really put forth a lot of effort into this one."
I nodded and scribbled. He leaned forward and adjusted his hat. "And if you don't mind me asking off the record, why don't you like Pete? I'll use it against him at some point; I could always use more ammo." he joked.
"He...uh, tried to hit on me after your last press conference a few weeks ago."
"Typical Pete."
"Yeah, well, I tried to tell him I really wasn't interested and he just wasn't having it."
"He's a persistent bastard, isn't he?"
"Definitely. Wait. You agree with me? I totally thought you would be taking his side on this."
"He may be my best friend, but I'm not going to deny that he tends to be an idiot and do stupid things."
"That he does. He definitely does. He asked for my number before I tried to leave." I said as I shuddered.
"Did you give it to him?"
"Hell no, not to someone as cocky as him."
"Ah, that makes sense. Well, what other questions do you have?"
I went through the whole list and he answered each one clearly and precisely. He was so different from other famous guys; it was rather refreshing. It was almost just like a normal conversation. The conversations that were started from the questions I got some interesting information from too. I happily listened to his answers. He knew what he was talking about when it came to music, that was for sure. I was almost sad when I had finally finished asking him all the questions.
"Well. That was all of them."
"Awesome. Some of those I hadn't heard before, you had good questions."
"Thank you. I try to do my best."
He smiled and I gathered up all my things. He walked with me to the door and we said our goodbyes. "Goodbye, Mr. Stump." I said with a smile.
"Until next time, Miss Deroux." Before I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand. Before I could wriggle my way out of his clutches, his number was scrawled on the back of my hand. I looked at his face, plastered with a smile and I left with a wide grin on my face.
The next day I was busy writing out the article on Patrick. I was typing at a mile a minute, trying to pack in as much detail as I possibly could. I think subconsciously I was trying to document the day perfectly for my mind to remember it. I wrote down Patrick's number on a piece of paper on my desk so I wouldn't accidentally wash it away. Throughout the day, I kept noticing the tiny piece of paper and thought about calling, but I put it out of my mind. I wasn't interested in his band, much less than going on a date with a rockstar. What in the world made me think he gave me his number for a date?, I thought. He never said another word after he wrote his number on my hand. I shouldn't make assumptions. Maybe he didn't mind being interviewed by someone with common sense. Yeah. That was it.
I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, finishing up the article and adding a picture to the page I had typed out. I looked through the file that had been sent for their photo-shoot a few days ago and I scanned through them to find a single picture of Patrick. There wasn't one.
Confused, I called up my boss, Jean, and asked her what was going on.
"Hello?" a slightly annoyed voice said over the receiver.
"Hi, Jean. Where's all the pictures of Patrick in the Fall Out Boy photo-shoot we did?"
"There wasn't any; he's coming in sometime today to take them."
I stuttered a little. "T-today?"
"Yeah, I told him to find you when he got to the offices. You know where our studio is, just take him there and get the photos when he's done. Alright? Bye."
And with that, she hung up. I gently put down the receiver and looked up to see Patrick standing at the other side of the room grinning. I forced a smile out of nervousness and stood up, trying to compose myself. He walked towards me and giggled.
"You weren't expecting me here, were you?"
"Well, I figured out you were going to be here about...30 seconds ago."
"I'll take that as a yes, then."
I smiled and I gestured for him to follow me to the studio. He eagerly walked by my side with his hands in his pockets. He took one hand out to push up the glasses on his face and he started up a conversation.
"So...you didn't wash my number away did you?"
I looked at him for a second and kept on walking. "No. No, of course not. It's in safe keeping, I promise."
"Good, good."
"Yep."
Awkward silence cut between us but luckily, we reached the door.
"Here you are. Right through this door. I'll be at my desk if you need me-"
"Wait, you're not going in there with me?"
"No, why would I?"
He shrugged and made a weird gesture with his hands.
"I don't really like these photoshoot things, and usually I have the band here with me to make me less nervous...and since they're not here, and I'm perfectly comfortable with you..."
"You want me to go in with you?" I said with my arms folded across my chest.
A gleam in his eyes appeared. "Please?"
"Fine." I sighed.
He smiled wide and opened the door for me.
"After you, Miss Deroux."
I could feel myself blush as I walked into the room with him closely behind me. There were bright lights set up all directed at a simple white sheet; a typical setting for magazine shoots. I've been to these far too many times before. I watched as the clothes/hair/makeup people quickly latched onto Patrick, dragging him all over to different areas of the room. I sat down behind some of the cameras to face the white sheet so I could watch the shoot. I got out my phone and played games until he was finally ready. I looked up at the man standing at the white sheet. It was Patrick, put into a clean black suit, black hat, and a tie. He looked better than what I wanted to admit, so when he asked me if he looked ok, I simply muttered back, "Yeah, you look fine." and looked back down on my phone. I wish I could stop that goddamn blushing. When I knew he wasn't looking at me anymore, I looked up from my phone to watch him. He looked SO good in that suit. He looked FANTASTIC in that suit.
I watched in awe as this shy, nerdy guy became a photo-shoot star within seconds. I liked the fact that he wasn't a complete douche bag. However, he was a musician. A very well-known musician. Even thinking about anything more than friendship with this guy could possibly cost me my job or my reputation that I've formed at this goddamn magazine. He seemed to like me, which was sweet, I just...didn't know how to respond. Maybe I'd check with Jean. Ask her whether dating a famous rockstar would have any affect on my job. Just think: I get caught by paparazzi once and I may end up writing an article about myself. That'd be kinda awful.
I pushed the thoughts aside for the moment and focused back on Patrick. I tensed up slightly looking at him. He had his hand on his belt, leaning forward slightly, and he then bit his lip. I shook my head and smirked a little, trying to just ignore the fact that I may like him more than I expected to.
The hours went by and eventually the shoot was over. Patrick had gotten out of the suit and back into his normal clothes, his glasses back on and his hat placed firmly atop his head.
"Well, that was fun." he said with a touch of sarcasm.
I laughed as we both walked out the door back to my desk. On the way there he coughed and started up another conversation.
"So...are you going to call me sometime?"
"What? Oh yeah, sure." I said distractedly. I knew I had to get this article finished with the pictures and everything. It didn't help that I knew I was going to be staring at his face for another hour or so just trying to layout the page.
"You lost it didn't you?"
"Lost what?"
"My number."
"No, of course not! I have it written on a slip of paper on my desk."
He shrugged as we got to my desk. I quickly scrambled through the papers to find the tiny piece of paper. I finally got it and I waved it in the air.
"See? Told you I didn't lose it."
"Oh. Wow, I thought you were joking."
"And why would I joke about such a thing?"
"I've had some girls lie about losing my number. Most likely because they didn't want it. Even though most of them gave me their number first..."
"Oh, I see. Well, I definitely want it. I mean-oh god, that sounded bad. I meant I wanted the-"
"I know what you meant." he giggled with a devious smirk on his face.
I could feel my face get hot. "Good. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."
"Well, I wouldn't have even thought about it like that if you didn't get all embarrassed and adorable."
I looked down at my shoes. I couldn't let him know that I was interested. I probably just gave it away, but I can't do anything until I check with Jean about our whole, "dating a rockstar" policy. I looked back up at his face and grinned.
"I don't really know what to say to that." I giggled. With that he moved a bit closer to me and whispered.
"It's a compliment. You should get used to them."
I felt a shiver run down my spine from his warm breath, and I watched as he walked out the doors of the building. He turned back to wave goodbye and I waved too, a stupid smile on my face.
I had to call Jean. I dialed my phone and got her on the line immediately.
"Jean?"
"Yes, it is. What do you want, Parker? Did you get the pictures?"
"Yes, I got the pictures, and I have to ask you something."
"Fire away."
"What's our guidelines for dating rockstars?"
"Nothing at all."
"Are you serious?"
"As far as I know, no one really cares who someone else dates. Sometimes it works to the company's benefit; we get some extra information and we forward all stories to the person who's dating the person in question. Simple as that. Why'd you need to know that?"
"Oh, nothing really. Just curious. Thank you so much, Jean."
"No prob, Parker."
"Bye."
"Bye."
The minute I hung up the phone, I grabbed the slip of paper and picked the phone back up, dialing quickly.
"Hello?" It was him alright.
"Hey, it's Parker."
"Ah, Miss Deroux. Didn't I just talk to you...3 minutes ago?"
"You did."
I heard him laugh. "What's up?"
"I was just wondering whether or not you'd have coffee with me sometime."
"Like a date?" I heard his voice get excited.
"Sure. Like a date."
"Then, yes, totally. Tomorrow?"
"Sure. Just meet me here at the office. I've got to work until noon tomorrow."
"I'll come pick you up."
"Oh. Ok, not a problem."
He stopped for a second and I heard him curse under his breath.
"Actually, I can't pick you up. I've got to rehearse with the guys tomorrow."
"Then I'll just come over to your hotel then. It's no big deal."
"You know Pete will be there."
"Let him be there. It's not my problem. If he sees me, he sees me. But I don't think he will. I'll be in and out with you behind me quicker than a ninja, I promise."
I heard his laugh come through the receiver again. "Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow at noon."
"Definitely. I'll see you later."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I heard a click on the other end and he was gone. I leaned back in my desk chair, quite pleased with myself that I got a date with a fairly decent guy. He seemed sweet, down-to-earth, and very lovable. I just hope he was exactly the way he seemed.
The next day I sat at my desk, watching the clock every two seconds.
11:50...
11:52....
11:53...
The minutes went slowly by and I knew it was because I wanted to get out of this office and at that hotel room. I seen Jean walk by, reading her mail and I got her attention.
"Can I just leave now? It's so close to noon, pretty please?"
She glanced at the clock and shrugged. "Alright. Go ahead." she went back to her mail and walked off.
I quickly grabbed all my belongings from my desk, checked my face in a mirror to make sure I looked okay, and headed to his hotel.
When I finally got there, I could hear music from outside the room, and I was a bit nervous to just walk in. I was nervous even to knock on the door. Torn on what I should do, I pulled my cellphone out of my purse and dialed Patrick's number. The minute the phone started ringing, I heard the inside of the room get quiet. Then Patrick's voice came through the receiver.
"Hello!"
"Hi!"
"You're not canceling are you?" he said disappointed.
"No, definitely not. I'm...uh...actually outside your hotel room. I heard you guys playing and I didn't want to just barge in."
"Well, we're done now, just come on in." the tone in his voice brightened significantly.
"Um, alright. See you in a second."
I hung up and turned the doorknob in front of me to see the same four guys I had seen a few weeks ago. Andy smiled and waved.
"You're one of those journalists aren't you?"
"Yep."
"Rolling Stone?"
"Exactly. How'd you know?"
"I remember faces pretty well."
I nodded, impressed. Joe waved and went back to his guitar, plucking the strings, creating a vague kind of melody. Pete stood up after putting his bass aside.
"Parker. I told you we'd meet again. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?"
"Patrick."
Pete looked at me quizzically and turned to Patrick. "She's here for you."
"I know that." he said, putting his guitar back in its case and grabbing a jacket.
"How do you know that?"
"We're going to go get some coffee."
"Well, awesome, I'll come too, I love-"
"No. Pete. You aren't coming with us."
Joe giggled in the background. "Yeah, down boy. We need to get a leash for him." he muttered to Andy. Pete looked back at me, still a little dumbfounded.
"Hold on a second. You two are going on a date?"
"Yep." I said proudly.
He turned back to Patrick who was now standing next to me at the doorway. "How'd you get her number and I didn't?"
"I gave her mine."
"You gave her yours and she actually called you?"
"I did." I replied.
Pete threw his hands in the air. "Well, what the fuck, Parker?"
Patrick took a slight step in front of me. "Pete, this isn't her fault. I gave her my number, so she didn't do anything but call me. You had your chance, dude."
Pete put his hands up in defense. "Look, it's nothing against you, man. But I seen her first."
"No, you didn't, we seen her at the same place, moron."
"I noticed her first."
It was at this point I decided to intervene.
"Look, PETE. I'm going on a date with Patrick, not you. That's how it is. I'm not going out with you, ok? I didn't give you my number for a reason."
Patrick looked at me with a bit of a grin on his face. "Here, let's go before this gets any worse." I nodded as he followed me out the door, leaving Pete with a shocked look on his face.
Almost the entire walk to his car was silent, until he giggled quietly. I looked over at him.
"And what's so funny?"
"The look on Pete's face."
I smiled to myself as he continued. "It's so nice to see Pete get surprised at me getting a girl. Especially when it's one he had his eye on."
I stopped walking and he turned to look at me. "What's wrong?"
"You knew Pete liked me?"
"Yeah, you told me when you came over-"
"You're not just doing this to spite him are you?"
"No, no, of course not. I kinda like you, Parker. I really want to get to know you a bit better."
I relaxed a little and we kept on walking in silence. We reached the car and he held the door open for me as I slipped inside the passenger seat of his car. He soon was sitting next to me in the drivers seat and he started the car. I nervously stared down at my hands in my lap, and then looked up at him.
"Patrick?"
"Yeah?" he turned to look at me before we drove off.
"I kinda like you too."
So. I suppose this is going to be my new story. I actually like the way this is going so far, and I have alot of ideas for it. I hope you all enjoy it, rate, review, all that awesome stuff. ^_^
Introducing the characters:
Parker Deroux: The journalist. 24 years old, dark brown/black hair, brown eyes.
Patrick Stump (who needs no introduction): The singer. 24 years old, reddish-brown hair, green eyes.
Along with the other guys in the band and other random characters here and there.
ENJOY!
I sat in the press room. I wasn't happy with this meeting. I was sent by RollingStone to interview Fall Out Boy about their new album today of all days.
The room was filled with other journalists, the room was hot, and I was getting rather impatient. I heard that Pete Wentz had a habit of showing up late, but when they said late I didn't think they meant an hour later.
Let me introduce myself. The name is Parker. Parker Deroux. Pronunced Deh-Roo. I am a journalist for RS, and as you can see, I'm not loving my job at the moment.
It's bad enough they send me out here to talk to bands I may care about, but Fall Out Boy? Who did they think I was?
The complaints in my head were interrupted as the four boys walked up to the table and sat at their respective microphones. From the research I've done, I've come up with easy profiles for each of them:
Pete Wentz: good lyricist, frontman, bassist, attracts media attention
Patrick Stump: reserved, great musician, multi-talented, one hell of a voice, wears alot of hats
Joe Trohman: huge hair, doesn't talk much, great guitarist
Andy Hurley: rarely speaks, plays excellent drums, don't confuse with Patrick.
I made myself notes on the sides of my notebook as I watched them answer questions. I listened intently to the other questions before I finally asked my own.
"What's the album going to be like?"
Pete leaned forward to his mic, his black jagged hair falling forwards slightly. "I'd ask the music-maker, not me." he said, turning his face to Patrick. He was shifting the attention. I made another note as I watched Patrick answer the question.
"Well, it's more...consistent than the other albums. It flows together much better. You'll see what I mean when it comes out, I guess." he nervously giggled as the rest of the people around me fired questions again.
"Is it going to be like your old albums? More R&B instead of Pop?"
Patrick stumbled over his words a little as he answered. "It's not like our last album, but it's not like the album before that either. It stands on it's own. The only thing these albums really have in common is that it's our name on the cover."
I scribbled more notes down. I finally had my question. I stood up, nearly falling over wearing the heels that I was wearing but I regained my composure quickly.
"Besides writing the music and the lyrics, what exactly do you do when you're not making music?"
Joe laughed and turned to the other guys. "Video games, am I right?"
Andy smiled too. "Comic books."
Patrick nodded at the both of them and then Pete spoke up. "When I'm not making music I'm usually trying to pick up girls that want to know what I do in my free time." he said with a wink. I sat back down, a disgusted look on my face. I added another note to Pete Wentz's profile: Overly confident.
Soon enough the abomination of questions were over with and the guys stood up to leave. As soon as they got up, I did too. I tried to get out of there as fast as I could. It was getting hotter in that room by the minute with all the hot air the other journalists were spewing. I rushed to grab my purse and my things from the coat check in the building, when I was stopped by a man behind me.
"I wasn't kidding, you know."
I knew that voice. I turned around and frowned. "Pete Wentz."
"At your service."
"I don't need any of your service, thank you very much."
I tried to walk off but he moved in front of me.
"Now that isn't very nice, is it?"
"I never said I was nice."
"Good point. I'd like to know exactly WHAT you are, if you're not nice. I'm Pete."
He held his hand out for a handshake and I sighed as I shook his hand back. Occupational hazard, this was.
"Parker Deroux."
"That's a nice name. We could fight crime together. Peter & Parker. You know. Like Spiderman. Peter Parker."
I understood what he was saying and that he was trying to be funny, but I just blankly stared at him with an unimpressed look on my face. He grinned.
"I know you got that. I can see it on your face."
"I did get it."
"And you're laughing on the inside."
"Yep. The inner me is falling on the floor. Look, I've got to get back to work, so if you don't mind-"
"Can I have your number?"
I blankly stared at him again. Was he really being serious?
"Um, no."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled. "I'll just ask the next time we meet then."
"Oh, there definitely won't be a next time." I said as he smirked. I pushed him aside and headed towards the doors.
"It was a pleasure talking to you, Parker Deroux!" he shouted from behind me.
I shook my head and walked out the door into the warm air of L.A.
It'd been 3 weeks since I had been hit on by Pete Wentz. It still makes me shudder. I really don't want to be involved with a normal guy, much less a rockstar with an ego. Sure, the rest of the band didn't seem as bad, but him. Oh, for the love of god, HIM. I wanted to wipe the smug look off his face every time I pictured it. I sat in my office chair, staring at the computer screen at the blank document. As I started to type the first sentence of my newest album review, a file landed in front of me on the keyboard. I looked up to see my boss, Jean, with her arms folded. Her long red fingernails tapped on my desk as she spoke quickly. "Read your new assignment, do your research and get there in a half hour for the interview." she walked away as I rolled my eyes. I opened the file and clenched my teeth as I read the name.
Fall Out Boy.
Damn you, Pete Wentz.
I walked into the hotel room, showing my press badge to the guard at the door. I walked through and scribbled down notes of what the room looked like. There were four suitcases, however each of their contents were unidentifiable because of the mess they were in. One of them was perfectly closed with everything neatly placed, but the rest of them had clothes, books, and movies sprawled all over the room. I could tell from the numerous hats on the one bed that that bed must've been Patrick's. The couple of vintage guitars leaning on the wall were probably Joe's and the drumsticks on the dresser were most likely Andy's. The makeup case inside one of the suitcases gave away that it was Pete's.
Pete.
I still wasn't happy to be here. I kept hoping that maybe he wasn't here, but I knew for an interview he was probably going to appear. With whom was always questionable. I've seen him being interviewed with each of them. It's always in pairs. Patrick and Pete, Pete and Andy, Pete and Joe, Patrick and Andy...the list goes on. I was interesting to see who would appear today.
I wandered around a bit more, admiring the CD collection on one of the beds. I was startled as a voice came behind me.
"I have a lot of CDs, I know."
I turned to see a bespectacled Patrick Stump behind me with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jean jacket. He's probably the only rockstar I've seen who pulls that off well. I managed a smile and held out my hand. "I'm Parker Deroux. I'm here for Rolling Stone. And yes, you have quite a collection here."
He smiled and shook my hand. He started to pick up the mess of CDs scattered around on the bed to stack them in one pile. "Well, when you travel around the world, it's nice to have something different to listen to everyday. Personally, I like vinyls better, but I'm too paranoid to bring them with me on a tour." I nodded and observed some more.
"Big fan of Prince?" I said, picking up a copy of Purple Rain off of the bed.
"More like obsessed." he said nervously with a giggle.
"Ah, well, everyone has to have an obsession over something."
"And what would yours be?"
"Probably David Bowie. I'm a big fan of every era of Bowie."
"Me too. If you had to choose a favorite?"
"Thin White Duke era. I loved the Man Who Fell To Earth movie." I said absentmindedly setting the CD onto the now neatly organized pile of albums on the bed.
"Good choice. I really liked that movie too."
I nodded and smiled, jotting down some notes. "So, who else is with you for this interview?"
"No one."
I looked up from my notepad and grinned. "No Pete?"
"No Pete."
"Well, this is going to be much more pleasant than I thought then."
He laughed and sat down on one of the chairs and I sat on the edge of the bed. He immediately got up when he seen I was sitting on the bed. "Here, have the chair. I'll sit on the bed."
"You don't have-"
"I insist. Ladies shouldn't have to sit on the edge of beds, especially when they're used by smelly musicians."
I smiled and stood up to sit at the chair, slightly shocked by his gentlemanly charm. What happened to all rockstars being assholes?
"So, what's the new album going to represent for all of you?"
"It's focused on Pete's lyrics more than anything. I'm prouder of this album than I am any of the others we've done so far, so I guess that's saying something. Everyone really put forth a lot of effort into this one."
I nodded and scribbled. He leaned forward and adjusted his hat. "And if you don't mind me asking off the record, why don't you like Pete? I'll use it against him at some point; I could always use more ammo." he joked.
"He...uh, tried to hit on me after your last press conference a few weeks ago."
"Typical Pete."
"Yeah, well, I tried to tell him I really wasn't interested and he just wasn't having it."
"He's a persistent bastard, isn't he?"
"Definitely. Wait. You agree with me? I totally thought you would be taking his side on this."
"He may be my best friend, but I'm not going to deny that he tends to be an idiot and do stupid things."
"That he does. He definitely does. He asked for my number before I tried to leave." I said as I shuddered.
"Did you give it to him?"
"Hell no, not to someone as cocky as him."
"Ah, that makes sense. Well, what other questions do you have?"
I went through the whole list and he answered each one clearly and precisely. He was so different from other famous guys; it was rather refreshing. It was almost just like a normal conversation. The conversations that were started from the questions I got some interesting information from too. I happily listened to his answers. He knew what he was talking about when it came to music, that was for sure. I was almost sad when I had finally finished asking him all the questions.
"Well. That was all of them."
"Awesome. Some of those I hadn't heard before, you had good questions."
"Thank you. I try to do my best."
He smiled and I gathered up all my things. He walked with me to the door and we said our goodbyes. "Goodbye, Mr. Stump." I said with a smile.
"Until next time, Miss Deroux." Before I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand. Before I could wriggle my way out of his clutches, his number was scrawled on the back of my hand. I looked at his face, plastered with a smile and I left with a wide grin on my face.
The next day I was busy writing out the article on Patrick. I was typing at a mile a minute, trying to pack in as much detail as I possibly could. I think subconsciously I was trying to document the day perfectly for my mind to remember it. I wrote down Patrick's number on a piece of paper on my desk so I wouldn't accidentally wash it away. Throughout the day, I kept noticing the tiny piece of paper and thought about calling, but I put it out of my mind. I wasn't interested in his band, much less than going on a date with a rockstar. What in the world made me think he gave me his number for a date?, I thought. He never said another word after he wrote his number on my hand. I shouldn't make assumptions. Maybe he didn't mind being interviewed by someone with common sense. Yeah. That was it.
I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, finishing up the article and adding a picture to the page I had typed out. I looked through the file that had been sent for their photo-shoot a few days ago and I scanned through them to find a single picture of Patrick. There wasn't one.
Confused, I called up my boss, Jean, and asked her what was going on.
"Hello?" a slightly annoyed voice said over the receiver.
"Hi, Jean. Where's all the pictures of Patrick in the Fall Out Boy photo-shoot we did?"
"There wasn't any; he's coming in sometime today to take them."
I stuttered a little. "T-today?"
"Yeah, I told him to find you when he got to the offices. You know where our studio is, just take him there and get the photos when he's done. Alright? Bye."
And with that, she hung up. I gently put down the receiver and looked up to see Patrick standing at the other side of the room grinning. I forced a smile out of nervousness and stood up, trying to compose myself. He walked towards me and giggled.
"You weren't expecting me here, were you?"
"Well, I figured out you were going to be here about...30 seconds ago."
"I'll take that as a yes, then."
I smiled and I gestured for him to follow me to the studio. He eagerly walked by my side with his hands in his pockets. He took one hand out to push up the glasses on his face and he started up a conversation.
"So...you didn't wash my number away did you?"
I looked at him for a second and kept on walking. "No. No, of course not. It's in safe keeping, I promise."
"Good, good."
"Yep."
Awkward silence cut between us but luckily, we reached the door.
"Here you are. Right through this door. I'll be at my desk if you need me-"
"Wait, you're not going in there with me?"
"No, why would I?"
He shrugged and made a weird gesture with his hands.
"I don't really like these photoshoot things, and usually I have the band here with me to make me less nervous...and since they're not here, and I'm perfectly comfortable with you..."
"You want me to go in with you?" I said with my arms folded across my chest.
A gleam in his eyes appeared. "Please?"
"Fine." I sighed.
He smiled wide and opened the door for me.
"After you, Miss Deroux."
I could feel myself blush as I walked into the room with him closely behind me. There were bright lights set up all directed at a simple white sheet; a typical setting for magazine shoots. I've been to these far too many times before. I watched as the clothes/hair/makeup people quickly latched onto Patrick, dragging him all over to different areas of the room. I sat down behind some of the cameras to face the white sheet so I could watch the shoot. I got out my phone and played games until he was finally ready. I looked up at the man standing at the white sheet. It was Patrick, put into a clean black suit, black hat, and a tie. He looked better than what I wanted to admit, so when he asked me if he looked ok, I simply muttered back, "Yeah, you look fine." and looked back down on my phone. I wish I could stop that goddamn blushing. When I knew he wasn't looking at me anymore, I looked up from my phone to watch him. He looked SO good in that suit. He looked FANTASTIC in that suit.
I watched in awe as this shy, nerdy guy became a photo-shoot star within seconds. I liked the fact that he wasn't a complete douche bag. However, he was a musician. A very well-known musician. Even thinking about anything more than friendship with this guy could possibly cost me my job or my reputation that I've formed at this goddamn magazine. He seemed to like me, which was sweet, I just...didn't know how to respond. Maybe I'd check with Jean. Ask her whether dating a famous rockstar would have any affect on my job. Just think: I get caught by paparazzi once and I may end up writing an article about myself. That'd be kinda awful.
I pushed the thoughts aside for the moment and focused back on Patrick. I tensed up slightly looking at him. He had his hand on his belt, leaning forward slightly, and he then bit his lip. I shook my head and smirked a little, trying to just ignore the fact that I may like him more than I expected to.
The hours went by and eventually the shoot was over. Patrick had gotten out of the suit and back into his normal clothes, his glasses back on and his hat placed firmly atop his head.
"Well, that was fun." he said with a touch of sarcasm.
I laughed as we both walked out the door back to my desk. On the way there he coughed and started up another conversation.
"So...are you going to call me sometime?"
"What? Oh yeah, sure." I said distractedly. I knew I had to get this article finished with the pictures and everything. It didn't help that I knew I was going to be staring at his face for another hour or so just trying to layout the page.
"You lost it didn't you?"
"Lost what?"
"My number."
"No, of course not! I have it written on a slip of paper on my desk."
He shrugged as we got to my desk. I quickly scrambled through the papers to find the tiny piece of paper. I finally got it and I waved it in the air.
"See? Told you I didn't lose it."
"Oh. Wow, I thought you were joking."
"And why would I joke about such a thing?"
"I've had some girls lie about losing my number. Most likely because they didn't want it. Even though most of them gave me their number first..."
"Oh, I see. Well, I definitely want it. I mean-oh god, that sounded bad. I meant I wanted the-"
"I know what you meant." he giggled with a devious smirk on his face.
I could feel my face get hot. "Good. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."
"Well, I wouldn't have even thought about it like that if you didn't get all embarrassed and adorable."
I looked down at my shoes. I couldn't let him know that I was interested. I probably just gave it away, but I can't do anything until I check with Jean about our whole, "dating a rockstar" policy. I looked back up at his face and grinned.
"I don't really know what to say to that." I giggled. With that he moved a bit closer to me and whispered.
"It's a compliment. You should get used to them."
I felt a shiver run down my spine from his warm breath, and I watched as he walked out the doors of the building. He turned back to wave goodbye and I waved too, a stupid smile on my face.
I had to call Jean. I dialed my phone and got her on the line immediately.
"Jean?"
"Yes, it is. What do you want, Parker? Did you get the pictures?"
"Yes, I got the pictures, and I have to ask you something."
"Fire away."
"What's our guidelines for dating rockstars?"
"Nothing at all."
"Are you serious?"
"As far as I know, no one really cares who someone else dates. Sometimes it works to the company's benefit; we get some extra information and we forward all stories to the person who's dating the person in question. Simple as that. Why'd you need to know that?"
"Oh, nothing really. Just curious. Thank you so much, Jean."
"No prob, Parker."
"Bye."
"Bye."
The minute I hung up the phone, I grabbed the slip of paper and picked the phone back up, dialing quickly.
"Hello?" It was him alright.
"Hey, it's Parker."
"Ah, Miss Deroux. Didn't I just talk to you...3 minutes ago?"
"You did."
I heard him laugh. "What's up?"
"I was just wondering whether or not you'd have coffee with me sometime."
"Like a date?" I heard his voice get excited.
"Sure. Like a date."
"Then, yes, totally. Tomorrow?"
"Sure. Just meet me here at the office. I've got to work until noon tomorrow."
"I'll come pick you up."
"Oh. Ok, not a problem."
He stopped for a second and I heard him curse under his breath.
"Actually, I can't pick you up. I've got to rehearse with the guys tomorrow."
"Then I'll just come over to your hotel then. It's no big deal."
"You know Pete will be there."
"Let him be there. It's not my problem. If he sees me, he sees me. But I don't think he will. I'll be in and out with you behind me quicker than a ninja, I promise."
I heard his laugh come through the receiver again. "Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow at noon."
"Definitely. I'll see you later."
"Bye."
"Bye."
I heard a click on the other end and he was gone. I leaned back in my desk chair, quite pleased with myself that I got a date with a fairly decent guy. He seemed sweet, down-to-earth, and very lovable. I just hope he was exactly the way he seemed.
The next day I sat at my desk, watching the clock every two seconds.
11:50...
11:52....
11:53...
The minutes went slowly by and I knew it was because I wanted to get out of this office and at that hotel room. I seen Jean walk by, reading her mail and I got her attention.
"Can I just leave now? It's so close to noon, pretty please?"
She glanced at the clock and shrugged. "Alright. Go ahead." she went back to her mail and walked off.
I quickly grabbed all my belongings from my desk, checked my face in a mirror to make sure I looked okay, and headed to his hotel.
When I finally got there, I could hear music from outside the room, and I was a bit nervous to just walk in. I was nervous even to knock on the door. Torn on what I should do, I pulled my cellphone out of my purse and dialed Patrick's number. The minute the phone started ringing, I heard the inside of the room get quiet. Then Patrick's voice came through the receiver.
"Hello!"
"Hi!"
"You're not canceling are you?" he said disappointed.
"No, definitely not. I'm...uh...actually outside your hotel room. I heard you guys playing and I didn't want to just barge in."
"Well, we're done now, just come on in." the tone in his voice brightened significantly.
"Um, alright. See you in a second."
I hung up and turned the doorknob in front of me to see the same four guys I had seen a few weeks ago. Andy smiled and waved.
"You're one of those journalists aren't you?"
"Yep."
"Rolling Stone?"
"Exactly. How'd you know?"
"I remember faces pretty well."
I nodded, impressed. Joe waved and went back to his guitar, plucking the strings, creating a vague kind of melody. Pete stood up after putting his bass aside.
"Parker. I told you we'd meet again. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?"
"Patrick."
Pete looked at me quizzically and turned to Patrick. "She's here for you."
"I know that." he said, putting his guitar back in its case and grabbing a jacket.
"How do you know that?"
"We're going to go get some coffee."
"Well, awesome, I'll come too, I love-"
"No. Pete. You aren't coming with us."
Joe giggled in the background. "Yeah, down boy. We need to get a leash for him." he muttered to Andy. Pete looked back at me, still a little dumbfounded.
"Hold on a second. You two are going on a date?"
"Yep." I said proudly.
He turned back to Patrick who was now standing next to me at the doorway. "How'd you get her number and I didn't?"
"I gave her mine."
"You gave her yours and she actually called you?"
"I did." I replied.
Pete threw his hands in the air. "Well, what the fuck, Parker?"
Patrick took a slight step in front of me. "Pete, this isn't her fault. I gave her my number, so she didn't do anything but call me. You had your chance, dude."
Pete put his hands up in defense. "Look, it's nothing against you, man. But I seen her first."
"No, you didn't, we seen her at the same place, moron."
"I noticed her first."
It was at this point I decided to intervene.
"Look, PETE. I'm going on a date with Patrick, not you. That's how it is. I'm not going out with you, ok? I didn't give you my number for a reason."
Patrick looked at me with a bit of a grin on his face. "Here, let's go before this gets any worse." I nodded as he followed me out the door, leaving Pete with a shocked look on his face.
Almost the entire walk to his car was silent, until he giggled quietly. I looked over at him.
"And what's so funny?"
"The look on Pete's face."
I smiled to myself as he continued. "It's so nice to see Pete get surprised at me getting a girl. Especially when it's one he had his eye on."
I stopped walking and he turned to look at me. "What's wrong?"
"You knew Pete liked me?"
"Yeah, you told me when you came over-"
"You're not just doing this to spite him are you?"
"No, no, of course not. I kinda like you, Parker. I really want to get to know you a bit better."
I relaxed a little and we kept on walking in silence. We reached the car and he held the door open for me as I slipped inside the passenger seat of his car. He soon was sitting next to me in the drivers seat and he started the car. I nervously stared down at my hands in my lap, and then looked up at him.
"Patrick?"
"Yeah?" he turned to look at me before we drove off.
"I kinda like you too."
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