I clicked to the next one and saw another picture of him and her together, but this time Rebecca was on his other arm. It must have been taken the same day, as they were all wearing the same clothes. They were all laughing in the picture, a charming and affable bunch. Rebecca herself had written in the comments below: “So Dex, when ARE we going to have that ménage a trois? Lol.”
I did not see the “lol” in that and quickly clicked through the rest of the pictures. Most of them were of Dex on location with a camera in hand. Sometimes he was at a bar or a concert and sometimes he was just posing with random people. What was most interesting about the pictures was that though his smile was very becoming, with his nice straight teeth and all, there was something unnatural about it. And when he wasn’t smiling, he was glaring at the camera with sharp, brooding eyes that were so intense at times that he seemed to be a different person altogether.
“Who is that?”
I jumped a mile in my seat. I whirled around to see Ada standing behind me, staring at my screen inquisitively.
“You scared the shit out of me!” I exclaimed. “How did you get in here?”
She gave me a funny look. “Through the door, you moron.”
I noticed she was dressed in her normal (and presumptuously ugly) Alexander Wang gear, which meant she was feeling better. She nodded at the screen again.
“Is that Satan’s Facebook account?”
I looked back at it. In this particular picture he was grinning like a madman, head tilted down, eyes like a falcon. With the Johnny Depp facial hair, I could see where she was coming from. I felt somewhat embarrassed.
“I’m not sure,” I replied truthfully.
I looked up at her. She was waiting for me to continue and obviously knew that something was up.
I decided to indulge her. “Ada, can you keep this between you and me? Just until next week?”
She nodded excitedly, happy to be included. I took a deep breath and told her everything. By the end of it she was rendered impressed. And annoyed.
“You get your own fucking TV show for doing three blog posts? On my blog? Where the hell is my TV show?”
“OK, it’s not a TV show, it’s a webcast that isn’t going to be viewed by many people. And nothing is confirmed. Dex just wants to try it out and see what happens.”
“Dex,” she snorted. “You talk about him as if you know him. You don’t know him. I don’t care if he’s some low-budget cameraman and has a Facebook page. Most psychotic killers and rapists have Facebook pages...that’s how they get you. Plus he looks like Satan. Don’t you think that’s a sign?”
“It’s a sign that the Errol Flynn ‘stache is coming back in style.”
“Who the hell is Errol Flynn?” She threw her hands up. “Perry, seriously, you should reconsider this.”
“Oh, whatever, come on, Ada. You’re just jealous that something good is happening to me for once. Can’t you just let me enjoy this? Writing for your blog, all the attention this week...I haven’t felt this happy in a very long time. Maybe ever. This might be bullshit in the end but it’s my bullshit and it makes me think there might be a place for me in this crazy world.”
She rolled her eyes but her face softened. “Fine. Whatever makes you happy. I think you should Google him first, though, just in case. See if he’s on the America’s Most Wanted list.”
That made sense. I went to Google and typed in his name.
A lot of pages came up. They were all connected in some form or another to his work on the webcast. Nothing too interesting.
“Well, that’s a good sign,” said Ada.
I nodded, then typed in Declan instead of Dex.
Another set of pages came up. I clicked on one that said “Funkiest band to rock New Jersey,” thinking it must be another Declan Foray.
It was an online magazine article about a lounge act called Sin Sing Sinatra. The band, consisting of a keyboardist, bassist, drummer and a singer (who was called Declan Foray), was mildly successful playing small clubs and bars on the East Coast. They were described as “Rocker Crooners” and did hip, lounge-y covers of rock songs. The singer, Declan, was described as having a “smooth, yet formidable voice” and he was someone to watch for. I clicked to the next page and saw a picture of Dex, my Dex (I guess you could call him that), singing into an old-fashioned mic.
His face was thinner and the moustache was gone, but it was definitely him. His floppy dark hair was more subdued and a white suit adorned his body. He looked like as total showboater. He also looked very young. I looked up at the URL to see the date: 03/09/02. He would have been around my age.
“So he’s a singer, too?” Ada pondered.
“I guess so. At least he used to be.”
“Maybe he changed his name because he sucked.”
I glared at her. “Dex is short for Declan. Somehow. And it says here that they were the opposite of suck.”
“Then how come I’ve never heard of them before?”
“A, you’ve barely heard of any of the best bands. You blindly believe that talent is what the radio tells you. And B, there are tons of excellent bands, groups, singers, whatevers out there who do quite well for themselves despite never becoming well known.”
“Oh, whatever. He’s a cameraman now, not a singer, so he failed somewhere along the way. This conversation is boring me now. Good luck with your thing.”
Ada turned on her heel and left my room, slamming the door behind her. Come in quietly, leave loudly.
I shook my head at her teenage dramatics and turned my attention back to the screen. It didn’t really matter to me whether Dex was a singer or not. But I couldn’t help but be even more intrigued. I had a huge respect for all musicians; they were sort of my weak spot. I could barely write notes, my songs were terrible and though I had heard I had a strong and pleasant singing voice, it wasn’t anything to make a career of.