Work Text:
Roddy has been hanging out at Ertegun’s place a lot again lately.
Most of it is work-related. With a new single out and more tracks on the way, he has to prepare the upcoming tours: program the AIs, discuss the performance tracklists and the specifics of every location. Been there, done that. What’s new is that, ever since that time he almost went bankrupt, Ertegun has been trying to include him in his social events too.
Not that Roddy cares for parties. But he does feel a little sorry for the DJ, surrounded by shallow fair-weather friends, and every so often he finds himself accepting the invitation.
Tonight is such a time. Well, rather, he was supposed to come over for work anyway; but Ertegun invited him and baited him with free food, and since Roddy’s place has been having some troubles with the electricity anyway, might as well have some fun before his business all-nighter. Ertegun even suggested he bring the girls along, but Carole and Tuesday have their own tour to mind, so here he is curled up on the couch with his laptop, occasionally making small talk and waiting for the evening to be over.
“You should take some breaks, you know.”
Roddy looks up. By now it’s past midnight, a glance at the clock reveals, and the house has mostly cleared up. Ertegun stands beside him, dangling a cold drink in his face.
“Just juice,” he answers the unspoken question on Roddy’s face. “You don’t think I’d give alcohol to a minor?”
Roddy shrugs. “I’m not sure what you’d do.”
“Not that. Imagine the headlines!” Ertegun sits down in the chair across from Roddy, crossing his legs. “Famous DJ gives alcohol to underage coworker! You know I’m better than that.”
Roddy gives him a blank look and sips the juice. That makes sense.
“Anyway,” says Ertegun, gesturing to his laptop, “you should put that aside for a bit. I can’t have my sound technician getting sick because he overworked himself.”
“I’m fine though,” Roddy answers.
“Nobody’s fine who works all the time.” Reaching across the coffee table, Ertegun tries to take the laptop from him, but Roddy wiggles out of his reach. “You should learn to let go! Have some fun, you know?”
“Is that why you keep inviting me?”
“Of course. You can’t spend all your life staring at screens.”
“I’d rather stare at screens than hang out with people who only care about money and fame.” Roddy closes his laptop. “Where’s the point in that, anyway?”
Ertegun doesn’t answer. Roddy sighs.
“I don’t know how you can spend so much time with them,” he continues, leaning back his head and staring at the ceiling. “They’re fair-weather friends. Next time something bad happens, they’ll all ditch you again.”
Ertegun looks awkward. Neither of them has really mentioned that story since, like they have some silent agreement to act like it didn’t happen.
Roddy sits up.
“Aren’t you lonely?”
He doesn’t know why he’s asking all this. Maybe because, in some way, he understands. The girls would understand too. Gus too. No real friends, no family worth the name…they’ve all been there. And now they have each other, but who does this guy have?
“Lonely?” Ertegun repeats, slowly, like that word is unfamiliar to him.
“Yeah.” Roddy takes another sip from his juice. “You don’t really have any close friends…or a family. And other people your age have spouses and kids, or at least had them at some point.” He shrugs. “Is this really okay for you? Being all alone?”
“Roddy, Roddy, Roddy…”
Before he knows what’s happening, Ertegun has reached across the coffee table to ruffle his hair. “You worry too much,” he says. “Are you sure you have the time to listen to an old man ramble about his life?”
Roddy blinks. Suddenly the man across from him sounds less like the famous DJ and more like the tired, lonely person who crashed at his apartment with no money and no energy. Abruptly he notices the small creases on Ertegun’s face. For all his youthful lifestyle he is middle-aged, and it shows. Suddenly Roddy realizes this man is old enough to be his father.
“But if you’re wondering,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “I do think it would be nice having all that.” He lifts up a meaningful finger. “There’s just one problem.”
“Time?” Roddy guesses.
“I knew you were a smart kid when I hired you. Yes, time.” Ertegun crosses his legs the other way. “Say I wanted a spouse. Then I’d first have to look for them, go on dates until I find the right one. Then I’d have to put time into the relationship. And if we got married, that’d be hours and hours of wedding planning. Especially for a wedding befitting of me.” He counts the points on his fingers. “All of that would be time I could also spend making music. And anyone can date and get married, but only I can make my music.”
Roddy is quiet.
“So when I realized I couldn’t have both,” Ertegun concludes, “I decided I’d always choose my music over everything else. Even if it meant staying alone.”
He doesn’t sound like he regrets it, but Roddy still can’t help feeling sorry for him.
“What about the family you already have?” he ventures. “Do you still have parents or siblings?”
Ertegun’s face darkens. He waves a dismissive hand. “I don’t talk about those people for a reason.”
Roddy doesn’t press the matter. He can easily imagine what went down. Most parents don’t look too kindly on their children wanting to be musicians. Many parents probably wouldn’t approve of the rest of Ertegun’s lifestyle either. Especially those from the old generation.
“So you’re all alone,” he says.
“Not quite.”
Roddy looks up. “Huh?”
The DJ grins at him, cheerfully and so genuinely it’s almost out of character. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”
Roddy gapes at him for a good moment, trying to make sense of the statement. “Are you saying I’m your substitute family?”
In hindsight, he realizes, Ertegun has been treating him a bit like a son.
He has no idea what to do with that information.
Ertegun doesn’t give him time to process it either. “Anyway,” he says, standing up, “break over. Let’s get to work.” He yawns. “It’s getting late.”
The rest of the evening passes normally. Roddy doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, but in the morning he wakes up with a pillow under his head and a blanket over him, his laptop carefully put away on the coffee table.
None of the AIs seem to know who did it.