The First Dating Video of Darren Hayes by Aerial Bard

(inspired by 'The First Dating Video of Rose Ritz' from "I Love you, You're Perfect, Now Change")

He took a moment to adjust his eyes to the dim light in the hallway. The door closed behind him, shutting out the rays of sunlight and resigning him to the fluorescent lights that hummed overhead. To his right was a staircase, where etched on a metal plate were the names of several businesses, alongside scratches and tags written by visitors. He quickly found which office he was looking for, headed up the stairs and, counting the floors until he reached the third, stepped out into the hall. It was in slightly better condition than the entryway, a worn carpet taking the place of the pale tile, and wood paneling lining the walls. A woman smiled at him from a desk outside a set of double doors, and waved him in.
The room was empty, save a metal chair and the camera facing it. A man in his mid-forties fiddled with the equipment, but looked up when he entered.
"Is this your first time?" He asked, popping a tape out of the side of the camera.
"Yeah."
"Don't worry, it's simple." He handed him the tape and a felt pen. "Write your name on the label, pop it into the camera. Red button records, square button stops. Wait about ten seconds before you start talking, or the tape will probably cut you off."
He gave the man back his pen, staring at the tape where his name was written in loopy print.
"You can hand your tape to Joy when you're done, and pay at the desk," the man continued, nodding back toward the door he'd entered from. "I'll be in the booth, monitoring that you don't do anything too explicit, but other than that I usually don't watch."
With a friendly nod, the man walked into a windowed room and gave him a thumbs-up from inside before picking up a book.
Adjusting the camera, he sat down, letting his body warm to the cold metal chair before pressing the red button. The light on top of the camera blinked as he drew in breath and began.

"My name is Darren Hayes. Hello, I guess. I live in San Francisco, and I used to be a singer." He paused. "Or, well, I guess I'm still a singer, what I meant is I used to be in a band. You might've heard of us, we were pretty big for a while, " he chuckled, glancing away from the camera. The man in the booth stared at him. A guilty look crossed his face, he looked back up.
"But I guess you didn't really need to know that. I didn't intend to tell you, anyway. Honestly, I'm not quite sure why I'm even doing this to begin with," he smiled weakly and stared at his hands. "I've never had a problem with getting dates, it was keeping them, really. I guess I'm just looking for more of a relationship than most people I know. Maybe that's why I'm here. To find someone that doesn't know me. Most of the girls I'm with nowadays just want a pop star to follow around and show off," he looked back up at the camera and shrugged. "It's really not worth the effort in the long run, I suppose."
"I guess I could always find another celebrity to date-- call up Kylie Minogue and get the tabloids running again," he rolled his eyes. "But I don't want to constantly compete with someone over sales and fans and style. I need someone who's just human. And so many celebrities nowadays aren't."
He stopped, as if reflecting on what he had just said, and sighed. "I don't know if that made sense or not, or if anyone other than me ever feels that way. Maybe it's something you just don't think about until you're aware of it. I know I never really realized it until Dan pointed it out."
"Uh, Dan-- Daniel, was my partner. Not romantically or anything, but in my band. I mean, our band," he stuttered. "We were in a band together for five years." He nodded firmly. "It ended a few years back, about the same time as my marriage, I guess." Pausing and biting his lip, he attempted a smile, "Does that make me used goods or anything? Having been married-- having been in a band? Having had both of them break up?" He shook his head and his look softened. "Maybe I have issues with commitment, though I never really thought so. Sometimes things just end."
He took a deep breath, and some of the emotion drained from his face as he ran his hands through his short hair to cool himself. The red coloring in his cheeks resided, and his face was once more blank. "I was married for close to six years, and I guess in the end it was the band that broke us up. She always blamed Daniel, anyway. I don't know if she meant all the tours and the fans, or that Daniel and I were always together. Either way, she hated it." He paused. "Either way, I stopped having time for her."
He stared helplessly at his hands. "I tried, really. I invited her to tour with us, to come to interviews, to log onto the website and chat with the fans. But she didn't like the spotlight. Neither did Dan, really. They were probably more alike then they ever knew. Both total opposites of me, anyway. But they say opposites attract, right?" As if catching his own Freudian slip, he opened his mouth to correct himself, but floundered and moved on quickly.
"So it ended. My marriage, that is. For most of the same reasons the band broke up, I guess. Ironic, isn't it?" He shook his head, and it was unclear as to whether or not he agreed with his own statement. "Neither of us really resented it, I don't think. We were young when we married, and things like that rarely work out. Well, maybe they do. Not here though. Both of us still had a lot of growing to do, whether it was away from each other, or just down our natural paths-- entwined for a moment, but really just passing each other by."
He grinned, rethinking what he had just said. "Hey, that could be a pretty nice lyric, couldn't it?"
The grin faded quickly. "No. I spent a whole album on lyrics like that. After a while, you just have to move on," he mused, and then started again with sharp look at the camera.
"I'm on my own now. A solo album with my own picture on the front. I think they kept it to one side so it wouldn't look so lonely out there in the middle, by itself. I think it's worse on the side, though. It feels like something's missing. Someone, I guess." Once again he stopped himself, moving on to broader subjects.
"I've lived in San Francisco for about three years now. Before that it was New York, where I stayed for a year and a half." His mouth quirked into a smile. "Funny how that Kurt Vonnegut quote always comes to mind when I mention that-- you know the one?" He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. "Something about living in both places, but leaving New York before you get too hard, and Southern California before you get too soft." The confused look evened out and he shook his head. "I doubt it applies to me, anyway. I travel too much for any place to have a real effect on me."
"I'm a native of Brisbane, Australia, and left there with an appreciation for my accent, and an even greater appreciation for the last place I could really call home," he said with a sad smile. "I left my family, friends, and a dog there when I moved. My band too, I guess. I've always thought my moving was the beginning of the end for us. No matter what we told the interviewers, it's impossible to really be a band over the internet and a few phone calls."
He shook his head. "Regardless of that, we put out another album. Probably because Daniel worked so hard. He might've hated the concept of a band, but he loved the music. Lived on it. Maybe that's why he put up with me for so long, he needed to make that music, and get it heard. I didn't mind really. Maybe I was just another instrument for him, a way for people to hear what he was creating; but it needed to get out there," he shrugged, trying to be light-hearted, though his face showed his emotion clearly. "I tried my best to live up to what he played. And I think we did alright. Touched a few people, made some beautiful statements, even had a few good laughs in the process."
"But he moved on. He has other ways of getting himself heard now." He said bitterly, then paused. He eyes shifted to the floor. "I don't think he really wanted to band to end, at least not as conclusively as it did, but sometimes things just have to give, you know? I couldn't let him string me on while he wrote with twenty other bands... it wasn't fair to me or our fans. So I went on. With the silly thought that I could still make it without him." His eyes were totally off the camera now, and his hands moved to cover his face momentarily before he looked back up, a deceivingly cheerful smile plastered on.
"But I was saying, you really can't expect a band, or anything for that matter, to work when its two members are on opposite sides of the world. So yeah, Daniel had every right to move on. Maybe he even took my moving as a sign that I wanted it to end. It wasn't, though. I just needed to get away from Australia for a bit. Too many memories of Daniel."
His eyes widened and he stuttered, "Er, Colby. Colby, I mean." He flinched, as if mentally kicking himself, and shook his head. "She's my ex-wife. I don't think I was supposed to tell you that, though. The guy in the booth is giving me a look."
He sighed, and sat up straighter in the chair. "Maybe I should just get back to the basics, then."
"I like Starbucks coffee and Star Wars. A coincidence, really." He smiled before realizing that his joke wasn't actually funny, even if there was someone to laugh at it. "I do yoga regularly and am working on my cooking skills. Believe me, they've improved a lot from the two-minute noodles Dan and I used to make." The grin faded to a wince, realizing he'd brought up Daniel yet again, before evening out as he moved on.
"I've always wanted kids, and was even a pre-school teacher for a while, until parents started asking for autographs." He said, smiling. "Then I dedicated my life to singing, and haven't looked back too much."
He looked up at the camera. "I believe... well, I've written a whole song about what I believe in. I don't know how much still applies, but I do know that every one of those beliefs has been tested," he rolled his eyes, as if anticipating a response. "And yes, a few of them have changed." He looked down at the floor. "I still believe in love though, all kinds. I have experienced love at first sight twice, with the woman I married, and another woman I met about a year ago." He paused.
"Three times, I suppose, if you count Daniel." He studied the carpet intently and shook his head.
"But that was different. It always was with Daniel."
Resolution broken, he faced the camera. "When we first met, I was auditioning for him. Maybe that's why I can remember it so well. Our friendship and our musical career together started at the same time... ended at the same time too." Once again, he answered to the anticipated response, "No, we don't see each other much anymore. We call around holidays and awards shows, wish each other luck, catch up on the news. But we don't really say much. Chatter to fill up space, empty words," he shrugged. "I never meant them to begin with." And paused.
"He did."
"For the first year or so after we broke up he used to call almost every week-- to see how I was doing, to review my newest song, to make sure I was alright out here on my own, really. But that can only go on so long when the sentiments aren't returned. After a while I guess he realized that I didn't want to know how his new company was, or when his projects were going to be putting out a single, or why he always called at two in the morning--" He shook his head with a bitter smile "--because it was afternoon over here. And I was too wrapped up in my own career to ever notice.."
"Selfish? I guess. Maybe just too absorbed in myself to realize he didn't want the band and our friendship to end on the same day."
He sighed, "Sometimes it got too hard, though. Just to talk to him. To chat about simple things like the weather and sports and books." He rolled his eyes. "Not like we talked about sports or books much, but the weather did come up quite a bit."
"I guess it's always hard to go back and try to act normally with someone you were that close to. Daniel and I shared everything-- from a one-room flat in King's Cross to our deepest secrets. Not always in a heart to heart talk, but in our music. You couldn't hide things, not the way we wrote. And when that was over I couldn't talk to him at all. I guess I'm a very take-it-or-leave-it kind of guy. Stubborn. Some would say a jackass. Daniel did. But he never really understood-- after all that we had shared, how could I talk to him again and not expect that closeness? How could I honestly sit down next to him and not want to write another love song?"
He paused, "Or pop song. Or whatever. We were good at love songs, I guess. They sold." He scowled, once again realizing that what he'd said was not what he intended. "But of course that's not why we did them," he shrugged. "I was proud of that, you know? We never wrote songs for anyone but us. If the fans liked it, great. That meant we'd be able to write one day longer."
"Maybe I've sold out now. I'm not sure. It's harder, writing without a partner there. There's so much freedom, but at the same time, it's like there's this void that you have fill all on your own. You have to make all the decisions, you have to take the responsibility. Sure, I was writing with others, but it's not the same. Not really. Not at all."
"We tried, Daniel and I, to write another album. At the end of it. I thought that maybe if we just wrote one more song, one more melody, he'd want to stay. That I could show him-- I've grown! I can write this! You don't need someone else... you don't have to leave me..."
"But he did."
"I shouldn't have tried to keep him there. I know it was hard for him. He looked happy, when we were on-stage in front of everyone, the lights radiating with the energy all around-- but when we were alone, his face... The looks he gave me... Like he wanted something he could never have. And I knew it-- he wanted out."
"So I let him go. Set him free. He's happier now that he doesn't have to see me as often, I know. I hate to think that I was the one who drove him to hate our band, but maybe I was."
He paused, his features crumpled into a bitter smile, the kind that lent to tears as easily as not. He chocked out a shaky breath and stared at the linoleum for so long that the man in the booth almost left his book to check on him. But in a soft voice he continued.
"I shouldn't be saying any of this, I know. God, you paid to see a five-minute blurb about whether or not I liked racquetball and labrador retrievers, and here you're getting my whole life story."
"Not even my whole life story. Just my life with Daniel."
"Maybe he was my life. For eight years at least. He was all I thought about. Especially now-- going over everything, the interviews, the looks, the conversations, the music... Trying to find out why he left. Because I don't think he was honest. Sometimes, I remember the way he looked at me when he said he wanted out-- and I don't think it was about the music at all."
He shook his head, thoughts muddling the way words reached his mouth, memories spilling out as he saw them in his head, pulling questions up with them. "He would come over late at night when we were on tour and just sit in my room, watching me as I scribbled lyrics for my own album and resisted the urge to ask him what he thought would work for the next line. I wish I hadn't needed to prove myself so much. I wish I had just asked him. Anything. How it sounded. Why he was there."
"Instead I made up my own theories. He was checking up on me, testing me, to see if I could write without him. Or he was bored. Or lonely. Or maybe he found me as fascinating as I found him... The way his eyes focused on the curtains whenever I looked at him. The pain I caught in his eyes whenever he didn't look away."
The grimace on his face could have been mistaken for angry, if it weren't so emotional.
"I could never figure out why he was in pain. I gave up everything for him-- I let him go. And I needed him so badly. Just to be there for me when I was so scared of starting on my own. I ignored his cheery phone calls, pushing him away, relieving the burden that I obviously was to him. And instead of being thankful he just gave me that blank stare, like there was still more that he wanted."
"But I couldn't think of what else I could give him."
By now his face was nearly covered by his hands, and he pushed them back, running through his short hair as his face smoothed and his eyes steadily looked at the camera again. "Sometimes I think of going to Australia and talking to him. Finding out why he lied to me."
Pause. "He did. I never thought he ever would, but he did. The band, the break-up-- it was something else. Sometimes I wondered..."
He stopped, slowly dropping his head to the floor again.
"He could have been in love with me."
His eyes wandered to the man in the booth who was hidden behind his book.
"I thought so sometimes. When he'd look at me like that. Adoring. Hungry. Passionate. And at the end, pained. Like he was making the wrong choice... but more like I was following the wrong directions."
"I always thought he was in control, completely and utterly. His calm poise, his ability to know exactly what was running around in my mind, while I couldn't even guess at his. But maybe we both got off track. Maybe in the end, neither of us got what we wanted."
"I didn't."
"I wanted Dan."

The tape clicked off as Darren's finger hit the square button, his mind numb. On auto-pilot he ejected the tape, still warm from the whirring machine, and turned toward the door, already knowing where he needed to go next. The man in the booth stepped out, his eyes wary.
"Did you want to re-do it?"
Darren stared at him, and a warm laughter bubbled inside him, dawning on his face as clarity set in.
"No. It was exactly what I needed to say."