~ Paige ~
I center all my focus, exert every ounce of energy into becoming Colin’s idea of the perfect woman. A part of me, a huge part, might be resenting it, struggling not to let the sense of betrayal gnaw at me with each enunciation correction by the new refinement coach, every sweat trail I swipe off my forehead with Eli, and all the back aching, shoulder cramping carriage demonstration. I signed on for this, take the generous allowance Ausfort hands me in a sealed envelope every week, but I’m not doing it for Colin.
It’s a point I need to prove for myself.
This arrangement with Colin, this job he hired me to do, I will do. Like a dancing bear, I will perform in front of the audience. In return, Rome will have a nest egg, a hopeful future ripe with prospects. Because despite the outward intimacy, the late-night personal calls and texts, the shattering kiss, Colin is paying me. I can’t and won’t forget that again.
If there’s a vice brutalizing my chest, I’ll straighten my shoulders even more and glide on air.
For a moment, a ridiculous, elated heartbeat, I thought he was inviting me to meet his family. We were getting close, weren’t we? He met Rome, so maybe it was what he wanted. That was obliterated really quickly, each second deteriorating into the next. The nail in the coffin was when he oh so casually announced the termination of our arrangement minutes after our first kiss.
Thank you, Colin. Hearing you loud and clear.
As if that wasn’t enough, just before bed that night, Rome knocked on my bedroom door. Shuffling his feet, he awkwardly told me he wanted to retract his support for me and Colin. He then proceeded to show me multiple social media snapshots of Colin at the event on Saturday, looking more than cozy with some woman in a dress so tiny, he could’ve used it as a tissue.
Again, thank you, Colin. Hearing you loud and clear.
So there was a float to my determined strides, confidence in the air around me, so much so Mr. Morrison positively beamed at me.
Colin hasn’t stopped by, and I don’t expect him to, not with his demanding days. He’s been out the door long before I arrived in the morning and didn’t return until I was gone. That was fine. That was preferable. If only his full schedule prevents the calls and texts.
Colin: Rudy will drive you Friday night.
Me: No need. Going with friend.
Colin: Then he can drive you and your friend.
Me: No need.
That was when the phone rang. I sent it to voicemail. Once. Twice.
It stopped after that.
“Are you sure I look okay?” Cara fingers her shirt as we meander between the maze of buildings making up the campus. “Maybe I should’ve worn a dress.”
“It’s a school play, not Broadway, and you look great,” I reassure her for the tenth time but can’t help but slant her a curious gaze. “Do you own a dress?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I could’ve borrowed one.”
Her hair is laser straight and sleek, her makeup light but tasteful. She might be in black trousers, but they go well with the pale pink blouse and black flats.
“From who? We’re not the same size.” Thanks to Colin, I’m now the proud owner of a pretty amazing wardrobe, including the alluring cobalt dress I’m currently flashing. Not that I would share that tidbit with Cara.
“From Mrs. Fernandez,” she responds like that should’ve been obvious.
“Your landlady? The one who’s eighty?”
“She has granddaughters,” Cara points out. She glances about us self-consciously. “Everyone is wearing a dress.”
I nod my chin at the kid to our far left. “Not that girl over there.”
“That woman is.” She indicates the one to our right. “And that one. And that guy over there. It’s gorgeous too. Prada.”
The wistful observation earns a double-take from me. “Since when do you pay attention to designers?”
“Since I can’t afford any.”
If eyes can salivate, I swear that’s what Cara’s are doing. I make a mental note to give her some of the outfits when Colin and I are done. We might not be the same size, but I know she’s a wiz with a sewing machine and can easily alter them herself. Lord knows I won’t be needing them. I hardly doubt Colin would want them back.
We trek in companionable silence, dodging tired parents, rowdy siblings, and friends here to cheer on their favorite school actor. Underneath the excitement of Friday night eagerness and anticipation are zipping in the atmosphere, and I know this is only a fraction of what Rome is feeling backstage at this moment.
The auditorium is small, just this side of run-down, the stage curtains frayed and well-used but not tattered, with painted banners and flyers posted on the walls. Programs in hand, Cara and I spot two empty seats five rows from the front, excusing ourselves while bumping knees with the seated audience. The poignant scent of buttered popcorn fills the cramped space.
I thought no food was allowed?
“This is so exciting,” Cara gushes, her pretty features elated as she gazes about with suppressed longing. “I didn’t make it to high school.”
It’s rare that Cara mentions her past. I don’t think she’s deliberately being secretive, but I’ve caught moments of regret and shame when she does.
Someone behind me– a kid, by the impish giggles– kicks at the back of my seat. “You’re very smart.” Impatient, not to mention loud, reprimands barked out by mom, but I ignore them. “Have you thought about getting your GED?”
The head shake sends blonde tresses dancing. “I read a lot,” she admits in a subdued voice, “but I don’t think all that is for me.”
I might’ve taken that at face value, except there was dejection, not nonchalance. More than once I overheard her conversations with Jenny, another server at Love’s and a sophomore at NYU, avidly soaking up any casual comments about college. After learning I was a student for two years at Brooklyn, she peppered me with questions.
Just as I’m about to dispute, a select group of school administrator-types climb the steps to the stage, thanking the audience and making quick announcements as the waiting crowd settles.
This is a run-of-the-mill high school, not even close to being a performing arts academy. Still, a rush of pride prevails me when Rome indisputably takes over the stage. Dressed in a prince-like getup, his lively, commanding presence leads the pack under the spotlight. Rome has always shone the brightest on stage. I might be biased, but when I glance around, the audience is mesmerized by his deliberate expressions, in each of his effortless gestures. His fierce, booming voice resonates to control attention. Charmed, Cara chuckles and gasps with the spectators.
I know I’m doing the right thing. My objective, my single most important legacy, is to ensure Rome’s future. I wouldn’t admit it to Cara, but there was no potential for me in college, not when I don’t have much of a future.
Two hours later, the show ends with riotous applause. Rome’s grin splits his face as he takes his bow with the glowing cast and crew. I like to think I’m cheering the noisiest, the most outrageous enough so he can hear me. We join the wave of mass exodus out of the auditorium. Rome and a few of his friends are meeting us at Love’s. Now that I have a deeper pocket to play with, I wanted to take them out to a nicer place to celebrate, but Bob being Bob, he wouldn’t hear of it, insisting on reserving several of the more private tables for us tonight. It wasn’t until Cara broke the news to me yesterday that I had to cancel the other reservation.
Deciding to splurge, Cara and I take a cab to Love’s. It’s not a long ride, but my treacherous mind wanders, thinking about things I shouldn’t, preoccupied with a man playing me like I’m made of malleable plastic. Did he have a good time with his brother last night? Is he excited about his weekend plans? Is he thinking about me?
He did at one point during the play. Taking out my phone, I swipe through to the text.
Colin: Am I going to see you?
I’ve not responded but do so now. Not tonight.
The dots appear instantly.
Colin: Where are you?
Me: Going to dinner.
A pause, then dot, dot, dot.
Colin: Where?
I hesitate. I’m not on the clock, sort of speak, and I don’t owe him an explanation.
So I don’t give him one.
Me: Someplace good.
Colin: Invite me.
Bossy. He’s gone and lost his mind. Family and friends only, I reply.
Colin: What am I then?
Me: A lost cause.
Colin: Not nice. Tell me where.
Me: No.
Colin: Answer your phone.
My fingers aren’t fast enough to tap out a response when my phone chimes. I’m debating whether to answer or send it to voicemail when Cara glances over.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
I’m just staring at his name. “I’m not sure.”
She’s frowning with confusion. I don’t have to glance up to know it. In a blink, my cell is out of my hand.
“Hello, this is Cara. How may I help you?”
Now I’m gaping at her in level five alarm. She doesn’t say anything, cheerfully meeting my dismay with a wicked grin.
An indistinct male voice sounds, but I can’t make out the words.
“Paige isn’t available right now.” Gray eyes gleam in the darkness of the vehicle. “I’ll let her know you called. Um… what’s your name?” She listens for a second. “Okay, Mr. Kutter… what’s that? Where are we having dinner?” She looks in question at me.
I’m shaking my head so hard, my neck cracks.
“I’m sorry, but that’s privileged information.” Her palm flies up to push back the giggles, obviously enjoying herself. “Oh no,” she says with utter importance after a beat. “Her boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”
My lap catches my jaw.
Clearly, she’s not grasping the urgency of my flabbergasted face. “That’s right, her boyfriend, Adam. They’re very much in love. Well, I’m sure Paige will be in contact. Have a goodnight, Mr. Kutter.”
The second after she swipes her finger to end the call, she’s falling back on the seat in a fit of wild laughter.
My lungs have given up. Surely that’s why I’m not breathing. “Cara, what did you do?”
“You should’ve heard him,” she manages in between pants for air. “What do you mean her boyfriend?” she mimics in an exaggerated male voice. “He was mad!”
“Oh my God.” My body collapses with hers. Colin Kutter would not appreciate being made a fool. “This is not happening.”
Blasé, she waves it off. “Hey, if you’re not interested in a guy, just tell him you have a boyfriend. That’s what I do. It works for me.” Head against the backrest, she swivels to eye me. “Who was that guy, anyway?”
What must he be thinking of me?
Do I care?
Yeah, I do. Very much so.
Maybe he’ll guess that it was a joke. I mean, come on. I spend all my time at his place. Where would I find time to be with a boyfriend?
“Colin,” I murmur. “Colin Kutter.”
“Yup, that was what he said.” Slowly, her lingering grin falls until there’s no trace of it. “Wait… Colin. Isn’t that the name of the guy you’re working for?”
“That’s him.”
Shoulders, back, neck, everything on her jerks to attention. “He’s the Colin?” She inherits my earlier distress. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did I get you in trouble? Are you going to be fired?”
If I had a mirror, I’m sure I’d find identical expressions on us. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s not what he’s concerned about right now.”
“I thought you guys weren’t dating.”
“We’re not.”
“Then why did he get so upset over the boyfriend thing?”