by Gigi Blume
My mother certainly didn’t miss an opportunity to voice her admiration towards Jorge when he was out of earshot. She attacked me as soon as we went into the kitchen for the key lime pie.
“Tell me all about Naked Man,” she stage-whispered. “Is he keeping his hands to himself?”
“We’re just friends, Mom.”
“Well, don’t let him slip through your fingers,” she chided. “I had a Latin lover like him once. Before I met your father.” She sighed, and I wasn’t sure if there was a hint of regret in her words. I didn’t want to know.
“It was my third year of college,” she said dreamily. “I spent a summer abroad in Zihuatanejo.”
“You need not say more, Mother.” I stacked the plates and dessert forks to take outside, but she didn’t budge. She leaned on the kitchen counter, lost in a memory.
“My friends and I would take the water taxi to Ixtapa Island almost every day. He was the driver. One day, I scraped my leg on a sharp piece of coral, and he came to my rescue. He was so beautiful standing over me with the sun glistening off his back—so tan and sculpted.”
“I don’t want to hear about this.” I would have plugged my ears if I thought it would help.
“We spent all our free time together after that,” she went on, ignoring me. “He knew a little English, so our communication was limited, but who needs words when there’s the language of love, am I right?” She wagged her eyebrows, and I shook my head, trying to jostle the vision from my brain.
“I really really don’t want to hear about this,” I pleaded. “Please, just stop.”
She sobered immediately from the high of reminiscing, and her face fell into a serious frown.
“Then one day, I found out he had a secret love child.”
She came to me and took me by the shoulders with a hard stare. “Make sure Jose doesn’t have a secret love child before it gets too serious.”
She nodded once in finality and retrieved the pie from the refrigerator.
“It’s not going to get serious,” I said. “And his name is Jorge, not Jose.”
She waved her hand at me in dismissal. “Same thing. Jose is just the diminutive of Jorge.”
“No, it’s really not.”
“Would you rather I continue to call him Naked Man?”
She gathered the pie and the serving utensils in her arms and flurried out of the kitchen. I pondered her admonition with amused reflection. She was, in her own quirky way, giving me the best motherly advice she knew how to give—to learn from her mistakes. Lord knows she had made enough of them and therefore, had lots of sage advice to give. I didn’t have any fears about Jorge, though, because I wasn’t in the market for a man at this time of my life. At least I did everything in my power to convince myself of that. But when I walked him to his car, I seemed to forget what I did or didn’t want.
“You sure you don’t want to stay and sit through three hours of baby photos?” I joked. “Mom hasn’t finished scaring you off yet.”
He laughed, his face brightening with an expression of contentment. “I actually like your mom. She can show me your baby photos the next time I come to visit.”
The next time. There would be a next time. Was I reading too much into his words? I smiled awkwardly and hugged my hands over my bare arms. The weather was finally cooling down, and the ocean breeze washed a brisk chill through the air. He was responsive to my actions as he always seemed to be, and he gathered me in his arms, rubbing warmth into my back.
“You’re a tiny thing,” he whispered. “You’ll catch a cold.”
He released the embrace just enough to look me in the eyes. His face was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen. I found myself examining each of his features individually, amusing myself with the idea they couldn’t possibly be real. He was the type of handsome that was so remarkable it made me feel extremely uncomfortable. He was a freshly frosted cake—no, he was fondant, and I was cheese wiz. I pressed my lips together, suddenly self-conscious of my teeth, what my breath must be like after Dad’s garlic mashed potatoes. What would I do if he tried to kiss me? Was that even what I wanted? I still didn’t have those butterflies.
He caressed his fingers over my chin, and I thought for a moment that was what he wanted. The mashed potatoes couldn’t have been so bad. I did have wine to mask the garlic, after all. But he didn’t draw any closer to me in the electric moments as our eyes met. If anything, he inched just a little bit further away. I felt like an idiot. What made me think a guy like Jorge would be into me? I was cheese wiz.
“I have to go,” he said at length. “Can I call you?”
Whoa! Those were some serious mixed signals. Did he like me or not? I decided I didn’t want him to like me at this point. I didn’t have time for games, and so I shrugged and played aloof.
“Yeah, whatever,” I said. Yep. Totally not playing games.
He smiled and stepped closer to his car.
“Great.”
He slung his keys around his fingers. I could tell there was something more he wanted to say. I wasn’t about to prompt him. He was way too complicated. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe he had a secret love child.
“Beth,” he began. There it was. Secret love child. Or he was gay. Or he was artificial intelligence—like DATA from Star Trek, only cuter. I knew he was too beautiful to be real. Whatever his confession, he had a hard time verbalizing it. After a pause of several seconds, he sighed and said, “I didn’t want to bring this up, especially after I’ve had such a nice time tonight.”
What? What could it be?
“It’s the garlic mashed potatoes, isn’t it?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No. Those were awesome. It’s…”
“Yeah?”
“It’s Bing.”
“Bing?” Now, I was really confused. “What about Bing?”
“He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong,” he replied quickly. “Just tell your friend to be careful.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know Will Darcy. He’ll do everything in his power to poison Bing’s mind against Jane if he feels like it. And Bing is just enough of a follower to believe him.” I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head furiously. I couldn’t imagine Bing would ever hurt Jane. Jorge noticed the protest in my body language and quickly amended, “I’m sorry. Bing seems to really like your friend. I hope I’m wrong.”
I didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. Surely, Jorge had good intentions, but with him in such proximity, Will Darcy was the furthest thing from my mind. Clearly, the feeling wasn’t mutual.
“You think about him a lot, don’t you?” I said, more of a comment than a question.
“How can I not?” he cried. “He has his claws in every corner of my life—you, your friend, even Stella.”
His face was contorted into something a little less beautiful but still magnificent, like the fury of a tropical storm or a raging sea.
“That new choreographer you have…”
“Colin?”
“He works for Rosings,” he spat. “Did you know that the founder of Rosings is a shareholder of Darcy’s production company? Will is practically engaged to her granddaughter. He’s everywhere. I can’t get away from his influence.”
I was speechless for the duration of several tense moments. I didn’t know what to say. There was certainly nothing I could do about it. With any luck, Jorge would get through the run of Pirates, and Will would be back to filming his stupid movies. Also—practically engaged? Why did that suddenly bother me so much? I wondered if Caroline knew about that juicy tidbit.
Jorge tossed his head from side to side and looked down at his shoes with a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he bade softly. “I just can’t lose this job.” After a lengthy pause, he exhaled a profound breath he had been holding and plastered a forced smile on his tragically gorgeous face. And running a paw through his mane, he declared lightly, “Ah! You don’t want to hear about my financial
woes. I seem to always spill my heart out when I’m with you. What is it about you, Beth short for Elizabeth sometimes Lizzie but never Eliza?”
I shrugged, feeling rather like a bartender in a bad movie. “Maybe I just have that effect on people.”
He smiled tenderly and closed his hand over mine.
“You certainly have that effect on me.” He winked and placed a sweet kiss over my knuckles. I felt my bones turn to butter before he withdrew the warmth of his touch and slid into his truck. He closed the door between us like an exclamation point on the distance he asserted in our friendship. His faucet ran hot and cold—this was the cold side of him and in the end, that was all it would ever be.
10
Any Savage Can Dance
Beth
Thanksgiving week was upon us, and we would only have Monday and Tuesday to rehearse before a five-day weekend. Jorge wasn’t there either day, nor was he returning my texts. I started to worry his fears were founded in truth—that perhaps Will had him fired after all. But Denny assured me he was just out of town for the holiday.
“He’s probably surfing in Cabo,” he said dismissively. “He said he’ll be back next week.”
This was confirmed by the head set designer when I inquired after Jorge in the scene shop. He didn’t know any details but told me Jorge had some personal business to attend to. He didn’t seem alarmed at all, so I took his cue to feel likewise. Besides, I had my own discord with Will to endure.
“Guess who ‘gets’ to marry the Pirate King at the end of the play?” I said with as much sarcasm I could muster. I vented to Charlotte who’d brought me lunch from the lodge. We hadn’t spent much time together since I started Pirates rehearsals, so I suggested she visit me at the theatre on my lunch break. I was also craving a Lord Byron Reuben sandwich, so that was a bonus.
Charlotte squeezed ketchup all over the French fries and shrugged as I ranted. “I don’t know. Jane?”
“Jane!?” No. Jane marries Bing in the end. I mean, their characters marry each other.”
“Well, thanks for the spoiler.”
“It’s a classic. Charlotte, everybody knows Frederic marries Mabel.”
“All right. So, who marries the Pirate King?”
“Me, Charlotte. Me. And I have to kiss him. Colin is doing the pairs choreography after lunch.”
“So?”
She was completely engrossed in meticulously laying out her makeshift picnic. That was Charlotte for you. Control freak. A place for everything and everything in its place—even a hamburger wrapper.
“You haven’t been listening to me all these weeks, have you?”
“Not really, no.”
She unapologetically took a bite from her cheeseburger.
“Charlotte!” I cried. “The Pirate King is played by Will Darcy.”
She set down her burger and wiped secret sauce from her chin with a napkin.
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she said rather seriously. “If I were you, I’d take advantage of the opportunity. You’re playing opposite of an uber-famous movie star. Capitalize on the publicity you could gain from this.”
She smiled and pierced into the French fries with a plastic fork. “Who knows? You might even end up liking the guy.”
“That would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to me,” I said. “Especially since I swore to hate his guts for all eternity.”
“All I’m saying, Lizzie,” she warned, “is don’t burn your bridges. This might be the key to get what you’ve always wanted. Don’t let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She dabbed her mouth with a flimsy one-ply napkin and gave me the serious Charlotte face. “I know why you never audition for screen work anymore.”
“I don’t audition for screen work because I prefer the theatre.”
“You’re a good actress but a terrible liar,” she said. “So don’t try improv.”
“Okaaaay.”
“That was just one incident, Beth. One incident that’s totally forgotten by now.”
I wasn’t interested in hashing up my past while eating a Reuben in the theatre parking lot. My reaction gave her pause, so she did her best to drop the subject, but not before sneaking in one more thing.
“I didn’t want to bring up your ex, but you’re not letting it go. All I’m saying is don’t let your bad experience ruin your opinion of all Hollywood types.”
Her advice made a lot of sense in theory. But in practice, it was a disaster waiting to happen. Why should Will Darcy be any different than all the rest of the Hollywood slime balls I’d encountered? And I was the lucky girl who had to dance with him.
I didn’t know why Colin decided lifts were the best choice to choreograph right after lunch, but the Reuben sandwich and fries sitting cozily in my belly might have made a good argument against it. After reviewing the moves from the morning session in which pirates chased the Stanley sisters all over the stage, Colin paired each of the girls with their mate. The pirates would capture all the sisters and have their pirate ways with us until the appearance of Major General Stanley. This whole encounter consisted of only ninety seconds of the song, but Colin wasn’t one for simplicity. Oh no. The sequence consisted of a series of complicated lifts, flips, and an array of acrobatic aerials. Once the vignettes were established, he had each couple or small group work independently.
He took Will and me into the lobby and said, “Have I got something special for you.”
He clapped his hands together, actually expecting we’d be as excited as he was, and he explained our choreography.
“Beth, you will run stage right--away from a group of pirates where Will is waiting to catch you. Now, Will, stretch out your arm and catch Beth.”
I swallowed my pride and ran into Will as instructed. He reached for my hips to stop me, and the skin of his hands seared through my spandex pants. We immediately recoiled from one another.
“No, no, no.” Colin waved his arms wildly. “Catch her, dip her, and then kiss her.”
Oh, the things we do to entertain the masses.
My eyes locked onto Will’s. We were sharing the same thought. Dread. I took a fortifying breath and ran into him once more. He caught me, dipped me…and held me there for a long, uncomfortable moment, staring into my face. He held me there so long, I started to get a cramp in my side.
“Kiss her.”
Will and I turned our heads toward Colin at the same time. Did we really need to practice the kiss? It was only a choreography rehearsal. Right?
The cramp in my side jabbed with more force, and I jerked my body in the most ungraceful way imaginable, falling onto Will’s shoes. Colin turned his eyes to the ceiling and huffed.
“Again. Do it right this time.”
Sheesh. Did the term learning curve mean anything to this guy? I picked myself off the floor and repeated the sequence again. Will’s hands were strong and sure as he caught me. They were of such an impressive size, they almost wrapped completely around my waist. His thumbs grazed unintentionally along the skin where my t-shirt met my yoga pants. The sensation sent a shockwave through my veins. I was acutely aware of each nuance of his touch, and I hoped and prayed he didn’t notice. Somehow, the rational part of my brain no longer sent signals to the rest of my traitorous body. The fact he was undeniably gorgeous momentarily shut down every ounce of logic I possessed. It was a natural reaction. One I expediently shoved down. I wasn’t some randy animal, after all.
He faltered in the dip for just one moment. It was hardly perceptible, and most likely we were the only ones who noticed, but it was there. A slight hesitation. Because we both knew what was next. When his lips pressed onto mine, my heart galloped unwittingly. His lips were soft and warm, and the stubble of his afternoon shadow grazed against my skin. In that miniscule moment, our eyes met, and I could almost guarantee he looked horrified.
Was it the sauerkraut in my Reuben?
Colin clapped his hands to hurry us along. “Now throw her over your shoulder.” Will and I were both so flustered, we dumbly went along with it. He picked me up like I weighed nothing at all and perched me over his shoulder. The next bit was more complicated. It was basically an acrobatic lift in which I ended up suspended over his head.
My job was to keep my body (and core) very stiff, otherwise we’d both topple over. Needless to say, we toppled over quite a few times. To compound the difficulty, all this was to be done while singing the lovely operatic score by Gilbert and Sullivan. My sandwich tumbled resentfully in my stomach.
When Colin left us to practice the dance on our own, Charlotte’s words rang in my memory like a Bieber song on repeat. Make the most of the opportunity. Be nice to the guy. Don’t burn the Frau Schmidt bridge. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t even want to be in the same room with him. I was at first resolved to speak as little as possible and get the Von Trapp out of there, but the little devil in me thought it might aggravate him all the more if I coaxed him into conversation. It was one way to let him know I was aware of his dirty games with Jorge. I thought it best to begin with a benign subject and work my way from there, and so, I made a cheeky observation about the choreography. He made a short reply, not giving me a hint to whether he agreed with me or not and then fell into a lengthy silence. He was incorrigible.
“It’s your turn to talk now,” I said after I fell on the floor for the twentieth time. “Care to voice your complaints about the situation? I know you’re dying to.”
But Will did something I’d never thought I’d see. He smiled at me. It was the beginning of a laugh that didn’t reach his vocal chords. There was mirth in his eyes as they flickered to meet mine, and he openly surveyed my form on the floor like he was studying me with curious amusement. He offered me his hand to lift me to my feet, which I surprised myself by accepting without protest, and in a swift motion, lifted me easily with the strength of one arm like I was made of neoprene or some other form of light plastic. He didn’t let go of my hand at first, perhaps to make sure I was steady on my feet, but I found myself pressed against his chest without the faculties of strength. My brain told my feet to move, but the traitors didn’t listen. I still wasn’t accustomed to the contact of his skin. It cemented me there in the small orbit we inhabited, and he leveled his gaze on me, saying, “As you wish.”
