by Gigi Blume
“I uh… I was just…” she stuttered. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
I hooked my thumbs in my pockets to try to retain some semblance of control. My lips curled at the corners, and I gave her an unveiled once-over from her toes to the top of her head.
“What do you suppose it looks like?” I teased, my voice thick and velvety all the while my pre-prepubescent self cracked his vowels underneath the veneer. Only one girl had ever made me nervous. Jennifer Greene in sixth grade. It took all the courage I could muster to ask her if she planned to go to the middle school dance, but her face turned white, and she ran away to her huddle of friends. I was so humiliated, I decided to skip the dance altogether. For the next few weeks, I was the subject of pointed stares and giggles from a clique of eleven-year-old mean girls. I swore I’d never let a girl get to me that way again. But here was this pixie in a white flowered dress in my bedroom, and I was once again that twelve-year-old boy drawing pencil portraits of my crush.
I was toast.
She hesitated before answering, eyes wide like a kid caught with a chin full of cookie crumbles.
“It looks like I’m stealing your dog?” she said.
Interesting.
“Are you?”
“No!” she cried. “I swear.”
I took a step towards her. “Cross your heart?”
“Yes.”
I took another step.
“Hope to die?”
“Yes, yes.”
One more large stride, and I’d be right up against her.
“Stick a needle in your eye?”
An obstinate huff stuck in her throat, and she grunted. She was a spitfire, this one. She was determined to confuse the heck out of me and then clobber me with a blunt object, or so I presumed.
“Lady has to pee,” she said, crossing her arms. “I was just looking for a leash to take her out, but if you’d rather, I could go—”
“No.” I wouldn't let her walk away. Not now. Not ever. She couldn’t just waltz into my life, into my dreams and into my home just to run away. There was still so much to resolve between us. So many things I still wanted to say that I refrained myself from doing so in the letter. How I felt about her, how she drove me to the brink of madness, distracting me, turning my world inside out. How I… loved her. A warmth spread over my chest with this sudden awareness. Doggonit, my sister was right. I loved Beth. Every infuriating inch of her. I wanted to act upon it. To kiss her, to gather her in my arms and tell her the truth of it. To make retribution for the pain I caused her. But not now. Now, we’d walk the dog.
“The leash is downstairs,” I said softly. “I’ll show you her favorite places to go.”
She nodded, acknowledging the heady trepidation that still lingered between us. It was raw and tender but on the mend. She wanted a truce as much as I did. But it would take time. Anything that was worth it took time.
Lady wagged her little nub of a tail and scurried under our feet as we descended the grand staircase. Beth paused at the top and blinked.
“Holy William. How did I not see these before?”
What was that? Now, she was using my name as a curse word? When did this new development arise? What happened to musical theatre Tourette’s?
“What do you mean, not see these before?” I asked. “How did you get upstairs?”
A soft pink blush overspread her features. “Never mind.”
I chuckled knowingly. She must have gone up the service stairwell. Only Beth. My thoughts drifted to the narrow stairway in the bowels of the theatre. It seemed so long ago that we were locked in the costume shop. So much had changed since then. Namely, me.
We took a side exit into a small garden Lady particularly liked. I frowned at the stacks of boxes and miscellaneous decor. They were using it as a staging area for the party prep. I decided to be peeved for Lady’s sake. A big, plastic bin sat right on the patch of grass she used as a bathroom. She sniffed the intruding object and did her business as close as she could get to her usual spot.
Beth laughed. I loved her laugh, the way her voice lightly bubbled over our heads, the curve of her lips as the sound came out, the dots of pink on her cheeks. Lady was unabashedly smitten with her. To be honest, Lady was friendly with everyone, but there was a weird cosmic connection she found in Beth. It was as if everyone else was hamburger and Beth was filet mignon. Hamburgers are awesome, but filet was the best ever. Or maybe I was just projecting my own feelings on my dog. Hard to tell. Beth was good with her.
“Have you had her since she was a puppy?” she asked.
“Yes. Got her from the breeder.” I wiped sweat off my brow in anticipation of her censure. I was so used to getting slack for not adopting. Adopt, don’t shop people would say. But I wanted an English Cocker. They’re not easy to find in California. I gauged Beth’s reaction. There was no judgment whatsoever in her features. Still, I felt the need to tell her my story.
“I was in Spain,” I explained. “I’d met some cool guys the production company hired while we were on location. They do that to save money—take on local talent for gaffer jobs and stuff.”
She nodded, showing she understood and maybe that I was boring her. But she listened intently so I went on.
“We’d go out a couple of nights a week for tapas and the best wine I’d ever had. Sometimes, one of the guys would host a casual cena at their house.”
She grinned. “Cena? You speak Spanish?”
“Muy mal,” I said. “Very badly.”
We laughed. I could have added that I learned quite a few Spanish curse words from Jorge, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
“So anyway,” I continued, “one party we went to ended up being a birthday celebration for one of the guy’s nephews. The kid was like six or something. But somebody got him a puppy. A cocker with the most perfect coils of fur on his long, floppy ears. I lost it. It was like everything I’d ever wanted was summed up in that little dog.”
Kind of the way I felt about Beth.
She gasped. “You didn’t take the puppy, did you?”
“No. Sheesh, you think I’m that horrible?”
She batted her lashes once and regarded me innocently with those wide, coffee eyes.
“I don’t think you’re horrible at all,” she said simply.
I was dead. A spark lit the air between us and killed me on the spot. It was the Fourth of July, the Super Bowl, and the World Series all at once, and I’d stumbled upon the secret stash of fireworks. I couldn’t breathe. All the woman said was that she didn’t think I was horrible, not that she’d have my children. I was pathetic.
I shook it off and let go of the air held captive in my lungs.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, my voice two octaves too high.
“Was my growling stomach upstaging your monologue?” she said with a grin.
“Stella keeps going on about the artichoke hearts,” I said. “You think we should trust her?”
She smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It could taste like cardboard for all I care. I’m starved.”
I liked that. It was so refreshing to spend time with a woman who actually ate. Unlike the slew of body-shaming phonies Hollywood had to offer.
The line for the artichoke hearts was ridiculously long. I offered to use my clout to cut the wait and grab an order from behind the booth. But she insisted we stand in line like everyone else. I didn't mind at all. Her captivating company made the time pass by in a heartbeat. It was also adorable how much she was determined to pay. I think it was just the novelty of scanning her VIP card. She let out a squeak when it made the bleeping sound. The modern equivalent of cha-ching.
We devoured the artichoke hearts (which were insanely good) and completed a gastronomic tour of the entire carnival, eating our way from booth to booth. Lady went wild with the cornucopia of smells. When Beth didn’t think I was looking, she’d sneak bits of her food to Lady’s grateful mouth. Every so often, she caught me staring at her, an
d a soft smile would spread across her features. Then she’d do something awesome like shove half a funnel cake in her mouth. I figured it was her filter.
“You’re good at that,” I said, using my thumb to wipe stray powdered sugar from her chin. It was a feather-light touch, but it seared my skin.
She smirked through the doughy sweetness. “I’ve been practicing.”
I was coming undone. I’d never wished so earnestly for the rest of the world to fall away so I could wrap her in my arms and keep her forever.
“So,” she said, licking her fingers. “You didn’t finish telling me how you got Lady.”
Oh, hail poetry. Did she really have to lick her fingers? I was going to hell in a handbasket.
“There’s not much else to the story,” I replied. “My friend helped me find out where the puppy came from and the next day, we were at the breeder’s house.” I smiled at the memory. “There were four more puppies in the litter, but I knew her the moment I saw her.”
“Love at first sight.”
“Yeah.” I gave Lady a scratch on her delicate, little head. “She’s my cocker-a Espanish girl.”
She laughed and tried on her best Italian accent. “Hey, Butch! Haow about a espaghetti especiale heavy on the meat-a-balle?”
“What’s-a matter you?” I bellowed. “Dogs don’t talk.”
“He’s-a talkin’ to me.”
We roared with laughter.
“That’s my favorite scene,” I said, smiling way too much.
“Me too.”
The laughter tapered off as our eyes met in a sobering glow. She got me. This woman who was so determined to bury me, put down her shovel for just a long enough moment to see me. The real me.
A weight of silence descended in a fog of electrons moving through a magnetic field. Charged particles spiraled around us. I felt like I was in the time vortex. If I were a braver man, I would have moved through that quantum space of rotational dynamics and kissed her. It would have been epic. But I didn’t. I let fear grip at my feet, cementing them on my popcorn-littered lawn. Then I reminded myself of the last time I couldn’t control my urges. She’d pulled my hair and bit me.
“Do you want to go into the Maze of Mirrors?” she said, clearing her throat. It was the slap in the face I needed. Get back to reality—the one where I had no chance with her. The one where I would fight tooth and nail just to get to a common ground with her—where we could be civil enough to be something almost like friends.
I nodded. This was civil. This was friendly. The Maze of Mirrors could be fun—something friends would do. I pushed down my inner Austin Powers and told him to shut his groovy self up. I could be friends with Elizabeth Bennet.
25
First-Rate Opportunity
Beth
The Maze of Mirrors was just a distraction. I was having too much fun with Will. He was funny and charming, and we liked the same things. I didn’t know what to do with this information. Also, if I were being honest with myself, I wanted him to kiss me again. Just for research purposes, of course.
It would be the perfect place for it, dark corridors, private alcoves, secret doors. An experiment to theorize if the whole world would tilt again like it did on New Year’s Eve. But once inside, I think we both immediately regretted it. Instead of a mysterious, dimly lit tunnel of love, it was a loud, obnoxious scream prison. A Punjab lasso would have capped the experience quite nicely. Lady freaked out and squirmed out of my arms, almost landing on a boisterous kid with a buzz cut. The little brat ran through the maze, hollering and grunting to scare the smaller children. The effect was an echo chamber of high-pitched screams and the faint smell of vomit somewhere nearby. Will caught Lady just in time and stroked her snout. That seemed to calm her down.
“Watch your step,” he said to me. “There might be puddles of questionable body fluids on the floor.”
Yuck.
“I’d carry you,” he said with a grin, “but I’ve got the dog.”
How romantic.
“How do we get out of here?” I exclaimed over the ear-splitting screams.
“Death by madness?” he quipped.
“There’s only one way,” I said with the most serious expression I could give. “Kill or be killed.”
He nodded gravely. “It’s a war zone. I got your back.”
We gave each other the knowing look soldiers made while in the trenches and then made a run for it. We barreled past children and covertly inched around corners. At one point, Will cried, “Land mine! Nine o’clock.”
We averted disaster and gave each other high fives. Lady lifted her snout, wanting in on the action so we high-fived her paw. Little bodies blurred by like explosions in slow motion, and we ducked, zigged, and zagged as we narrowly escaped within an inch of our lives.
“You okay?” he said, catching his breath.
“Yeah. You? Missing any limbs?”
He dabbed a finger on his tear duct. “I got shrapnel in my eye, but I think I’ll survive.”
We’d made it with no casualties. It was exhilarating. But I may have made my victory dance a little too soon because, just as it would seem we were clear of danger, I took a fatal hit.
A passing teenager with a cherry slushy crashed into me while rough-housing with his friends. Ice-cold red slush gushed onto my chest, dripping down the front of my white flowered dress.
“Nostradamus!” I cried.
The teenager offered me a half-hearted apology with a stifled snicker and ran off. I could sense Will trying to suppress his own laughter.
“Be brave, soldier,” he said. “Walk toward the light.”
“Save yourself,” I cried dramatically. “Leave me and save yourself.”
Red syrup seeped into the fabric of my dress, leaving a wet, sticky stain. I looked like a hot mess but all I could do was laugh. Here I was next to Hollywood’s hottest heartthrob, and I could be typecast as the sticky, drippy swamp monster. He ran to grab some napkins but before he returned, a little girl with honey-blond pigtails and the biggest green eyes I’d ever seen handed me a single tissue. She didn’t say a word—just stared up at me with those enormous eyes. If I had to guess, I’d say she was about five.
I accepted the tissue and thanked her—mostly for restoring my faith in humanity than the little gift. When Will approached with the napkins, he bent down to her level and whispered something I couldn’t hear above the carnival noise. He then reached in his pocket and handed her a long string of ride tickets. Her face lit up, and she hugged him around the neck. Her mother, a few feet away smiled gratefully and led her daughter away by the hand.
My ovaries went zing! The way Will interacted with that little girl, the tender way he crouched to her level, the soft expression on his face when he whispered to her, the sweet reaction she made to his kindness. He was full of surprises.
He handed me the napkins. “Do you want to return to the house to clean up?”
He had the thoughtfulness to dampen them with water. I suddenly felt shy.
“No, I’m good,” I said, wiping myself down. “There’s no getting this stain out.”
“Maybe you could borrow something of my sister’s,” he offered. “She’s about your size. Maybe an inch or two taller.”
Huh. That would be just a little awkward. I’d never met his sister, but if he told her anything about my erstwhile friendship with Jorge, I didn’t think I could look her in the eye.
“Um, no, thank you,” I said. “I should probably head home.”
I had a lovely time. Too lovely. But if I were smart, getting out before it turned ugly again was the best course of action. Now, how was I to get in touch with Enrique? Or did L.A.’s fine public transportation system extend to the reaches of Will’s fairytale castle?
His expression dimmed, and he stood looking at me like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. My chest hurt at the idea of leaving, wishing this day could last. But I didn’t want to play the fool. I’d already done a good job at that s
o far.
“Well…” I sighed. “I’m just going to say goodbye to Stella—”
His hand flew to his forehead. “Stella! I almost forgot.”
He wrapped his strong fingers around mine and pulled me along with him, rushing through the crowd. The contact of his skin melted me from my palm, up the length of my arm, and straight to my heart. If I weren’t careful, I could fall hard. And that would just set me up to get hurt.
Lady pattered along beside his feet, happily trotting in step with her human. They kind of looked alike. The golden streaks in Will’s light brown locks whooshed in the breeze while her silky fur bounced with every spring in her step. And there I was, running along on the other side of him, bounding past people with huge stuffed animals and balloons, people of all different backgrounds. I could have sworn I almost bumped into Lady Gaga.
When we reached Stella, she and a pretty, button-nosed girl were laughing brightly, drinking beer. By the looks of it, and her ruddy cheeks, they’d been at it a while. Actually, it took them about a minute before they realized Will was right next to them. It was rather cute to see him apologize profusely, passing her a phone from his pocket. She looked at him with glassy eyes, then back at the girl, and they both spat in a burst of laughter.
“I’d completely forgotten about you, William.”
He combed a hand through his hair, giving it a deliberate tousled look. Lady broke free of his grip on her leash and perched her front legs on the pretty girl’s lap. It was then that Stella noticed me.
“Here you are, Beth,” she slurred. “I was just about to call you.”
“How many beers have you had, Stella?” Will stared down at the woman with his hands on his waist. The girl was the one to answer.
“One and a half,” she said with a bright smile and stood from her folding chair to shake my hand. “I’m Georgia.”
Georgia. I should have known. She looked more mature than the photo I’d seen in the bathroom and her bright, easy personality caught me off guard. I guess Jorge had tainted my expectations.
