Chapter Two: Beam on My Heart
I unlocked the door to our dorm room at 7:30 a.m. and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar smell of dust and hairspray. It was early October 1988.
As I tiptoed through the door, Reagan came padding in from the joint bathroom we shared with our neighbors, a robe tightly wrapped around her. Although it wasn't the exact room we stayed in during music camp in the summer, it was on the same floor. We were lucky enough to be assigned a corner room in one of the best dorms on campus our freshman year, only outshone by the historic hall down the road (which was said to be haunted).
"Are you just now coming home?" she yawned.
I tossed my purse and satchel into my desk chair and began removing my blue jean jacket. "Yes. I've been practicing."
"All night?"
"Yes."
"Again?"
"Yes. If you've forgotten, my dear, I'm a performance major. I can sleep when I'm dead."
"No need to get all sassy. I haven't even had my coffee yet. In fact, I should still be in bed. Hey, that's a grand ol’ idea. Good night."
"It's morning."
"Whatever ..." she said, dropping her robe in a pile on the floor before jumping back into her bed.
"Reagan, for heaven's sake, wear pajamas to bed. We've talked about this!" I turned away, feigning annoyance.
A stretch was aching to get out of my body. I reached my hands upward toward the eight-foot ceiling and yawned.
"Coffee. That's a good idea," I said, moving toward the coffee maker on Reagan's dresser. She mumbled something from under her comforter.
Before I reached Reagan's side of the room, I heard a faint click on one of our windows. Then another. Leaning over my headboard, I peeked through the blinds of our second-floor room. A large pine tree stood outside our window and standing under the pine was a tall, thin body connected to two rows of large, white, smiling teeth.
Before I even completely opened the window, Grant was talking.
"Girl, I've totally got to tell you about what happened to me last night. Is Reagan awake? No, of course she isn't, it's not ten-thirty yet. Are you making coffee? That is perfect. I'll take it with cream and sugar. But you know that."
"How are we going to sneak you in this time?" I asked, smiling down at our friend.
"The box trick."
"Again?" I sighed. “Don't you think they are starting to catch on to that one?"
"Hell no. Those bitches at the front desk are dumber than a box of turds." Grant pointed at the exit door to his left.
"Grant ..." I started but he had already raised his arms in the air. "Okay, Okay. Give me a second."
I leaned back and went to my closet. On the top shelf was the empty bank box that we had used many times in the past few months to sneak Grant into our all-female domicile. I gently dropped it out the window without looking down.
"Got it! See you in 30!" I heard him call.
As I propped open our door, Reagan spoke from under her covers. "I hope you two get caught."
I scampered down two flights of concrete stairs to the first floor exit door without looking back at the security camera pointed directly at me. As I pushed the door open, a large box with legs was waiting. I held the door open and the figure entered, never revealing its face. When we reached the second floor landing, I peeked through the small round window in the door of our hallway.
"Coast is clear. Come on."
Pushing through the door, we immediately slid into our dorm room and Grant dropped the box.
"See? Easy as ... well, as easy as Reagan."
Immediately she responded, still under her covers. "You bitch."
Grant kissed the air at her. "Why are you up so early on a Saturday?" he asked me, mapping my face. "Wait. You've been practicing all night again, haven't you?"
I yanked a coffee filter and can of grounds out of Reagan's top drawer. "Why is everyone so concerned about my musical habits lately? I'm working hard. Just because everyone else seems to be stuck in Fun Party Land doesn't mean ..."
"Whoa, whoa, Nelly!" Grant threw his palms up in front of his face. "Don't pull out the leather and slap my ass! I'm just asking a question, baby." Grant was the only male in the world, besides my father, who got away with calling me baby. "And I only ask because I see those dark eye circles. You're clearly exhausted."
"I suppose I am. I just want to do well. I don't want to waste my life." I walked into the bathroom to fill the pot with water from the sink. "Life is just so short."
Grant was quiet as the coffee began to sputter to life, filling the room with a smell that immediately made my muscles relax. I sat on the edge of my bed, watching the brown water drip into the pot.
"Foster?" I hadn't heard Grant approach but suddenly he was beside me, his hand on my shoulder. "I'm concerned. So is Rea-Rea. And Vicki. We all love you."
I snorted. "Vicki doesn't love me. She barely knows me, and what she knows of me she only tolerates."
Vicki, an Amazon of a 22-year-old who rarely spoke to anyone except Grant, lived in an apartment off campus. In addition to her last year of classes, she worked at a local diner in town. She had the biggest breasts of any female I had ever met.
"Oh, that's not true. Vicki just has her own way," Grant said, standing to pour coffee into a Wile E. Coyote mug. "But Foster, baby, you need to slow down. Hard work is one thing. What you are doing is unhealthy."
I got up to retrieve the sugar and fake coffee creamer from atop the mini-refrigerator. "And what are YOU doing, party boy? What big story did you need to tell me about last night?"
"Don't change the subject. We'll get to the details of my sordid-yet-fabulous life later," Grant said, poking a finger at my chest. "Got any donuts?"
____________
"So," I said, licking powdered sugar from my fingers 20 minutes later, "You volunteered to get up on the stage?"
"Well, yes," Grant purred. "I didn't think I was capable of being hypnotized. I thought the guy was a phony. But before I knew it, I was swinging my shirt above my head and barking like a dog."
As I burst out laughing, Reagan swung her feet over the side of the bed. "I kid you not, someone in the next building who is sleeping with ear plugs could hear the two of you."
Immediately, Grant and I both closed our eyes until we knew that she was clothed.
"Pardon us, princess," Grant said.
"I'm decent," she finally announced.
"Well I don't know about that ..." I started, opening my eyes.
"You need to brush that mess before you put in your tiara?" Grant teased, reaching up to tousle her mane of hair. She jerked away.
"Betty."
"Spaz."
"I know you are, but what am I?"
"Children, please," I moaned. "It's still early. Reagan, want coffee?"
I made my way over to the pot and poured the last of the coffee in her favorite mug, which really wasn't a mug at all but a Campbell's Soup bowl with a handle. In my side view, I saw Grant hug her head and she grinned. If there ever were two fraternal twins separated at birth, it was Reagan and Grant. They even looked alike.
"I need to sleep," I said.
"Good," Reagan said. "Oh, and don't forget my show starts tonight. Are you coming?"
Reagan, despite defeated pleas from her parents, had decided to study theatre. Although very talented, her parents worried about her future, and rightly so. At the beginning of the semester, she added Performing Arts Education minor to her transcript, calming her high-school-history-teaching father enough to get him and her mom off her back. She was currently starring in Cabaret, a collaboration of both the music and theatre departments.
"I wouldn't miss it," I said, falling back onto my pillows.
As I closed my eyes I heard Grant say, "Girl, did you hear about what happened to me last night?"
____________
Grant and I stood in the lobby of the college theater. As always, he was dressed to impress, wear
ing a white collared shirt under a light blue sweater, and faded jeans. His eyes darted around the room, looking for people he knew. I wore a violet sweat suit. My hair was pulled into a high ponytail.
"All I am saying is that you might want to dress like you're going out in public, not going to a sleepover," he said.
"God, Grant, let it go. I couldn't fall asleep today and I'm tired."
"I'll tell you what is tired. The actor playing the Emcee. Could he be more straight? It was like watching a bull in a gay bull shop."
I began to laugh just as Reagan walked into the lobby. She smiled, then immediately broke into an over-pronounced frown. "What? What's so funny? Are you two talking about me?"
I hugged her. "No, honey. Grant is just being catty. And you were amazing!"
She squeezed me tighter. "Oh, thank you! It was a really rockin' audience tonight. It was like being at a real cabaret!"
"You looked pretty comfortable. Maybe you should consider a career as a stripteuse," Grant said as he joined the hug. I felt Reagan jerk an elbow into his ribs. "Ouch! I'm just kidding. You were fantabulous and you know it."
Reagan pulled back and grabbed my hands. "And speaking of fantabulous ..."
"Oh God," I moaned. I knew that tone of voice.
"Who is it this time, Reagan?" Grant asked. "Chorus member? Band member? The Emcee? Because heaven knows he's packin' a heterosexual one."
"It's not for me, silly!" she squeaked and turned back to look at me. "I want you to meet someone, Foster."
"Oh, GOD!" I moaned again and looked down at my sweat suit. I heard Grant let out an I-told-you-so humph. "Not tonight, Rea, please not tonight. I haven't slept, I look awful, and I'm too busy for this kind of nonsense."
"You can never be too busy for love!" she said as she began to drag me back into the theater.
"Wow, ‘love,’" Grant said, following behind us. "She's never even met him and already he feels pressured."
As we moved back into the theater, lingering audience members leaned in to congratulate Reagan on her performance. She smiled brightly and nodded at them.
"Oh, thank you. I appreciate you so much. Thanks for coming." She was truly in her element.
As we entered the house, a few musicians were on stage putting their instruments away. I dug my heels into the floor.
"Reagan!" I hissed. "I can't do this! It's embarrassing! Look at them. Look at me. Please!"
Reagan completely ignored me as we moved down the stairs to the lip of the stage. Grant followed behind us, giggling through his nose.
I want to kill myself, I thought. Lord, please take me now.
"Aaron!" Reagan called. "Aaron! Come here for sec. I want you to meet someone."
The shortest of the musicians turned and looked down at us. He had a trumpet in his hand and was wearing tight leather pants and suspenders.
"Oh, hell no," I whispered and Grant broke into a single loud hack of laughter.
Aaron walked over and sat down on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling in front of me. "Hey."
Reagan beamed. "Aaron Hagan, this is Foster Anne Farraday. She is a music major but spends most of her time locked in her practice room, so I assume you two have not met yet."
"No we haven't. But I’ve seen her around.” He extended this hand. "Hello there, Foster Anne Farraday. That's a mouthful. Are you Irish?"
"Dad's side," I mumbled, looking at his knees, leaving his lonely hand to drift back down to his side.
"I see. What instrument do you study?"
"Piano. I am a pianist."
"Cool. Well … trumpet player," he said, lifting his instrument. "I came here to study under Dr. McGammon.”
"Mm-hmm," I hummed, continuing to look at his knees. Did I even put on lip-gloss? I hated when Grant was right.
“The new trumpet professor?” Reagan asked, trying to continue the conversation.
"Yeah. He's pretty amazing. I studied under him last year while I was attending Bluestead Community College."
“So,” Reagan said, leaning into me. “A sophomore?”
“Yep,” Aaron said, eyes still on me. “And you’re a first year?”
I shifted. "Mm-hmm."
Silence. Then Grant, most likely out of pity, took over.
"Hi. I'm Grant. You'll have to forgive our friend. She is such a dedicated musician and she has hardly slept in days. Last night she was asked to play for a benefit in Lexington. Between practice and being a sought-after performer, for which she makes good money, she has had no time to do laundry, poor thing, yet she insisted on coming to her best friend's show tonight to show her support for the arts. Amazing, this one is."
With that, he pinched my right butt cheek, making me yelp.
"Wow. That résumé is impressive," Grant said. I finally looked up to meet his gaze. "Do you do weddings as well?"
I had never been one to swoon over boys. Honestly, I had bigger ambitions. Jocks weren't my thing. Neither was the farming type. Musicians were those who passed me in the halls on my way to class and actors wore me out. But in that moment, I felt my heart pause for two beats, then start again.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi," Aaron said. His eyes were the color of hazelnuts and he had the kindest smile of anyone I had ever seen. "Sorry to wake you. I'm Aaron Hagan."
I took a deep breath. "Yes. I'm so sorry. I'm Foster. I'm not normally this ... I'm just tired and ... well, with the benefit and everything ... I'm sorry."
Aaron continued to smile at me. "What benefit was it?"
I smiled back for a moment, and then realized that I hadn't answered him. "What? Oh! The benefit. Yes. Well, it was for ... it was for ..."
"AIDS research," Grant and Reagan said simultaneously, shooting each other an amused Jinx! glance.
"Wow. Good woman," Aaron said. "Perhaps we can play together sometime."
"Yes," I breathed. "I'd like that. I'd like to play with you." My face burned hot. "You know, musically. Not in a sexual way. Not yet, I mean. Maybe not ever. We'll have to see. But just so you know, I do look better out of my sweat suit. In a dress. Not naked. I mean, I look good naked, too ..."
Grant and Reagan grabbed my two arms and I pushed my lips together as hard as they could go.
"Good to know," Aaron said, still smiling, not phased in the least. I instantly hated and loved him at the same time.
"We'll let you get back to cleaning up," said Reagan quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow night."
"Sounds good." Aaron stood up, winking at me. I watched him walk back upstage, leather pants and all, trumpet hanging in his left hand. I couldn't look away. I felt like a schoolgirl.
"Holy shit, Foster!" Reagan hissed. "You are unbelievable!"
Grant touched my stiff shoulder. "Smooth move, Ex-Lax. Maybe next time you can ask him for a sperm donation, or a swatch of those pants so you can sniff them at night when you're curled up in your lonely bed."
I turned to walk back up the stairs to the top of the house. "I hate you both."
Reagan ran after me. "What did I do? I was only trying to help you!"
"I don't need your help! I told you I'm too busy for this crap anyway!" I started to hop two stairs at a time.
"I'll get her back to the dorm," I heard Grant say. "Get out of costume and we'll see you later."
I didn't stop moving until I had stepped out into the cool evening air. I stood for a moment with my arms wrapped around my shoulders, waiting for Grant to catch up. If I could have teleported back to our room, I would have without a second thought of the possibility of arriving with an arm connected to my forehead.
As Grant approached, a tear rolled down my face and he put his hand on my cheek, turning my face to look at his. "Foster, baby. It's happened to the best of us. He's a good-looking musician with a butt like Baryshnikov. If I hadn't been so horrified for you, I might have gotten a little choked up myself."
I leaned my cheek further into his hand. "I know. It's okay. I'll probably neve
r see him again. I mean, we’ve both been here since the beginning of the year and I haven't run into him yet. I'm sure I can continue that trend, given my lack of social life."
"Good girl," Grant smiled. "Let's get you back and tucked in bed. Do you have a cucumber in your fridge? I'll cut some slices for your eyes. After all, we need to get you rested up in case another AIDS benefit comes up."
"I appreciate it, but I don't think I'm up for the box trick again tonight." I took his hand. "Walk me to the lobby. I'm good from there."
As Grant put his arm around my shoulder, I leaned into him and sighed, replaying my first meeting with Aaron over and over in my head as we walked in silence across campus.
Each time I replayed the scene, I was wittier. And better dressed.
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