WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR: a nostalgic romantic comedy (Boston Classics Book 1)

by Karen Grey

  I follow orders, willing my heart to calm down.

  Alice slides into the passenger seat. “You want to talk about what’s going on?”

  Squeezing the water bottle between my thighs, I attempt to contain jumbled feelings. “I guess I needed to get away from… all those people.”

  Alice turns in her seat to face me. “It’s kind of weird. Will actually reminded me of Jonathan a couple times.”

  “It’s not just me?” The look of distaste on her face is a gift. “I thought I was going crazy.”

  Trees surround the parking lot, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. I just watch them for a few moments. Finally, my thoughts stop running around in circles. “Thing is, I helped him learn his lines, so I know that Helena ends up with him in the end.” I look back at the theater. Clumps of people are smoking near the rear of the seating area, and they’re still selling snacks and tee shirts, so intermission hasn’t ended. I look over at Alice. “I’m not sure I can watch that.”

  She winces. “You think he’ll be upset if you leave?”

  “Probably.”

  She gives me a searching look. “Maybe this is bringing up something about you and him, too?”

  “I don’t know how. I mean, he’s really not like Jonathan at all.”

  “Sooo… what? PMS?”

  “No, but spending time with him has changed my routine a lot. Maybe I feel like my work is threatened by the relationship?”

  Alice jostles my knee with a warm hand. “Since when is this a relationship? I thought you guys were just having fun. And awesome sex.”

  “Yeah,” I admit, thunking my thick skull against the headrest. “The problem is that the awesome sex makes me think about him all the time and stirs up the kind of feelings I’ve had safely packed away. Maybe that’s making me feel vulnerable? Like, what happens if we break up? I can’t handle going through that anger and hurt all over again.”

  Alice grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Listen, how ’bout we go back to your place and have a glass of wine and watch something funny, and then you call Will and tell him you felt sick and had to leave?”

  I close my eyes. She’s probably right. We should go. I don’t want to ruin Will’s opening night party by showing up an emotional mess. He should be able to celebrate with the rest of the cast. I look over at her. “You won’t be able to hook up with a cute actor that way.”

  Alice waves this off. “I’ll leave the actors to you.”

  “Okay, but you have to drive,” I whimper, playing it up. “I’m too much of a mess to handle Boston traffic right now.”

  “No problem.” Alice tags me and hops out of the car. “Fire drill!”

  A half laugh escapes as I run around to the passenger side.

  Only Alice can make me laugh when I feel like crying.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BEEP. FRIDAY, 8:53 p.m.

  Hi Will, this is Kate’s friend Alice. I’m calling to let you know that we had to leave at intermission because Kate wasn’t feeling well. She’s fine, just needed to get to bed. She’ll call you tomorrow. Great show, by the way!

  WILL

  As we exit the last scene before intermission, Tom and Jerry silently high-five me. The interns playing First Lord and Second Lord actually remind me of the cartoon cat and mouse. Tom is tall and pale with jet black hair and a pointy nose. Jerry’s more squat and round and is very good at getting Tom’s goat.

  We all pause to listen to the closing dialogue between Helena and the Widow. I don’t want to jinx anything, but it’s been going well. After my line, “I spoke with her but once and found her wondrous cold,” the crowd actually booed.

  Applause erupts, the lights change and Sarah Anne Samurai, who plays the Widow, swishes offstage. “Great job tonight you guys!” She puts an arm around my shoulder to squeeze it briefly. “Especially you. Bertram’s worse than my ex.” Word is she had a bitter divorce, so bad that she changed her last name to Samurai when it was all over, so I guess she’s an authority on the subject.

  Isabelle—Bella, we all call her now—the ex-soap opera actress playing Helena, pokes me as she passes. “Yeah, what’s your girlfriend going to think? Somebody’s not getting laid tonight.” Even though we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, she already teases me like the older sister I never had.

  I follow the women to our so-called greenroom, really just a space between the dressing tents. “She knows it’s a play, you idiot.”

  Tom pushes me playfully from behind. “Wait, you have a girlfriend? How come we don’t know about this?”

  “Who’d go out with him?” Jerry chimes in. “He’s old!”

  I’m only nine years older, but the college interns do make me feel ancient.

  Jessica joins the group. “Not only does he have a girlfriend, but she’s cute and rich.”

  Jerry reaches up for a high five. “Whoa. Nice going, dude!”

  I bat the hand away. “She’s not rich.”

  Jessica sets her hands on her hips, which looks pretty silly in her medieval-era gown. “Compared to me, she is. She owns her own apartment. And she’s only, what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”

  I grab a cup and fill it with water from the cooler the stage managers keep filled. “She’s smart with her money. So what?”

  Tom whacks me on the back. “I think it’s awesome, dude. Now you can be her sugar—uh, what would he be?”

  The other actors circle up to discuss this oh-so-important matter.

  Sarah Anne lifts her own cup of water. “He’s her sugar daddy if he supports her. But what’s the opposite? Is she his sugar mama? That sounds odd.”

  “Yeah. There must be some other term.” From the devilish expression on her face, it’s obvious Bella’s trying to wind me up. “Like he’s her sex toy? Boy toy? Cabana boy?”

  I level a look at her. “Looking to motivate me further for the rest of the show? Don’t worry. I don’t need it.” I brush past them and run smack into Eva Marie, who not only plays the Countess in the show but is co-artistic director for the company. And taught many of us in school. The disappointed look on her face makes me wince. “Sorry.”

  She places a calming hand on my shoulder and turns her regal gaze on the others. “Children. Don’t make me be the adult here. I’d prefer to concentrate on my performance.”

  I stalk off to the men’s tent, leaving awkward throat clearings and apologies behind me. Randall’s there, sitting in the corner with his eyes closed. I don’t want to disturb him, so I blow out a silent breath. It’s silly to be so sensitive. I want to not give a shit that Kate owns her own place, makes way more money than I do and probably has a big fat savings account to boot. Meanwhile, I can barely afford to take her out to dinner. It shouldn’t matter. We like each other, the sex is great and we make each other laugh.

  Who cares if I’ll never be able to support her? Nobody’s talking long term, anyway.

  I begin to literally shake the distracting thoughts out of my body so I can focus on the final scenes of the play. Bertram is not an easy character to play. Nothing like Hamlet, but it’s a good warm-up for the Danish prince, especially the way the director has encouraged me to play him—emotionally all over the place.

  Thing is, can I play a character who’s a mess and be a mess in my personal life as well? I really hope it’s not a recipe for disaster.

  The message from Kate’s friend waiting for me back at the house post-performance is disappointing, but I’m relieved to hear she’s okay. I was worried when I couldn’t find her after the show. I know she was at the play because my eyes found her the moment I faced the audience in the very first scene, and for the first time since high school, I went up onstage. Thankfully, Randall saved me by delivering both our lines.

  Things smoothed out after that, though, and I was looking forward to hearing what she and her friend thought. I was relieved when I saw that she’d brought Alice instead of her co-worker Steve. I haven’t admitted to Kate, or even myself, how much the green-
eyed monster has been bugging me since she dropped the fact that she’d gone on an out-of-town trip with him. I mean, the guy’s nickname is Hot Steve. How am I not supposed to be jealous?

  Deb bustles into the kitchen followed by Bella, both carrying bags of food. “Just put everything on the table; I’ll sort it out.”

  “I’ll help,” Bella says. “Point me to some serving bowls, and I’ll fill them.”

  Deb directs her before laying a hand on my back. “Did you hear from Kate?”

  “Yeah, her friend called to let me know Kate wasn’t feeling well so they went home.”

  “That’s too bad.” She grabs a few items from the table and whisks out to the living room.

  Bella looks up from ripping open chip bags. “Hey, sorry about piling on during intermission.”

  I wave that off. “Don’t worry about it. I overreacted, anyway. I was telling myself that it’s good to get booed, but it probably threw me off. I just hope the audience got the whole homophobic/homosexual thing. It helps me make sense of Bertram. That he can’t even admit to himself what he really wants, so he acts out by pretending to be this womanizer. It’s hard to know if what I’m doing is too subtle for the audience to pick up.”

  “I think it works.” She balls up the chip bags. “Trash under the sink?”

  “Yep. Anyway, I think we both deserve a beer.” I open the fridge to peruse the beverage options. “What’ll you have? Beer, wine?”

  “I gotta drive home and the kid wakes me up early. Got any soda?”

  I hold up diet and regular options.

  “Gimme the real thing.” I hand her a can, and she clinks it against my bottle of beer. “Seriously, good job tonight.”

  “You too.” I put a hand over my heart. “The expression on your face when you said, ‘Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?’ Man, I felt like a total shit. I was kind of scared of you.”

  She laughs. “We have a lot going on in those few lines.” Her hand goes to her abdomen. “If it were my real belly you were touching and not the pregnancy pad when you said, ‘If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,’ I would’ve slapped it right off.”

  “We should add that. It’d make your anger even clearer.” I take a long swallow before turning back to the fridge to pull out the dips, setting them beside the bowls of chips. “I’m a little nervous for the reviews, though.”

  “We can only control what we put out there.” She shrugs. “We can’t control how people receive it.” She picks up the bowls she filled. “Come on, bring the dip and help me celebrate my first opening with Shakespeare Boston.”

  I almost bump into her when she stops abruptly halfway down the hall. “Gosh, it’s actually my first opening since I got pregnant for real seven years ago.”

  Before I can ask more about that, she dances her way into the living room, chip bowls held high. Furniture’s pushed back to the walls, the stereo’s blasting and Randall’s already doing an imitation of Eva Marie playing the Countess, which has her and everyone else in hysterics.

  I watch from the doorway for a few minutes, sipping my beer, but it’s not long before Jess pulls me in and I’m dancing it all out to “Shout,” Otis Day & The Knights bringing out the clowns in all of us.

  After the show the following night, I creep into Kate’s room as quietly as I can. Unfortunately, I trip on my way to the bed and slam my shin into something. “Ow.”

  She sits up, backlit by the streetlamp filtering through the bedroom blinds.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  “S’okay.” Her voice is scratchy and higher pitched than usual. “How was the show?”

  I pause at the edge of the bed, feeling awkward all of a sudden. “It was good. Big house. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Do you, uh, need anything?”

  Her arms snake out from under the covers to reach toward me. “Just you.”

  “Mrroww.” Frankie complains at the disturbance and stalks to the end of the bed.

  “Oops.” Her voice is still adorably sleepy.

  “Sorry, Frankie, my turn.”

  “Frankie’s warm and snuggly, but you’re a bit more fun.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I lay down next to her, head propped on a hand. “You’re sure you’re feeling okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry I left like that yesterday. I just felt really bad all of a sudden.” When she turns on her side, her face is in shadow, and I can’t quite read her expression. But her voice is tight. “Alice drove me home, and I was fine today.” She hugs the covers around her shoulders and snuggles into her pillow. “Was the cast party fun?”

  “Yeah, it was good. The usual.” I lean over to kiss her cheek. “I missed showing you off, though.”

  She squirms. “Liar.”

  “Not.” Tom and Jerry’s teasing surfaces in my mind, but I push it aside and pull her over on top of me. An extra deep sigh heaves under my palms. “Is something going on?”

  She rests her forehead on my chest. “It’s stupid.”

  I smooth her silky hair. “Feeling something is never stupid.”

  She sighs again. “I wasn’t really sick at the play.” With her forehead pressed into my sternum, the vibrations of her voice resonate in my chest. “I was upset and embarrassed and I didn’t want you to see that or ruin the cast party, so I left. At intermission.”

  “Upset at me?”

  “Sort of.” She rolls off me to face the ceiling. “At you as Bertram. The way you were—he was—to Helena. And Diana. It kind of brought up some bad stuff that happened with my college boyfriend.”

  I run a finger down her arm. “But… you know I’m acting, right?”

  “Of course. In my head.” She crosses her arms so they cover her face. “But you were so convincing. And there were so many similarities to what happened with me and Jonathan. Jessica even looks like the girl he slept with the day after we had a fight about whose career was more important. Even though I knew what was coming, I just—I couldn’t watch it anymore.” She turns my way, her face in shadow. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Honestly, I’m kind of proud that I’d been that believable. But I also feel bad that I hurt her. But it wasn’t me hurting her.

  Although from her perspective, that’s maybe a little less clear?

  When she doesn’t say anything else, I roll to face her. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” I take her hand. “At least on purpose. But if I do, you have to let me know, okay?”

  “Yeah.” She doesn’t sound terribly convincing.

  I sneak my other arm under her, shift to my back and pull her into my side. “You have to know that when I’m acting, I aim to make what I’m doing truthful and real—but it’s only a little piece of me that I’ve put into this particular character’s reality and then built up into a whole other human from there. The inside/out thing, remember?” I press her hand into my chest. “It’s not the me that is here in real life, right now. I mean, if I played a serial killer, you wouldn’t believe that I was really a murderer, would you?”

  She snuggles in, tucking my hand with hers under her chin. “No, but that’s just so far away from reality. But you as a guy who could hurt someone because she was in the way of you getting what you want? In your career? That is a little more possible.” She sounds smaller than usual. “Not that I think you would do that. But… I don’t know.” Her forehead presses into my armpit, making me glad I showered before coming over. “It’s stupid.”

  I kiss the top of her head. “It’s not stupid.”

  I’m not sure what else to say. Will I inevitably hurt her? Because if push comes to shove, I’d pick my career over her. I hope she’d do the same.

  Her gaze moves to the window and she slides her hand out of mine to smooth the covers over her belly. “I guess stupid is the wrong word. Embarrassing is probably better.”

  My eyes are getting used to the dim light. Her brow’s furrowed and her lips are pressed together. “Embarrassed because your ex was a dick and screwed around on you?�
� She shrugs. I push her hip lightly. “Come on. He’s a major dipstick dickhead hoser.” A tiny laugh escapes from her mouth. “Where is this guy?” Pushing up to my knees, I draw a mimed sword. “You want me to challenge him to a duel to defend your honor? I could totally take him.”

  She rewards me with a real smile. “He’s in Indiana, so that’s okay. Thanks for the offer, though. Very nineteenth-century of you.”

  I sheathe my pretend sword, then touch my chest, kiss my fist and knock on my head as I recite, “‘Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, blood and revenge are hammering in my head.’”

  “My hero.” She swoons quite convincingly.

  I take advantage of her prone form and crawl over her. “‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em.’” I do a little thrusting of my own on the last three words. My tone is playful, but my dick’s getting serious. It’s ready to find a home between her legs.

  She presses up into me, takes my hand and squeezes it over her own breast. “Wasn’t that Winston Churchill?”

  She moans when I slide my hand under her sleep shirt to continue what she started.

  I nuzzle her hair out of the way to kiss her neck. “Nope, Twelfth Night. Malvolio.”

  She tosses her pajamas across the room. “Well, I guess you’d better get to thrusting then.”

  I whip the covers out of the way and get rid of my clothes. “‘My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh.’” I kiss my way down her bared body, pausing to catch her eye. “Your flesh, that is.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BEEP. Sunday, 5:35 p.m.

  Hi! Just wanted to thank you for taking me to the Great Blue Hill this morning. What a view. I never even knew that park was there. I can’t believe I didn’t know that’s where WGBH got its name! The motorcycle ride there and back was fun too. Sorry I screamed in your ear when we went over that bump. Anyway, I wanted to say have a good show. Or break a leg? Is that what you all say? But don’t actually break a leg. Um. See you soon.