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

by Karen Grey

  Telling myself for the hundredth time that there’s nothing I can do about it and congratulating myself for a successful day on the road, I climb back into Steve’s car when it’s all over and stare at the chunky black brick in the space between us. “I still can’t believe you bought a car phone, Steve.”

  “You mock me now, but you’ll be glad to have it someday. You should try it.”

  “Isn’t it expensive to use?”

  “What do I care? I expense it to the company.”

  I just shake my head. But then I remember that I forgot to ask Will to reserve a ticket for me for closing night of All’s Well. I’ve felt bad that I haven’t been back to see the whole thing, but I’ve also put it off, not wanting to go through all those feelings again. However, Will is setting aside his discomfort to go to the wedding with me, so I really should do the same for him.

  Swallowing my pride, I say, “So, can I really try using it?”

  Steve shoots me a sly grin. “You little yuppie.”

  “Yeah, yeah, call me names. How does it work?”

  He points to the glovebox and tells me to read the manual. Scanning through it quickly, I find that it’s surprisingly like using a regular cordless phone. Pulling out my Filofax, I look up Will’s new pager number and call it with the car phone’s number. A few minutes later, the phone rings.

  “Wow.” I just stare at it. “This is surreal.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

  I punch the button to answer. “Will?”

  “Who is this?” Will sounds like he’s at the end of a tinny tunnel.

  “It’s me, Kate.”

  “Where are you? You sound weird.”

  “I’m in Steve’s car. This is his car phone!”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to try it out.”

  Steve pokes my shoulder. “You’re yelling. You don’t need to.”

  After mouthing “sorry” to him, I say to Will, “Also, I wanted to ask if you could put aside a ticket for me for the show tomorrow night.”

  “You want to come?”

  “Yeah. I do. I want to see the whole thing.”

  “Okay, sure. Do you want one or two?”

  “Just one. Alice is out of town this weekend.” I look over at Steve and think about asking if he wants to go, but I spend enough time with him. “Maybe I can sit with Deb and Pam?”

  “Sure, that’ll work.”

  “Okay, thanks. I should go. They charge an arm and a leg for these calls.” I lower my voice and turn toward the window. “I’ll see you tonight after the show?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  “Bye.”

  After I click the phone back into its box, Steve laughs at me. “Getting lucky with the actor on a regular basis, huh?”

  I roll my eyes. “None of your business, Steve.” And then I grin. “But, yes. Yes. I. am.”

  On my way to the copy room at the end of the day, Kendra, the firm’s executive receptionist stops me with a gasp. “Kate, wow, you look… sexy.”

  There’s no disguising the surprise in her voice. I never wear revealing attire here, but the air conditioning in our building has been on the fritz. When I perused my closet this morning, I realized I couldn’t face another day of sweaty armpits. I’m wearing a sleeveless sheath and left my jacket on the back of my office door as soon as Steve and I got back from our trip.

  “You don’t think it’s inappropriate, do you?”

  Kendra is always professional and put together, but she’s not hiding her light under a bushel, either. Her platinum hair is tucked away in a conservative chignon, but it poufs high in front to frame her heavily made-up eyes. Her dress has a high collar, but the way it wraps around her bust and cinches in at the waist, as well as the siren-red of the shimmery fabric, means that she likely catches every male eye that passes.

  She fans herself with a company brochure. “I’d wear a bikini to work this week if I could get away with it. The repair guy is here again, but I don’t have high hopes. I think we’re due for a whole new system. Anyway, let me see your outfit.”

  Kendra twirls a finger, and I obey the command, turning in a circle. She chuckles. “Honestly, I figured you were hiding something under those oversized jackets you wear, but I didn’t think you were hiding an amazing body! What do you do that makes your arms look so good?”

  I shrug. “Oh nothing, really. I run, and I do push-ups every once in a while.”

  “Well, you are one lucky girl. I say show off those perky boobs and those biceps more often. Even when it’s not hotter than Hades in here.”

  Okay, then. Kendra’s glowing assessment makes me almost as uncomfortable as the jeers I suffered through the last time I’d worn a formfitting shirt without a jacket to the office.

  As I stand over the Xerox machine, it hits me. What I wear really has nothing to do with my work. If the guys can’t control themselves around an attractive woman, that’s their problem, not mine. My reports and analyses are top-notch. If my boobs truly rate over my recommendations, well, the guys can just step off.

  On my way back to my office, as I pass Short Brad’s open door, a wolf whistle follows me. My initial instinct is to slink back to my office, hoping to disappear—but what if I were to face them instead? Dogs will never stop chasing rabbits, but sometimes a housecat can give them pause if she arches her back high enough.

  I take the three steps back to Short Brad’s office and slap my hands on the doorjamb, taking up as much space as possible. Channeling my inner lioness, I ask, “Was there something you needed?”

  Three heads look up from spreadsheets scattered across the desk.

  Brown-Haired Mark nods slowly. “Whoa, Bishop. You look hot. Bitchin’ rack.”

  I smile slowly, dip my chin. “Really?”

  Weak-Chin Steve rocks on his heels. “Yeah, you got some bodacious tatas, Bishop.”

  Short Brad knocks on his desk in approval. “Totally bangin’!”

  I lean in and pitch my voice to a low purr. “Well then, gentlemen, if you’re so hot to trot, let’s go at it. Let’s knock boots, do the humpty hump. Right here, right now.” I hold the gaze of Brad, then Mark, then Steve, my smile widening as each one breaks eye contact.

  Short Brad shuffles paper on his desk, laughing nervously. “Uh, heh heh… we were just kidding, Kate. Just joshin’ around.”

  “Face!” Brown-Haired Mark high fives Weak-Chin Steve. “She told you, Brad!”

  “She was talking to all of us, penis-breath.” Brad mutters.

  Savoring the win, I turn slowly from the whimpering hounds to make my exit.

  “Your loss,” I call before practically skipping back to my office.

  Saturday evening, the bleat of Pam’s VW Bug lets me know that my ride’s here. I grab my keys and my bag, into which I’ve stuffed a few essentials since Will wants me to stay over at his place after the closing party. We won’t sleep as comfortably in his tiny bed, but he can celebrate without worrying about having to drive me home. I kiss Frankie on the nose and run out the door.

  Deb leans her seat forward so I can crawl into the back, most of which is taken up by the long legs of a striking blond guy. After a beat, I realize that I met him the day Will and I made good use of the ballet barre in the rehearsal studio. Hopefully, my face does not reveal that information. “Ben, right? I’m Kate.”

  “I remember.” His smile transforms his broodingly handsome face. More boyish, less tortured. “Will thought you ladies could use an escort.”

  Pam catches my eye as she peals out onto Magazine Street. “He doesn’t trust us with you.”

  I hang onto the VW’s strap like my life depends on it. Which it might. “Or the other way around? I bet I can get some good embarrassing stories about him from you guys.”

  Deb cackles. “Oh, yes.”

  Ben’s hands spread in the air in front of him. “Keep it c
lean. I blush easily.”

  Pam reaches behind her seat to swat at him, causing the car to swerve. “Liar. If you blushed easily, you’d never have made it through all those photo shoots surrounded by naked people.”

  Ben laughs, and his face blushes as promised. “Yeah, well, sometimes they do color adjustments on those things, you know.”

  I decide to change the subject for poor Ben’s sake. “So, where are we going for dinner?”

  Deb sighs in an exaggerated way. “Ben’s a vegetarian, so we’re doing Indian. That okay?”

  “Sure, I’m happy with whatever.”

  A little over an hour later, we’re piling back in the car, laughing again. I don’t know if Deb and Pam know that seeing the show upset me opening night or if they’re just always super fun people. Either way, they are an excellent distraction from the emotional rollercoaster to come.

  As the enthusiastic applause and hooting from the audience gradually fades away, I’m clasping my hands together, trying to hang on to the last moments of the play and to the whole experience. It’s like church, as Will says, but better.

  Ben bumps his shoulder against mine. “What’d you think?”

  “Uh⁠…” I shake my head. For once what I think is buried under everything I’m feeling. “I’m still digesting it. It’s amazing how something written—what, four hundred years ago?—can still get to you.”

  Ben nods slowly. “Yep, relationships are complicated.”

  I gesture to the stage. “I mean, it’s amazing how Isabelle made it clear with so few words that since Helena’s pregnant, she has to marry Bertram even though she hates him now and that she realizes that she screwed herself by forcing herself on him, but also that this patriarchal society gives her few choices. Plus, it’s so cool how they elucidate the meaning of the title. All’s Well That Ends Well. I mean, it’s like Shakespeare is holding this up to us saying, ‘As long as I give you this happy ending, you have to accept all the cruelty that happened along the journey. The Ends Well means that All’s Well.’” I look over at Ben, realizing that, as usual, I’m going on. “Or something like that.”

  Ben’s brow wrinkles. “I thought you worked in finance. You sound like a dramaturge.”

  I make a face. “That sounds awful. What the heck is a dramaturge?”

  He laughs. “It’s someone who studies the text and the inner logic of storytelling and does research on the world of the play.”

  “Huh. I could totally do that. Mostly what I do is research, and I think my best reports tell a story, because that’s how you sell stuff.”

  Deb waves at us from the aisle. “Guys, we gotta go get ready for the party.”

  As we walk toward her, I search the sidelines of the stage, where actors are beginning to emerge. “Do you need my help? Will wanted me to ride with him.”

  Deb pats me on the arm. “I suppose you should let him know that you still like him after watching all that bad behavior.”

  “I’ll go with them and help,” Ben says as he points toward the stage. “Your prince awaits.”

  Will rounds the corner and sends me a wicked smile, even as he listens to someone who’s obviously praising his performance.

  “Thanks for being my dates tonight, you guys. It was fun hanging out.”

  Deb gives me a quick hug. “Anytime. We miss our boy, but you’re good for him.”

  I can’t contain my smile as I trot down the steps, where my very own star waits for me with open arms.

  By midnight, I’m in Will’s arms dancing slowly on the back porch surrounded by twinkle lights. It’s magical out here, the sounds from the stereo inside just loud enough to dance to. We started out, jokingly, in a traditional dance hold when “Rebel Waltz” by The Clash came on, then rocked it out with David Bowie before swaying to Spandau Ballet’s “True.”

  A couple months ago, I’d never have imagined myself in such a romantic scene, but in this moment, I truly feel like a princess swept up into my own happily ever after, in the arms of a prince who rescued me from an evil juggler. I’m even at a party past the time that my coach should turn into a pumpkin.

  I rest my head on his shoulder and let my body melt into his. Picturing the two of us reprising this scene at my cousin’s wedding next weekend, I let myself believe that sometimes, maybe, things do end well.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BEEP. WEDNESDAY, 9:02 p.m.

  Hey Will. Your call time tomorrow is seven a.m. Oh, also, because of a conflict with the location, we’re going to have to push two scenes from Thursday into Friday. Call me if you have any questions.

  WILL

  As soon as I get home, get the message and confirm it with a phone call, I ride over to tell Kate about the schedule change. The hurt I tried to prevent? I’ve made it worse. She’s on her bed, an expression on her face I’ve never seen before. Defeat. “So, does that mean you can’t go to the wedding?”

  I hate this. I squat to cup her knees with my hands. “I don’t see how I can. I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have let you buy that plane ticket. Now it’s going to waste.”

  “Maybe you could just fly down Saturday morning.”

  The wobble in her voice squeezes my heart. I run my hands up and down her legs. “And what if they extend again and I can’t take that flight? You’d be throwing good money after bad.”

  Her lower lip trembles. Also not something I’m used to seeing. “But I was going to have a date at the wedding.”

  I stand, hands on top of my head. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered to go in the first place.”

  “It’s not your fault. I know that.” She gets up and walks to the bathroom. Blows her nose.

  “I’m going to pay you back for the ticket,” I call.

  “It’s fine.”

  She doesn’t return.

  “It’s not fine. I mean, you’re right, it’s not exactly my fault.” I find her just staring at herself in the mirror. “But I should’ve checked with them about the schedule first. When I talked to the AD, he said this happens all the time, that you should never make plans right after a shoot is supposed to wrap because a schedule is never truly final until you’ve shot the thing.”

  She turns on the tap and just watches the water flow. “But you didn’t know.” Abruptly, she turns off the water and slips past me.

  “I should have. And I don’t like that you’re paying for it. So I will pay you back.”

  She circles the living room, hands flapping at her sides. “Will, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. It matters to me.”

  She swats that thought away and flops heavily onto the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “But that’s just stupid.”

  I struggle to keep my voice even. “It’s stupid that I don’t want to be in your debt?”

  “It’s stupid to worry about it. I really don’t care.” She closes her eyes and melts into the cushions, her face a mask. Which makes me even madder somehow.

  “But that’s the thing. I do.” I head back toward the bedroom. I need to calm down. “And if you don’t get that… then—I don’t know.”

  “What?” she calls. “You don’t know what we’re doing here? I don’t either.” A pout colors her voice. “I thought we were dating. I was excited about this weekend together.”

  “Well, I’m sorry.” I press a hand into a wall. “I’ve tried to tell you that I can’t be depended on like that. I don’t have control over my schedule, and just like I thought, adding films and commercials makes it worse. I’m sorry I can’t be the guy who’s around when you need him to be, but I’ve been clear about that from the beginning.”

  “I know.” She folds her arms over her face, obviously fighting tears. “Have I ever complained that I only get to see you when you have time? I was just⁠…” She groans. “I was looking forward to this.”

  I puff out a breath of frustration. “It’s not exactly like you have a wide-open schedule, either.”

  Her shoulders droop like she’s surrenderin
g. “I know. It’s why I haven’t wanted to get involved with anyone.”

  “Well, maybe we shouldn’t be dating.”

  Before I can soften my words or take them back, she says, “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

  I’m suspended in the doorway, my head hanging between my shoulders. “At least we agree on that.” And then I regret saying that too.

  “Listen.” I move to the side of the couch but stop short of touching her. “Can we maybe go back to how we were before this whole wedding thing happened? I really am sorry that I’m letting you down. But to be honest, I wasn’t really looking forward to having to pretend in front of your family that⁠—”

  She interrupts me, speaking to the coffee table. “That we were more serious than we are? Then why did you offer to go with me?”

  “No.” I’m suddenly so tired I can’t even hold up the weight of my head. “It’s not that. Well, I mean, maybe. A little.”

  “Because the dating thing is not going to work for us,” she says, her voice almost inaudible.

  “Well, yes, I do have a hard time picturing it working beyond⁠…” I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

  After a few uncomfortable beats of silence, I consciously release my jaw on a sigh. “You know we can’t have a real relationship. We’ve talked about it. This is just going to happen over and over again.” I hate saying these things out loud but we probably need to face the truth. “But what I was going to say is that I didn’t want to have to pretend to fit in to your parents’ wealthy crowd. You should take Steve. He’d fit in.”

  She finally meets my gaze. “What are you talking about?”

  “Kate.” Is she really so naïve? “I don’t have a normal job. I bartend part-time, and I act in plays. I probably make a tenth of what you do a year. Your parents aren’t going to be happy that you’re dating a guy like me.”

  “But I’m happy when I’m with you.” Her hands flatten at her sides, pressing into the couch. “That other stuff doesn’t matter.”