by Jeff Garvin
It was past midnight when we pulled up next to the RV. The lights were on inside.
“Can I walk you up?” Liam asked.
“No! I mean, I’m good, thanks.”
I had to look away, or else we were going to start making out again. But he put his hand on my face, turned it toward him, and leaned in to kiss me. At the last minute I put my hand up to stop him, my fingers splaying awkwardly across his jaw.
He took my hand and kissed the tip of my index finger, sending an electrical storm through my nervous system. Then he folded my hand and sort of gave it back to me. Trembling, I reached for the door handle.
“Don’t disappear,” he said.
I didn’t know how to reply.
I climbed the steps of the RV, closed the door behind me, and looked around. I had lived in this box half my life, but suddenly it was too small. The RV, my life, everything. I felt smothered. Claustrophobic. I had an impulse to rush back outside and tell Liam to stay. I could make coffee. We could sit at the picnic table and just talk. Stretch the night out a little longer.
I took a step toward the door, but then I heard the Mustang’s engine revving and saw the taillights retreat as Liam drove away. I turned and started down the aisle.
Dad was waiting up for me, sitting at the table and pretending to read. He looked up and smiled as I approached, but his eyes were already inspecting me for signs of whatever dads feared they would find after a date.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. “I’m really tired.”
Dad raised his eyebrows. “I promise not to interrogate you. But you’ve got to give me more than that.”
I sighed. “He’s really great, Dad. A total gentleman.” A total gentleman I would probably never see again.
“That’s wonderful.”
Dad’s smile was too bright somehow, like a flashlight in the eyes. I looked away, irritated.
“Did you see a movie?” he asked.
“Dad, I’m tired.” I wanted to be alone. I tried to walk past him, but he took my arm gently in his hand.
“Ellie, what’s the matter?”
To my surprise, my breath hitched, and the next moment, tears were leaking down my cheeks.
“Oh, Ellie.” Dad stood and tried to hug me, but I backed away. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I said, though the word came out garbled. “He didn’t. . . . I’m fine.”
What was wrong was that I’d just had my first real kiss, and I had no one to tell. No sister, no girlfriend, no mother.
Something about that last thought shut off the tears. It was like someone had slammed a door, and now that way was blocked.
Dad held me at arm’s length and frowned. He seemed even more concerned now that I had stopped crying. “You still have your pills? You’re still taking them?”
I cocked my head. This was the first time he’d asked about my meds in weeks. Had he not been paying attention? Or did he need to see tears to understand that I was headed for a crash?
I didn’t like lying to my father—but telling the truth now would only make things worse. So I said, “Yeah.”
The tension drained from his face. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”
“I’m fine.”
“I know I’m your father, but—”
“Dad, please!” His face tightened again. I softened my voice. “I’m just exhausted.”
“All right,” he said, releasing his grip on my shoulders. “Get some sleep. I love you.”
I felt a swell of regret as I closed the accordion door behind me; I was shutting him out, and I knew it hurt him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else.
I lay in bed for a long time, remembering Liam’s sandalwood scent, the feeling of his warm hand on the back of my cold neck. Thinking how I would never be the same. Thinking how it made no difference.
The blast of a big rig’s air horn startled me awake, and it took me a moment to orient myself. I was in the RV—at Cedarwood? No, we’d been kicked out. We were at the KOA in Bluffton, where Liam had picked me up and taken me on my first date. I reached up and felt cheek where his stubble had rubbed it red last night. I expected a rush, a return of the shivers that had electrified my spine as I sat in the car with Liam’s hands on me—but nothing came. Instead, a dull gray ache pressed against my temples, and my whole body felt twenty pounds heavier, as if gravity had increased while I’d slept. I checked my phone, but there were no messages, so I typed one to Liam: Last night was amazing. Thank you.
But I paused. Despite what he’d said, I knew the date had been awkward. What if I pursued him and he ghosted me? It was better to let it go. I deleted it.
I got to my feet, blinking and rubbing my eyes. I needed to splash water on my face, start the coffee, maybe go outside and feel the sun on my skin. But Dad was snoring on the other side of the partition, and I didn’t want to wake him up. So I opened my tiny window to let in some fresh air, powered up my laptop, and got to work.
Flynn had promised us five grand just to show up, plus ten more if Dad pulled off the Truck Drop—but first, we had to get to Hollywood. That meant buying fuel and food, and that meant we needed a gig between here and LA. I checked our email on the off chance someone had tried to book us, but the inbox was empty. No one had sent us a Facebook message, either. I was running out of options. It was time to call in a favor.
I picked up my phone, scrolled through my contacts, and placed a call. It rang and rang—and just when I thought I’d get funneled to voice mail, he picked up.
“Rrrrico Vega.” He always sounded like this on the phone, a cross between Elvis Presley and Ryan Seacrest.
“Hey,” I said. “It’s Ellie.”
“Elias Dante Jr.,” Rico said, and I smiled despite the desperation tightening my jaw. “How are you and your pops?”
“We’re fine. How about you? How’s business?”
Rico was the son of the late Mariano Vega, Dad’s best friend in Vegas. When Mariano had died four years earlier, Rico had taken over his dad’s consulting business and grown it like crazy. Despite being only nineteen at the time, Rico flew everywhere and worked with the best magicians in the world, designing their illusions and honing their acts. He had it all—the thrill of magic and the stability of a steady income. I would have killed to trade places with him—but at least I still had my dad.
“I’m busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest,” he said. “Are you in town?”
“Nope. Still in Indiana. I take it you’re back in Vegas?”
“For the next couple of months, yeah. Hang on.” Rico put his hand over the phone, and I heard him giving someone instructions. He came back on the line. “Sorry.”
“Whose show are you working?”
“I can’t tell you. I signed a nondisclosure agreement.” He sounded serious. “So, Ms. Dante, what can I do for you?”
He’d cut right to the chase. I should have planned out what I was going to say. My brain felt like it was in low gear.
“Well . . . to be honest, we’re kind of hard up.”
“How hard up?”
I considered sugarcoating it but decided honesty would work better. “We have enough cash to last us three days, maybe a week if we do the Walmart thing.”
“That’s not good.”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t you float on credit cards for a while until you book something?”
“They’re maxed. And we got evicted.”
“Jesus.”
I swallowed. Here went nothing. “We need a gig. Badly.”
I waited, but he didn’t reply.
“Is there any way you could get us something in Vegas? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. You know that.” Rico said nothing. My saliva had suddenly gone thick in my mouth. “I mean, a regular spot somewhere off the Strip would be great, but at this point, I’d take one night at the Four Jacks.” Shut up, Ellie.
Ri
co blew out a breath. “Aw, man. You know how it is out here. Competitive as fuck. I couldn’t get me a regular slot. I’ve got America’s Got Talent finalists who can’t get a whole weekend because they don’t have the draw.”
I felt myself deflate. “What about a consulting gig?”
There was a long, awkward pause. “I want to help, but . . . God, I feel like a dick. You and your dad are like family to me. But reputation is really important in this business. And right now, your dad’s is . . . I mean . . . Recommending him would be tricky for me. I’m sorry.”
I took a fistful of my own hair and tugged. I’d been stupid to ask.
“Yeah, no, I get it.”
Another long pause.
“Listen, I could probably get you a pay-to-play gig at the Tack & Saddle. The booker there owes me.”
I cringed. Pay-to-play gigs were the lowest form of employment. Essentially, the venue made you buy tickets to your own show and then sell them yourself.
Rico must have read my reaction in the silence, because he said, “I know it’s not ideal. But if he draws, maybe they’d hire him for some lounge shows, or an afternoon spot. You could probably capitalize on the whole Craig Rogan—”
“Even if we had the funds, he’d never go for it.” I took a deep breath. I was out of options. “I don’t suppose you could loan—”
But Rico cut in. “If you wanted to pick up some assistant work, I could definitely get you interviews. You’ve got the look. You’ve got more than adequate skills.”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly. “I mean, I can’t. I’ve got school.”
“Oh, right.”
I considered asking again for a loan, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I pivoted, asking about his sister and her career. The conversation rapidly devolved into awkward small talk; I knew Rico was just being polite, and he knew that I knew.
“I wish you’d reconsider the assistant stuff,” he said. “You could work nonstop out here.”
“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t want to talk anymore.
“If there’s anything else I can do for you, just call, okay?”
We said goodbye. I dropped the phone onto the bed and squeezed my eyes shut tight.
What were we going to do?
I wanted to hide in my room—but then I heard Dad moving around in the kitchen and decided I couldn’t stay in here any longer without making him worry. So I put on a fresh T-shirt and jeans and opened the door.
“There she is,” he said. “I was just about to make some breakfast. Are you hungry?”
“Just coffee,” I said. “I ate enough last night to choke a T. rex.”
“Just coffee it is.” He put on the electric kettle and nodded back toward my room. “Was that your young man on the phone?”
“No,” I said. “It was Rico.”
“And how is our young Master Vega?”
I poured some water into my coffee mug and took a drink, giving myself time to form an answer. Gig or no gig, I needed to persuade Dad to head west, and I had hoped my call to Rico would give us a legitimate reason. Since it hadn’t, I was forced to lie.
“He booked us a gig in Las Vegas.”
Dad turned to look at me now, his mouth slightly open. “Did he really?”
I shrugged. “It’s only two nights at the Tack & Saddle, but . . .”
I’d picked the Tack & Saddle because I knew it wouldn’t sound too good to be true. As expected, Dad’s mouth twisted as if he’d bitten into a lemon. I knew what he was going to say: downtown was for third-rate acts and has-beens. I didn’t want to remind him that’s exactly what we were.
“Downtown? Ellie, no. That’s—”
“I know,” I said. I got up, put my hand on his arm. I was surprised how easy it was to roll with the story. “But we need the money.”
His face went red. For a moment, I thought I’d made a mistake, that he would refuse to go, and we’d be back to square one. But then his shoulders sagged.
“You’re right.” The kettle whistled. Dad turned it off and reached for the canister of coffee. “Of course you’re right.”
The resignation in his voice made my chest ache, and all of a sudden I was desperate to take it back. To spill the truth, to tell him everything. But if I told him now, he would blow up. And then when his anger subsided, he would simply refuse to go. He would make me call Grace and cancel. But we couldn’t afford to cancel. We couldn’t afford Dad’s pride. So I had to hold on to the lie, at least for a little longer.
“How are we going to get there?” I asked, thinking of our mostly empty fuel tank.
“This late in the year?” Dad opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs. “South across Missouri to Oklahoma City, then Interstate 40 all the way.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Dad raised his eyebrows.
“We need diesel and food, and we don’t have much money.”
“Oh, that,” he said, waving it away like a fly. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“Why not?”
Dad smiled. “Because I booked us a gig, too.”
“You did? Where? When?”
“Tonight, as a matter of fact,” he said, smiling, the bristles of his mustache poking out like porcupine quills. “In Mishawaka. Our old stomping ground. And it’s not too far out of the way.”
“That’s great!” I said.
Dad turned back to the stove and cracked an egg into the frying pan. My next question—How much?—was cut off when my phone let out a familiar electronic chirp from my bed six feet away.
Dad cocked an eyebrow at me. “I’ll bet I know who that is.”
“Dad,” I said, turning, grateful that my bushy hair hid my ears, which were certainly turning red. “It’s probably just Ripley.”
“Uh-huh.”
But it probably was Ripley, calling with an update on his online manhunt. Only when I snatched up the phone, I saw that it wasn’t a phone call at all. It was a video-chat request. From Liam.
I put a hand to my beard-burned cheek; I hadn’t showered since before our date—hadn’t even washed my face, let alone put on makeup. I couldn’t let him see me like this. But I couldn’t just not answer, either, so I slid the accordion door shut, turned the camera to face the wall, and tapped Accept.
“Hello?” I said.
“Good morning,” Liam replied. “The playbook says to wait forty-eight hours before calling, but I couldn’t do it.” He paused, and I tried to think of a witty reply, but nothing came. “So I’m calling you now. Except all I see is a wall. Where are you?”
“I’m, um, still in my pajamas.”
“Would you be more comfortable if I put mine on, too?”
“What? No.”
“Well, I’m not going to strip nude, if that’s what you think. I’m not that kind of guy.”
I laughed. “Can’t we just talk on the phone?”
“I want to see your face. Call you back in five?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. It was one thing to talk on the phone; I could hide any number of defects. But on video, I had to look right, fake smiles, conceal flaws.
“Ten,” I said.
“Done.” He hung up.
I splashed some water on my face and brushed out my tangles. I reached for my makeup, then decided against it; if Liam didn’t like my real face, he should’ve just called instead. I rummaged through my drawers for the right thing to wear—something cute that didn’t scream, Trying too hard. I settled on a blue cami that looked good with my skin tone.
When the phone chirped again, I was waiting, splayed across my bed like a mermaid, trying to look totally casual.
“Hi,” Liam said.
“Hi.”
He was wearing a tight white V-neck that showed off his shoulders, and his face was slightly more stubbly than it had been last night. Behind him I could see the photo print of New York, as well as a stack of baseball caps perched on his bedpost and a pair of jeans flung across the bedsp
read.
“Housekeeper’s day off?” I said.
“What?” He glanced over his shoulder, then turned the phone so all I could see was his face and the headboard. “There, Miss Nosy.”
“You’re the one who wanted to videoconference.”
“Fair enough. Next time, I’ll clean my room.” He cleared his throat. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I can’t,” I said, and squeezed my toes into fists.
“I didn’t even say what yet.”
“I’m leaving. In like an hour.”
His smile tightened. “Oh. Bad timing, I guess. It’s a shame, too, because I had really good plans.”
“Culver’s and a movie?”
“What can I say? I like to sweep ’em off their feet.” He ran a hand over his short hair. “Can I ask where you’re going?”
I pressed my lips together. If I told him, he might want to come see me. I was headed for a crash, and I wasn’t sure I could handle this video chat, let alone seeing him again in the flesh.
“If it’s too personal, forget it. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s not, it’s just . . . We have a gig, and then we’re headed out west for a while.”
Liam’s eyebrows went up. “Out west like California?”
I swallowed hard. Now that we were both going to be in California, there was a possibility of an actual thing between us. Which sort of terrified me.
“I’m not sure.”
He looked deflated but rebounded quickly. “What about your gig tonight? Is it local?”
“I don’t have details yet,” I lied.
“Oh. Okay.” His voice had cooled.
There was a beep, and Liam looked at his phone. “It’s my dad,” he said. “I should probably take this.”
“Okay.” I felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed.
“Text me when you have details?”
I said I would—another lie—and then we said goodbye and disconnected.
For a while, I sat staring at the white Skype window where his face had been. Why did I have to make things so complicated? I could’ve just told him I was going to LA, and we could have set a time to meet. But the thing was, by the time we got to California, I’d be almost two weeks without meds. What if I was a total wreck? Up or down, I didn’t want him to see those sides of me.
