Summer in the City

by Fracaswell Hyman

  Faustie stood and said, “Destiny, hey girl. What’s good?”

  Destiny glared at him. “Who told you I’d be here?”

  “No one. What are you talking about? I was just having lunch with—”

  As he held his hand out to introduce me, Destiny Manaconda flashed her amazing, heavily lashed hazel eyes at me. “Do you mind?” she said. “A little privacy. Thanks so much, sweetness.”

  With that, she lifted her hand and a waiter appeared out of nowhere, picked up my plate and water, and led me across the room to a booth. The bacon cheeseburger juice was now on my wrist as I slid into my seat about to pass out because I hadn’t inhaled for about forty seconds.

  When I finally did breathe, I looked across the room and saw Faustie and Destiny Manaconda seated across from each other, having a heated conversation. Their eyes were flashing angry darts back and forth. They were jabbing their fingers in the air accusingly at each other. Then Destiny Manaconda pointed her finger in my direction, and I quickly looked down. I put my perfect bacon cheeseburger back on the plate and used a linen napkin to wipe up the burger juice that had made its way past my wrist.

  I didn’t know what to do. I tried to act natural, as if nothing was going on, but I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands and I bet I looked like a confused mannequin in a department store window.

  Now Faustie and Destiny Manaconda were yelling at each other. It was the only sound in the whole restaurant, and it seemed as though everyone was looking from them to me and back again. I lifted my bacon cheeseburger and took a tiny bite, but my taste buds must’ve been traumatized because all the flavor was gone. It tasted dry and bitter, like ashes of humiliation. I couldn’t just sit here like this. I had to do something! So I took out my phone and face2faced Izzy. She picked up immediately.

  “Mango! Hi girl! What’s going on?”

  “I’m still at lunch with Gabriel Faust, and Destiny Manaconda just showed up!” I whisper-shouted.

  “What? Gabriel Faust? You’re eating lunch with my dream man?”

  I was stumped for a second. Izzy would know who I was having lunch with. And then it came to me. “Carmella, is that you?”

  “Of course, who did you think it was?”

  “Well, this is Izzy’s phone, so I thought I was talking to—”

  In the background at Izzy’s, I heard, “Carmella, give my phone!”

  “In a minute, prima, I’m talking to Mango!”

  “Mango is my friend, not yours!”

  “Is too!”

  “Is not!”

  “Is too!”

  I had had enough! With all the drama going on in the restaurant, the last thing I needed was more drama going on between Izzy and Carmella. “Cut it out!” I yelled. If it was even possible, the restaurant got ever quieter than it had been before. I looked up from my screen, and everyone was definitely looking at me. I looked down again and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Look, I can be friends with both of you, but I called to speak to Izzy. I’m in a crisis here, and I need to speak to Izzy now, so Carmella, please give her back her phone.”

  The phone changed hands and Izzy—the real Izzy—appeared on the screen. “Hold on,” she said. She disappeared from the screen for a few seconds, and then she was back. “Okay, we can talk now.”

  Her voice sounded echoey, so I said, “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the shower in the bathroom, the only place I can get some privacy these days. Okay, so what’s the crisis?”

  I whispered, “Destiny Manaconda is here.”

  Izzy shouted, “What? Shut up! Are you trying to give me a stroke? What?”

  I nodded. “She just showed up out of the blue.”

  “Did you tell her how much you love her? How Cupcakers is your all-time favorite show?”

  I shook my head, “I didn’t get a chance. She ordered me to go away?”

  “Ordered you? How dare she!”

  “Now they’re both at the table arguing.”

  Izzy gasped. “About their breakup?”

  “I don’t know, but she keeps pointing at me.”

  Izzy yelped, “Holy jealousy! She probably thinks he’s dating you!”

  “No way!”

  “She walks into a restaurant and sees the two of you having an intimate rendezvous.”

  “It’s no rendezvous, and there was nothing 'intimate’ about it. We were just eating lunch.”

  “Were you holding hands? Were you gazing into each other’s eyes? Did he have his arm around your shoulder?”

  “No, no, and no!” Right then, Destiny Manaconda stood up from her table and started walking in my direction. I held up my phone to shield my face. “She’s coming my way!”

  Izzy said, “Duck! Get under the table! If you have to, use your phone as a weapon!”

  I was almost on the verge of panic, but Destiny Manaconda walked right past my table without even glancing at me. Then Faustie went by, calling after her, “Destiny! Des, baby! Wait!” He didn’t seem to notice me either. I sat back in my chair and let out a deep sigh of relief.

  Izzy cried out, “What happened? What’s going on?”

  “They just left.”

  “The restaurant?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “What are you gonna do now?”

  “I don’t know. Wait, I guess? We’re supposed to be back at rehearsal soon, but I don’t know where I am or how to get back.”

  Izzy started to say something, but her image froze and a “low battery” notification popped up on my screen. I was down to less than ten percent. In a couple of seconds, Izzy was gone. I tried calling her back, but it wouldn’t go through.

  I looked around the room. The hum of several conversations had returned, along with the scraping of silverware and the tinkling of ice in glasses. My bacon cheeseburger had deflated, which was okay because I didn’t have an appetite anymore anyway. The minutes ticked by slowly. Taylor Swift and her entourage passed by my table as they made their way toward the exit. A waiter with movie star looks approached and placed a leather thingy that holds the check you’re supposed to pay in front of me, saying, “Whenever you’re ready, Miss.”

  No way! Did they really expect me to pay the bill? On my twenty dollar a day allowance? There was no way I could pay for a perfect bacon cheeseburger and duck whatchamacallums! Even so, I reached toward the leather thingy and opened it. The bill came to two hundred dollars and . . . my eyes became too tear-filled to comprehend the rest of the numbers.

  As I moved to close the leather thingy, Josh, the chauffeur, appeared. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Don’t worry, it’s all taken care of.”

  “Um . . . Faustie? I mean Gabriel Faust, is he in the car?”

  “No, sorry. He left in Miss Manaconda’s car.”

  “Oh . . .”

  I was in a stupor as we left, and I don’t think I could feel my feet as Josh guided me to the SUV and drove back to rehearsal.

  I was forty-five minutes late when I stepped onto the elevator to get to the sixteenth floor. Just as the doors were about to close, Frances Francisco slid in. She held a dill-pickle-size finger to her lips until the doors were completely shut and we were alone. Then she leaned in. “The gag is, Gabriel got sick and had to be rushed to his private physician. Got it?”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at her. She leaned in closer and snapped her dill pickle fingers in my face and repeated, “Got it? That’s what you tell the producers, the press, your mama, and anyone else who comes nosing around. Capiche?”

  I nodded.

  “Good girl.” She patted me on the back with her baseball mitt hand. The elevator doors slid open, and she ushered me into the rehearsal room.

  Cartier, the choreographer, was teaching the company a dance routine to one of my solos, and the room smelled of sweat. Bob and Larry, going over the script at their table, looked up at me with disappointment clouding their eyes.

  Frances
Francisco went over to them and spilled “the gag,” the lie I was supposed to tell anyone who asked. The truth of how and why I had been left behind was humiliating enough, and now I was being was ordered to lie about it, too. I didn’t really know why, but I felt ashamed. Was I so unimportant to Gabriel Faust that he could leave me behind without a thought? Did he take me to that restaurant just to make Destiny Manaconda jealous? The first thing out of her mouth was, “Who told you I’d be here?” So yeah, maybe he did use me . . .

  I felt like such a dope. Gabriel Faust himself had warned me about show business and how people were out to use you. He warned me and then made an example of me. As much as I wanted to, as much as my chest ached to let it all out, I couldn’t just stand there and cry like a baby. It was time for Mango Delight Fuller to grow a thick skin. I joined the company in front of the mirror, tried my best to focus on Cartier through wet eyes, and learned the dance.

  One, two, three, turn left, turn right, hitch kick, step, repeat. One, two, three, turn left, turn right, hitch kick, step, repeat.

  I watched my reflection in the mirror. The higher I kicked, the faster I turned, the thicker my skin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Liar, Liar!

  Determination is an amazing thing. I was determined not to cry. Not to let my feelings show. Not to let on to anyone that I had been humiliated. My determination made me focus on choreography like never before. I was so focused, I forgot that I was the kind of dancer who usually looked like she was dancing to the beat of a song that hadn’t played yet. Not only did I get all the steps down, but I was able to dance while singing my song, too! Without getting winded!

  As rehearsal was ending, Cartier came up to me. “Mango, you were amazing. I mean, I thought I was going to have to work with you one-on-one to get you up to speed, but you killed it. You even learned faster than some of the professional dancers.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And you’re not even breathing hard. What gives? Are you some kind of athlete?”

  “No . . . I mean, I was on the track team at school.”

  “Oh, that’s it. Runners build up breath control and stamina. Good for you! See you tomorrow.”

  Yes! Pride smashed humiliation! I was feeling good again. Even though I knew my muscles would be tighter than ever by tomorrow, right now I was feeling great. I looked around to find TJ and saw him heading out with a few of the other cast members around our age. I called, “TJ!”

  He looked around, waved and stopped where he was. I walked up to him, “That was kind of fun, huh?”

  “Yeah, it was cool.” He said this looking over his shoulder at the cast members heading out to the hall.

  I tried to refocus his attention on me. “Um. Cartier is a great choreographer.”

  “Sure is. Look, I’m gonna ride uptown with these guys . . .”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “We started hanging out when they took pity on me having lunch by myself. You know, at the pizzeria where we were supposed to go today?”

  “Oh. Yeah . . . that’s right. Sorry, TJ. Faustie—”

  “Faustie? Whoa. That was lightning speed. You guys getting along real good, huh?”

  “Actually—“”

  Someone from the hall yelled, “Hey, Teej, elevator’s here!”

  TJ turned toward them, “Coming!” Then back to me, “Gotta go. Later.”

  He turned and jogged out of the room just like that. Dang. How did I forget that we had planned to have lunch together? It was my idea, and I didn’t even think of him when Faustie invited me to lunch. Maybe I should have asked if TJ could come along? I was a little surprised that TJ was so touchy about it. I mean, I told him about my plan to break the ice with Faustie. He should have understood why I had to go. Shouldn’t he?

  Zippy came up to me, her curly hair plastered to her head like she’d just come out of the shower. “Oof! That Cartier was out for blood today. Does she really expect us to do like backflips and sing at the same time?”

  “We’re not doing backflips.”

  “It’s just an expression, kiddo.”

  “Oh . . . I think the dance is cool. Fun.”

  Zippy’s lip curled into a snarl and she rolled her eyes. “Of course you would. I heard her over there telling you how phenomenal you were.”

  “She didn’t say 'phenomenal.’”

  “Whatever, kiddo.” She pulled a towel from her backpack and ruffled it through her hair. “Just because she’s blowing smoke up your butt doesn’t mean you have to inhale. She’s trying to buddy up with you ’cause you’re the star. They all do that.”

  “They all who?”

  “Anybody in the industry who’s on the come up. This gig is a stepping stone for her. If she gets in good with you and you become a star, then she’ll have an in.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She thinks you’ll request her to choreograph all your shows if you hit it big. Believe me, be careful not to let your head get too big too fast.” She grabbed her backpack and headed for the door. “I’m gonna stop in the ladies’. Meet you at the elevator.”

  As I went to gather my stuff, I glanced over to where Acorn was. He looked like he was busy going over something with Bob and Larry and one of the producers. I wished he were taking me back to Aunt Zendaya’s instead of Zippy. I bet Aunt Zendaya hoped so, too. Oh well . . . I grabbed my stuff and headed for the elevator.

  Zippy and I didn’t talk on our way out of the building or walking to the subway. She didn’t duck and dive through the oncoming people the way she had this morning. I guess the afternoon of choreography had slowed her down a bit.

  On the platform waiting for the train, she was busy looking at her phone. So I looked at the people all around me. There were so many, heading home from work or wherever. I started trying to figure out what kind of jobs they had based on the clothes they were wearing. There was a guy with lavender hair wearing an orange tie-dyed T-shirt and fashionably ripped jeans—definitely some kind of artist. A short lady in a sharp, fitted business suit wearing sneakers was probably some big executive’s assistant on her way to becoming the big boss someday.

  Zippy tapped me on the shoulder. “So what really happened to Gabe today, huh? Did he really get sick?”

  “Ummm . . .” I flashed back to Frances Francisco looming over me in the elevator and warning me not to tell even my mama the truth. I cleared my throat. I hated lying. I didn’t want to actually say yes, so I kind of hummed, “Mm-hmm.”

  Zippy said, “So, was he or wasn’t he sick?”

  “That’s what his manager said.”

  “I know what she said. They always cover up for their little spoiled has-beens. You were there. Tell me what really happened.”

  I bit my lip. My fingernails started brushing up against my thumb, and I wanted to gnaw on them so badly. A debate started in my head: Why should I keep Faustie’s secret after he ghosted me? But if I told the truth, he might hate me. Even worse, I’d be on Frances Francisco’s bad side, and that would be a horrible place to be. Finally I said, “He got sick and rushed off to his doctor. His stomach or something. I think it might have been something he ate?”

  Zippy looked at me, eyes narrowing and her round face getting redder and redder by the second. “You’re lying to me.”

  “I’m not!”

  “You’re a liar, that’s what you are. Look!” She held up her phone and showed me a post on Gabby Glamour’s gossip site. There were several paparazzi shots of Gabriel Faust and Destiny Manaconda in a park, holding hands and hugging. The headline read, “Fausta-Conda Back 2gether Again for the 3rd Time.”

  My cheeks flared hotter than a blow torch. I just stood there with my mouth open, trying to get some words out, trying to explain that I was told to tell that story, but I just sputtered air.

  Zippy snapped her cell phone case closed. “You know what, kiddo? I don’t have time for liars and prima donnas who think they can take two-hour lunch breaks, come in, and show off their dancin
g and singing to make the rest of us look bad. No. Uh-uh! Tell you what, you can get someone else to take you to and from rehearsal. It’s not worth the measly fifty dollars a week to hang around with a habitual liar.”

  Just then, hot air whooshed onto the platform as a train rushed into the station and screeched to a halt. The doors opened, and a flood of people spilled out of the train while other people pushed to get in. I got caught up in the middle of the anxious transfer and found myself inside the subway car, crushed against a pole. The ear assaulting announcement over the speaker said, “This is the number 5 Express to Flatbush Avenue. Watch the closing doors.”

  I turned to make sure Zippy was with me, and there she was, still on the platform with a fiendishly gleeful smirk on her face. She wiggled her fingers as the doors slid closed, and then the train lurched and took off into the blackness of the tunnel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Abandoned

  As the train rumbled through the tunnel, the lights flickered off and on several times. I held on tightly to the pole. My heart was racing. I was scared and on the verge of panic. I was confused, but most of all, I was angry. I couldn’t believe the look on Zippy’s face. That smirk and the way she wiggled her stubby little fingers as the train pulled off. She had stayed on the platform on purpose!

  Some people cried when they got angry. I usually did. The thing was, at this moment, I was beyond anger—I was furious. I was NOT going to let Zippy bring me to my knees. People had tried it before. Like when Brooklyn signed me up to audition for Yo, Romeo! hoping I would melt into a puddle of humiliation. I showed her. Now here I was in New York City on my own—I was not going to cry.

  I knew that our regular subway stop was Bergen Street, so I just had to stay on the train until then and walk the few blocks back to Aunt Zendaya’s apartment building. No problem. Zippy said she wasn’t going to be my escort anymore. Good! I didn’t care. If I could get home by myself, I could get to rehearsal by myself. She didn’t want to be around me, and I didn’t need her anyway.