Caught Up In Us

by Lauren Blakely

  My brother Nate was with me, but he was at the bar refilling our drinks. I raised an arm and sang along, the music smashing through my body, and echoing across the whole lot of us jammed together in front of the tiny stage. Reeve was a certified babe. He was tall and lanky, wore hipster jeans, and a tee-shirt with a vest. He had the requisite long hair that fell in his eyes while he sang. I’d met him once during rehearsals, and had asked Jill if she’d be into him because he seemed her type. He was straight, quite rare for a musical theater man. But Jill had reminded me of the old adage about not getting involved with people you work with. Good advice, indeed.

  Maybe I should go for Reeve. Maybe Reeve was exactly what I’d need to get Bryan Leighton and his too-business-like approach out of my system. Maybe it was time to return to actors and other artists. Bryan had called me a few times after I took off from his factory that afternoon, but I didn’t pick up. He emailed too. He wanted to know where I was. If I was okay. If something was wrong.

  My reply was simple: I forgot I had an appointment in the city. The factory is amazing, and I am learning so much.

  I didn’t say anything more, and certainly not anything personal, and definitely not a thanks for the O! He didn’t reply, and his radio silence the rest of the evening affirmed that I’d made the right choice to bail.

  Reeve belted out the final verse to the song, then mimed strumming a guitar solo alongside Jill as the song faded to its end. “Thank you so much for coming to the show, and to hang out with us all afterwards. You are a kickass audience, and you rock my red and black world,” Reeve said, and several women shrieked and held their arms out towards him.

  As the singing actors put away their instruments, I found my brother at the bar. He handed me a vodka tonic. I’d probably only have a sip. I’d never been much of a drinker. “You sure you’re old enough to drink?” he asked.

  “Oh, ha ha. You know I have been for two years now.”

  He shook his head playfully. “You still seem like the baby sister to me.”

  “Well, duh. I always will be.”

  Maybe I didn’t need Reeve or another man to take my mind off Bryan. Maybe hanging out with my brother would be enough. I hadn’t seen him in several weeks. He was on the road a lot since he worked in business development for an advertising technology startup. He was a manager and hoped to be promoted to director soon. Until then, he had to put in a ton of hours visiting clients in the less-glamorous cities around the country. Nate clinked my vodka tonic with his beer, and said, “To good music, and to my little sister.”

  If you looked closely, you could tell we were brother and sister. We had the same cheekbones, high and sharp. But where I had brown eyes and even darker hair, Nate was a sandy blond with all-American blue eyes.

  “How are Mom and Dad? How did they seem when you there?” I asked. Nate had visited them earlier in the week while on his way to see a client in Boston.

  “They’re hanging in there. Dad’s a little nervous about the loan coming due, I suspect, but Mom’s Mom. All stoic and tough and we’ll get through this. She’s trying out a few sales and mixing up the inventory a bit to see if that sparks some interest. And, get this — she’s doing one of those online daily discount type of deals next week.”

  My mom had always been more of a traditional marketer, depending on foot traffic and tourist bureau promotions. That she was trying new things like online deals was perhaps a good sign. “I think I’m going to take the train out and see them tomorrow. I need to get away for the weekend.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow, and I realized I’d said more than I intended. “Why? Don’t tell me there’s some dude you’re running away from?”

  With that, I spilled my drink on the bar.

  “I guess I was right,” Nate said knowingly, as he grabbed a napkin to clean up.

  “That was just a really strong drink.”

  “Strong? Sure. I’m sure it was so strong it took til your third sip to spill it. Now, spill. But not your drink. Who is he? And what did he do to you?” Nate made a fist with one hand and smacked his other palm. “Because I will seriously hurt him.”

  I laughed nervously. “It’s nothing,” I said, because it was nothing. What happened with Bryan was truly nothing. Besides, Nate and Bryan weren’t best buddies anymore, but they kept in touch, so I didn’t need Nate to know. “I swear. Just someone at business school I liked isn’t into me.”

  “Is he crazy?”

  “Maybe.” I was relieved when Jill bumped her hip against me. Reeve was by her side, and had a heavy-lidded look in his eyes. He was wearing guyliner.

  “Were we awesome or were we awesome?” Jill asked.

  I’d already told her she was stunning as Eponine, belting out a nearly heavy-metal-esque version of On My Own. But I wanted her to know that the encore of One Day More was just as spectacular.

  “You were the freaking bomb,” I said, then introduced Jill and Nate, and Nate and Reeve. They ordered drinks, and the guys chatted for a few minutes about the show. Jill pulled me aside.

  The club had started blasting recorded songs through the speakers so we were surrounded by the din of music again. “How did it go today? Did anything happen?”

  I pressed my teeth against my bottom lip and shook my head.

  Jill pointed at me. “That’s your tell. When you do that thing with your teeth. So what really happened?”

  I wasn’t going to be able to fool Jill, nor did I want to, so I gave her the quick version. Her dark blue eyes widened when I told her what went down on his couch. She held up her hand, waiting for me to high-five her. I gave her a quizzical look.

  “Kat, you pretty much dry-humped him in his office. That is fucking ballsy,” Jill said, with a mischievous grin.

  “Stop! Don’t call it that. He used his – ” I wiggled my fingers.

  She put her hands on her hips and gave me a pointed stare. “Fine. You dry humped him and he fingered you for the payoff. The fact that you want him so badly you can practically get off just through your clothes is a sign. I went out with this singer from an indie band a year ago. Stefan, remember?”

  I nodded and Jill continued. “I wanted him so badly that the first time we did it, I was calling out his name within ten seconds of him being inside me.” Jill had a wistful look in her eyes, and I could tell she’d taken a trip back in time.

  “Why are you telling me this, Jill?”

  “Because. Because sometimes it’s just so good that it’s like all they have to do is touch you and,” Jill tapped my arm with her index finger, “And you are 50,000 degrees hot for them.”

  “So, are you going out with this Stefan now? Are you dating him?” Like a good cross-examiner, I knew the answer before I asked.

  Jill shook her head.

  “See? That’s my point. What does it matter? He might have my number in the chemistry department, but I want the whole package, and I’m obviously not going to get it with him.”

  Jill sighed heavily. “Fine. Be that way.” She tipped her forehead to Reeve. “I know someone who might want to take your mind off Bryan.”

  “He is cute,” I admitted.

  She nudged me with an elbow. “He thinks you’re cute too. Let’s go chat.”

  When we returned to the boys, Jill struck up a conversation with Nate, sliding into her role as wingwoman.

  Reeve moved closer to me. “So, you liked the show?”

  “It was great.”

  “What did you think about the modern feel of it?”

  “It was the best. Master of the House was like a Jay-Z rap, and when you sang Empty Chairs at Empty Tables you sounded like the lead singer of Arcade Fire, and they’re only my favorite band ever.”

  “Arcade Fire pretty much sets the standard for musical awesome. They’re amazing.”

  “And so was your show. I was definitely into it.”

  “What else are you into, Kat?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure if it was a prelude to a line, so I answered him d
irectly. “Movies. I like movies. You?”

  “I’d like to star in some movies,” he said. “I have an audition next week for a Joss Whedon film.”

  “Wow. That would be incredible.”

  I’d dated an actor once and it hadn’t worked out, but Reeve had the self-confidence Michael lacked. So as we talked about our shared love of all things Joss Whedon, I let my mind wander to his mouth, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. His lips were red and full, and he smelled of sweat and beer and the adrenaline of a fabulous opening night. I bet he tasted good, like charisma, like stage presence, like a star in the making who knew how to perform. I bet I’d enjoy the kiss. But I couldn’t kiss him tonight. I’d already been kissed by someone who could turn me inside out. By someone who had tilted my world.

  When the night wound down, Reeve asked if I wanted to go somewhere quieter and have a nightcap. The offer would be tempting to almost any girl, but it was wasted on me. “I think you’re incredibly talented and will have an epic career,” I said to Reeve. “I have an early wake-up call tomorrow so I should go.”

  I was caught up in Bryan, no matter how hard I tried to protect myself. He was the one I wanted. He was the one I’d never stopped wanting. I only wished Bryan wanted me in the same way. Body and heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  I spent the weekend working with my parents at their store, which took my mind off the way I’d run out on Bryan, and the way he hadn’t seemed to care. I prepped with my mom for her online deal, and helped my dad sort through some overdue bills. I even slipped one from a vendor into my purse. I’d pay that bill myself thanks to an order for ten necklaces that had been placed online over the weekend from a shop on the Upper West Side.

  My parents took me to the train station on Sunday night, and walked me to the tracks. My mom still had a visible limp from the car accident and probably always would, but she kept up.

  “I know why you came out this weekend, my Katerina.” My mom was the only one I let use my full name.

  “I came here to see you guys,” I said, trying to dodge and dart.

  She gave me a sharp, stern look, the kind only moms can give. “You’re worried about us. But we’re going to be fine. The store is going to be fine.”

  “Yes, you need to focus on finishing school, not checking up on us,” my dad said.

  “I took care of My Favorite Mistakes in the evenings and I did homework when there weren’t any customers,” I said, then winced. I shouldn’t have brought up the obvious. But then, maybe I should. The sagging store was the elephant in the room and they were trying to deny it. I was struck by the realization of how very alike we were. The three of us trafficked in everything-is-fine here attitudes, but inside we were trying to stiff-upper-lip it through life’s challenges.

  “And that’s what you should focus on, Kat.” My dad pulled me in for a goodbye hug.

  I hugged my mom next as my train pulled into the station. But before I boarded, I looked back at them, gathered up my courage, and said, “I know times are hard for you guys. I’m going to help. I promise. I have a plan.”

  Then I hopped on the train, and waved. I didn’t want to give them the space to fashion a no.

  *****

  The next few weeks raced by in a blur of classes and homework for my Innovation & Design class and my Management course. I took copious laptop notes during school hours, and turned those notes and research into reports and projects. I filled many other hours perusing the latest European design blogs, bringing custom orders to the boutiques around the city that carried my line, and tending to online sales. I was wearing a tread on the sidewalk from my apartment to the nearest post office from the number of times I went there to ship orders. I stayed up late and woke up early, and I was exhausted, but I couldn’t complain because I was on track for a strong quarter, and I would be able to peel off a little bit to help my parents. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. I didn’t hear from Claire Oliver, but I kept checking email and my phone, hoping for some sort of update from my professor’s wife.

  All things considered, the work and the business were the easiest parts of those weeks.

  The real challenge, and I hoped to earn an A for avoidance, was steering clear of one-on-time with Bryan when I went to his midtown offices as part of the mentorship. The first time there, I attended a meeting as the design team presented the new additions to the holiday line for his approval. I left the conference room quickly when it ended, but he followed me down the hall, calling out to me.

  “Hey Kat,” he said.

  I stopped, turned around, and adopted a how-can-I-help-you look?

  “Um, I’d love to know what you thought about the new additions?” he asked, but he didn’t sound like the same guy who’d just signed off on a new series of cufflinks. He sounded nervous.

  “They’re just great,” I said, then gave him a double thumbs up, like a politician.

  “Do you want to sit down and talk some more? I’d really love your detailed feedback.”

  I looked at my watch for effect. “Oh. Darn. I would, but I have an evening lecture I need to get to in twenty minutes. I have to go.”

  Then I marched off to the elevators, hoping the last words were not lost on him.

  He tried again the next week when I ran into him at the water cooler, and he awkwardly asked me to check out copy for an ad slated to run in GQ.

  “You’re reviewing ad copy now?” I asked in a questioning tone. I’d never known CEOs to be involved at the level of ad copy. A CEO’s role in marketing was more at a budget and branding level.

  “Yeah. Sure. I always do,” he said, but his cheeks turned red, as if it were simply an excuse. I followed him to his office, but stood in the doorway, forcing him to bring the ad sample to me.

  “Maybe just move the tagline over here,” I said crisply, and pointed to the left hand corner of the photo. “I have to go meet with Nicole now.”

  Then I dashed off to see Nicole Blazer, a smart and stylish pint-sized redhead. She was one of Bryan’s early business advisors on the design side, and also served on the company’s board. She had the kind of gravelly voice that you think comes from smoking. When we first met, she shook my hand and said, “I don’t smoke. Never have. Was just blessed with this kind of huskiness.”

  “Huskiness rules,” I said, and grinned. I had a feeling we’d get along fine.

  Today, as I stepped into her office, she gestured to an array of tie clips and money holders on her desk. “Prototypes for a new line. Today, your job is to be a fresh pair of eyes and tell me what sucks and what doesn’t suck.”

  She was direct and I liked it. There were no mixed messages or awkward questions with Nicole Blazer. I pointed to a gold money holder. “I have this theory that gold is becoming passé.”

  “Gold passé? How’s that frigging possible?”

  “Well, not gold as in the only thing that actually keeps its value. But gold jewelry. Rose gold is all the rage.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “But what if you were to try the next thing after rose gold?”

  “What would that be?”

  I flashed back to the Impressionist art I loved so much, to the way the painters played with light and shadow to show different times of day. “What if it were possible to make a sort of sunset gold? Or morning light gold? Rose gold is basically just a tinting. Maybe the same could be done with your tie clips and money holders, but the gold almost looks as if it’s reflecting the time of day.”

  She nodded appreciatively. “Damn, girl. I like that idea.”

  I also spent time with the operational team. I’d weighed in on some challenges with suppliers they were facing, suggesting strategies to spur along some of the more difficult ones. John Walker, head of operations, had even implemented some of my ideas. But a new wrinkle in the supply chain woes emerged later that week.

  “The Silversmith in Brooklyn said they’re not going to be able to meet the timeline with bike chain parts,” Jo
hn said during a meeting. “We need to come up with a replacement within a week.”

  Bryan’s features tightened and he rubbed his hand over his chin. His green eyes were hard and intense. He didn’t look at me once, and that was fine with me.

  The meeting continued on like that for another hour, and when it ended without a clear resolution from anyone, Bryan said he was going for run. I took that as a cue to leave. Besides, I needed time and space away to try to research possible replacements for Silversmith. I stopped in the temporary office to grab my bag, and then headed for the elevator banks. I sucked in a breath when I saw Bryan there, wearing a gray tee-shirt and running shorts. He pressed the down button.

  “Hey.” His jaw was still tight. The stress of the meeting and the supply complications was taking its toll.

  “Going for a run?” I said, then wanted to kick myself. Not only was it patently obvious he was about to exercise, he’d also announced it.

  “Running helps me think. I swear I do my best problem solving on the trails and bike paths.”

  “I find I do a great job keeping track of how much I never want to run again when I’m running.”

  Bryan’s features softened and I saw the sliver of a smile form. “That’s right. You’re all about walking.”

  The elevator arrived and he held out his hand. I stepped in first and stood in the opposite corner. “I’ve been known to traverse the city on foot. I dare anyone to take me on in a walkathon.”

  “Quite a dare. I’d love to take you on.”

  I looked away.

  He drummed his fingers against the elevator bar as the car descended. “So does walking help you think? What do you do to blow off steam or escape or whatever?”