Three Girls and a Leading Man

by Rachel Schurig

  “Ooh, what’d you get him?” Ginny asked, sitting up straighter. I could tell that the topic of her son had already cheered her up.

  “A shirt, a few toys; nothing too major,” Jen said.

  “Hmm, that sounds like what I got him,” I said.

  Ginny looked at me, a slightly sheepish smile on her face. “Me, too. I think we went a little overboard.”

  When Josh and Danny arrived a few minutes later, it was clear that we had gone more than just a little overboard. After accepting kisses and hugs from all three of us, Danny was promptly made to open no fewer than ten presents. He was now the proud owner of four Vegas t-shirts, an Eiffel Tower money bank, several pool floats in various shapes, and a gladiator costume from Caesar’s Palace.

  “Talk about spoiled,” Josh muttered. “Is anyone at all excited to see me?”

  Ginny ceased her incessant kissing of Danny to smile at Josh. “Sorry, babe,” she said, getting up to hug him hello. Jen took over snuggling the baby. I had to admit, Josh had a point. Between the three women in his life, Danny was pretty spoiled. But how could you blame us, when he was that cute and sweet?

  “Oh.”

  We all looked up to see Tina standing in the doorway, looking at us with a bewildered expression.

  “There are people here,” she said, still looking confused.

  “Hey, Tina,” Jen said. “How was your weekend?”

  “Weekend?” she asked, her fake airy voice becoming more pronounced.

  “Yeah, your weekend,” Jen said. “Did you enjoy having the house to yourself while we were gone?”

  “You were gone?” Tina asked.

  I rolled my eyes. She was such a faker.

  “Yeah, we’ve been in Vegas, remember? You said goodbye to us when we left on Thursday,” I said.

  “Oh…oh, yes, I suppose I do remember that. It must have slipped my mind. I’ve been doing so much meditating, I’ve barely been on this plane at all…”

  With a dreamy little shrug, she turned and slipped back to her bedroom. Jen and Ginny were doing their damnedest not to laugh. “She is ridiculous,” I muttered. “Seriously, who does she think she’s kidding?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t like her,” Josh said, draping his arm lazily over Ginny’s shoulder. “I mean, aren’t you supposed to be all into that open-minded hippie stuff? I’ve seen some of the theater friends you hang out with, you know.”

  “Tina is not a hippie,” I said firmly. “She doesn’t really believe in meditation or crystals or any of it. I would respect her if I thought she was for real, but she’s not anything but a fake. Her whole persona is just an excuse to smoke pot and be lazy. She’s a poser.”

  “The worst thing you can be in Annie’s book,” Ginny told him, smiling at me in a fond sort of way.

  “Enough about crazy Tina,” Josh said, leaning in for another kiss. “I thought you were supposed to be telling me how much you miss me?”

  Ginny giggled and snuggled into him.

  My cell phone rang, distracting me from the sight of Ginny and Josh reuniting. Something about the sight of them set off a little pain in my stomach, though I had no idea why—usually their overt displays of affection simply made me nauseous.

  I looked down at the screen of my phone and found myself smiling involuntarily.

  I managed to slip out of the living room without interrogation, and I answered the phone on my way to my bedroom.

  “Hey,” I said softly.

  “Hey,” Nate replied. I felt my smile grow. “Will you call me a wuss if I told you that I miss you already?”

  “Probably,” I said.

  “Well, I guess I couldn’t expect any less from you.” The amusement was clear in his voice and I could just tell he was smiling on the other end of the phone. I felt my own smile grow wider. I probably looked like an idiot.

  “What can I say, Nate? I’m a tough broad.”

  He laughed. “I’m actually not so sure about that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I think that’s just reputation, a cover.”

  “So what am I covering up?” I asked, feeling my stomach squirm a little at the flirtatious tone in his voice.

  “Your soft and gooey underside,” he replied. I burst out laughing.

  “Nice try,” I told him.

  “I still think I’m right,” he replied easily. “But I guess we can table the topic for now. So, are you home yet?”

  “Yeah, landed about an hour ago. We’re currently showering Danny with way too many gifts. You’d think it was his birthday or something.”

  “See?” Nate replied. “Even the baby has you wrapped around his finger. Soft and gooey, just like I said.”

  “Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So where are you?”

  “Waiting at the airport,” he said. “Bored out of my mind and wishing you were here.”

  “What about all of your friends?” I asked.

  “They’re all hung over,” he replied. “Everyone is sitting around with sunglasses on, trying not to move so they don’t throw up.”

  “Sounds like a successful bachelor party,” I said.

  “I guess so. But anyhow, I wondered what you were up to tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I asked. I had been planning on lazing around the house, spending time with the girls and Danny.

  “Yeah. I was thinking maybe we could get dinner when I get back.”

  When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “Just casual, Annie,” he said. “No big deal, I promise. We’ll get dinner and I’ll take you right home.”

  “Well, I do have to work tomorrow,” I said, seizing on the excuse.

  “Me too.”

  “But a person does have to eat…”

  “Also true,” Nate said, and I could once again hear the amusement in his voice. He knew I was caving.

  “Fine,” I said. “When does your flight land?”

  “I can be in Ferndale by seven,” he replied.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you at seven.”

  Nate was laughing outright now. “What?” I asked, feeling annoyed.

  “Soft and gooey,” he repeated.

  “Goodbye, Nate,” I muttered.

  “Bye, Annie.”

  I could still hear the sounds of his quiet laughter as I ended the call.

  ***

  I saw Nate three times over the next three days. I knew I was being stupid, allowing myself to move so fast with him, but I couldn’t help it. If I was honest with myself, I really liked spending time with him. And it was, admittedly, very flattering to see how much he clearly liked spending time with me. He took me out to dinner the Sunday night we got back, again the following day, and met me for lunch on Tuesday.

  That was another thing about Nate: he insisted on paying for everything. It made me feel uncomfortable. I had never been the type of girl to blindly let the guy take care of everything, and I told him so.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, sounding hurt. “I’m just trying to be a gentleman.”

  “But that implies that you think I need you to, like, provide for me or something.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. I can tell that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. But I’m the one who asked you out. And I was raised to believe that when you ask someone out, you pay. You can pay when you ask me out.”

  “Who said I’m ever going to ask you out?” I asked.

  “No one said you had to,” he replied, smirking. “But if you don’t, I’ll just keep asking you. Which means that I’ll keep paying for your dinner. If you don’t like it, I guess you’ll have to do something about it.”

  I glared at him. “This all sounds like a ploy to make sure I’ll keep seeing you.”

  He merely shrugged, the smirk still evident in his face.

  At the end of our lunch date, he asked if I would see him for dinner. I was grateful for the excuse to decline—I knew I needed to slow this down, and fast. Luckily, I was babysitting for Da
nny that night so Ginny and Josh could have an evening to themselves.

  “Okay,” Nate said, nonplussed. “Tomorrow then?”

  I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “How about I take you out?” I asked.

  Nate grinned broadly. “See?” he said. “My plan is totally working.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘The first time your potential mate invites you to his home is a big deal. You can tell a lot about a man by the house he keeps. Does he care for his space? Is he good at making home repairs? Does it look like his home is dying for a woman’s touch? Finding the answers to these questions can be very helpful in your quest to make your man fall for you.’—The Single Girl’s Guide to Finding True Love

  I took Nate to a low-key wine bar in Ferndale. The prices were reasonable but the food was really good. It had been a standby for me and the girls in our leaner financial times. Come to think of it, I was still experiencing those lean times. It seemed like everyone else was starting to settle down, make some real money. Why was I still broke?

  I lamented this fact to Nate over dinner. “Being poor sucks,” I said.

  “Yeah, but if you’re happy, does it really matter?” he asked. “Take me, for example. When I first moved out here and started working at Ford, I was making a ton of money.”

  I scowled at him. “You’re making me feel so much better.”

  “Sorry.” He grinned. “I just meant that I was making good money, but I was pretty damn miserable. I missed my family and my friends from home. It wasn’t until I started hanging out with some guys from work and meeting new people that I could really enjoy myself. The money didn’t really come into play.”

  “That’s a good point,” I mused, taking an onion ring from his plate. “I do have awesome friends. But my job sucks. It would be one thing to make crap money and have a job I love, you know? But to hate my job and be poor? That’s just depressing.”

  “Then change it,” he said simply. “If you don’t like your job, find a new one.”

  “There aren’t a lot of theater jobs,” I said, reaching for my shiraz. “I feel like I have to stick to where I am or leave the business entirely.”

  “No way,” Nate said, shaking his head. “You’re way too talented. I bet you get that part in Jenner Collins’ show. Then everything will be different.”

  I smiled at him, feeling unexpectedly touched. He seemed so sure of his words, so confident in my ability. I felt my stomach clench. I still hadn’t heard back from the theater about my callback. A friend of mine from college was dating a lighting designer who had heard a rumor that Jenner Collins was holding a final round of auditions that night. The rumor, even coming third- hand, made me incredibly nervous. If they were holding more auditions that must mean that they didn’t find what they were looking for at my callback.

  “Hey,” Nate said softly, grabbing my hand. I looked up at him. “It’s going to be okay, Annie.” It was like he had read my mind. The sincerity in his face made my breath catch.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he continued. “We can go back to my place for another drink.”

  For once, I didn’t argue with him. I was dying to see his apartment. Plus, the idea of being alone when I was feeling so unsure about things was not appealing. Something about Nate’s company made me feel calmer, less anxious. I had no desire to leave it so soon.

  Nate drove the short distance to Birmingham in his Ford Focus. As I settled into the passenger seat, I realized for the first time that his car was less flashy than I would have expected. When I mentioned this, he laughed.

  “I work for Ford, Annie. What did you expect me to drive, a jag?”

  We pulled up in front of a modest, clean-looking apartment building. Also not quite what I had expected. When he had told me he lived in Birmingham I had pictured one of the rambling old houses that line the streets around the downtown area, or one of the ridiculously expensive lofts that marketed itself as being ‘urban’. This building looked like it could happily exist in any small city in the area.

  He led me up the stairs to a second floor apartment, unlocking the door and allowing me to enter first into the foyer. It opened directly into a spacious living room. Nate had furnished it better than most guys I knew: he actually had things like end tables and framed art on the walls. There was even a nice potted spider plant on the counter. Not a cheesy movie poster in sight.

  “So this is how an engineer lives, huh?” I asked, looking around the room.

  “Yup,” Nate said, throwing his keys down on the side table. “There’s a special store we shop at and everything.”

  “Hmm,” I said, walking around the room to get a better look. “It’s much cleaner than I expected.”

  He laughed. “Do I strike you as a messy person?”

  “Most guys are,” I said, picking up a picture frame and peering down at it. “Who’s this?”

  “Wow, you are nosey, aren’t you?”

  “I’m just trying to get a feel for it,” I told him. “How does a young bachelor live on the other side of the poverty line.”

  He burst out laughing. “You really do think I’m a snob, don’t you?”

  “Nate, you wear a tie to work everyday,” I pointed out. “I mean, come on.”

  He came over to me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me tight. “You like my ties,” he said, resting his forehead against mine. “Admit it.”

  “Never,” I murmured, raising my face for a kiss.

  “Nuh-uh,” he said. “No kisses until you admit it. You like me in a suit.”

  “Fine,” I conceded as he pulled me even closer. “I like you in a suit.”

  “Thought so,” he murmured, his mouth inches from mine. Then he was kissing me, and any objection I may have had toward his ties was long gone.

  We were interrupted by the sound of Nate’s cell phone. He groaned against my mouth before releasing me. “I should get that,” he said. “I’m expecting to hear from one of my coworkers.”

  As he rummaged through his jacket pockets for his phone, I continued my exploration of his apartment. It was very clean, and surprisingly put-together. His walls were not the institutional beige of most apartments of this caliber; instead they were painted in soft blues and grays. I wondered if he had painted them himself, and allowed myself a smile at the mental image of Nate at the home goods store planning his color scheme.

  I wandered into the bedroom. Nate had a large queen-sized bed, neatly made up with a blue and green plaid comforter—another surprise. While I occasionally made my bed while cleaning my room, I rarely did so on a regular basis. I pictured him getting ready for work, rushing around in an unbuttoned dress shirt, making some coffee and grabbing some toast to eat. Then taking the time to make his bed before he left. The thought made me smile.

  Then again, maybe he had only made the bed because he knew I would be here tonight.

  I walked back to the living room. Nate was sitting at his dining table, deep in conversation on his cell phone. He waved to me as I entered and rolled his eyes a little in apology.

  I walked over to his bookshelf, examining the titles. You can tell a lot about a person by the books they keep on their shelf. His was eclectic, a mix of classics and modern thrillers.

  My attention was caught by a leather-bound photo album on the bottom shelf. I picked it up and went over to the couch. Opening to the front of the book, I found photo after photo of Nate smiling up at me. He looked younger in most of them, and I suspected they were from his high school and college years. Pictures of Nate with an older couple (his parents?) in front of a Christmas tree, Nate dressed in a ski suit on a white-covered slope, Nate standing with a group of guys in shorts around a bonfire. A typical, middle-class life of a fairly happy and popular guy.

  As I flicked through the pages, I began to notice a trend. There were a lot of pictures here of Nate with women. A few looked like they could be friends, or even his sisters. But there were several shots of reoccurring females, arms wrapped p
ossessively around his waist.

  Hard for you to fall for someone, eh? I thought to myself. It sure didn’t look that way. From this photo album alone I could pick out at least five females who had almost definitely been Nate’s girlfriends. All within the last few years.

  It wasn’t that I was jealous. It really didn’t matter to me who he had seen, particularly not before I had even known him. But it did serve as a reminder—he’d been around this block before. However he might act like I was special or different, whatever he might say about a lack of girlfriends—all of that was possibly, probably even, an act. A line. Designed to make me feel special and get past my guard.

  As I carefully returned the album to its shelf, my own phone rang. Not wanting to disturb Nate’s work call, I headed back towards his room before I answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Miss Duncan? This is Jenner Collins.”

  It felt like my heart stopped for a second before it began pounding much more rapidly then it had been. “Hello, Mr. Collins,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady.

  “Please, call me Jenner,” he said easily.

  “Only if you call me Annie,” I said, in the most pleasant voice I could muster, all the while screaming on the inside for him to get on with it.

  “Well, Annie,” he said, “I’m calling to offer you the role of Jillian in my production of The Curtain and the Window.”

  My fingers immediately went numb and I was sure I was about to drop the phone. Was this real? Surely I was dreaming. Jenner Collins—Jenner Collins!—could not possibly be on the other end of my phone offering me a role in his play. It just wasn’t possible.

  “Annie?” he asked. “You still there?”

  “I…I…yes, I’m here,” I stammered, my throat dry. “Sorry…I…” Pull yourself together! I ordered. Don’t you dare blow this.

  “Sorry, Jenner,” I said, my voice stronger now. “This comes as a pretty big shock to me. I would be thrilled to play Jillian.”

  “Wonderful!” he said, sounding amused. I wondered if he had some inkling of the total freak-out occurring in my head. “I’m glad to hear it. Now, we’re on a very short rehearsal schedule, unfortunately. Some opportunities have come up that are going to push the production dates forward a bit. I’ll explain it all at rehearsal, but we’d like to start tomorrow. Five o’clock. Can you clear your schedule?”