“Ugh.” I made a face and put down my forkful of spaghetti.
“So, I guess Kevin’s lesson was that if you throw your stuff on the floor, you eventually get it freshly laundered?” Elle asked.
Christy looked up from buttering her roll. “Yeah, that is kind of a problem, isn’t it?”
“Hey,” I said, “let’s change the subject to something a little more appetizing than . . . well, that.” I straightened up and cleared my throat triumphantly. “I actually had a conversation with Scott at last night’s rehearsal.”
“Woohoo!” Christy reached across the table and high-fived me. “What happened?”
“I got lucky,” I said. “He was playing a song by The Police, and I recognized it and said something about it. Then we started talking about 80s bands. He was impressed that I knew as much as I did.”
“Wow,” Christy said. “Who would have known that your mother’s weird obsession with 80s music would pay off for you someday?”
“You should send her a thank you gift,” Elle said.
“I don’t think so,” I said. “She’d be so excited about me meeting a guy who’s an 80s music expert that she’d been jump in the car and drive all the way to Madison to meet him. Oh! That reminds me . . . do you guys want to come see the show on opening night this Friday?”
“I’m game.” Christy looked at Elle.
“Friday night? Sure.”
“Great. I think you’ll like the show,” I said to them. It’s pretty funny. And the performers are better than I thought they’d be, even though it’s just community theater. There’s this one girl in particular named Tori who’s just amazing.”
“So, what about Scott?” Christy asked eagerly. “Is there some sort of game plan? Should we go say something to him about you?”
“No,” I said firmly. “You’re not going there to play matchmaking games. You come, enjoy the show, and have a good time That is all.”
“We’ll get to see him though, right?” Christy asked.
“Oh, yeah. You’ll be able to see the band during the entire show, especially if you sit near stage left. Or right.” I frowned. “On the audience’s left, whatever that is.”
“I can’t wait to finally see him,” Elle said.
“Yeah . . .” I said with a dreamy smile. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,”
Christy put her palms onto the table. “Well, I don’t know about you ladies, but I need to be heading out. My one o’clock is all the way over in the Herman building.”
“Yeah, I need to be going too,” Elle said, gathering her stuff. “I have a test in literature.”
I picked up my tray and stood to let Elle out. “You guys go ahead without me. I’m gonna get a soda refill, and I’m going in the opposite direction anyway.”
“Okay, see you, Annie,” Elle said.
“And good luck tonight at rehearsal,” Christy sang.
I felt myself blush.
I was headed toward the cafeteria door with my soda when I saw Lizzie sitting at a table against the wall by herself, eating a sandwich as she was reading and highlighting some papers. She must have seen my out of the corner of her eye, because she glanced up, smiled, and waved.
And for a split second I considered walking over and joining her. After all, she was my roommate, and we’d never once even had a meal together. Aside from those tomato sandwiches we all ate in our room that first day. I could just pull up a chair, say hi, and ask her what she was reading.
But just as quickly as the thought came, I dismissed it. Instead I gave her a quick wave and increased my pace as I headed out the door. After all, she was busy studying and probably didn’t want to be bothered. And I had a class I needed to get to.
Seven
Step #5: Don’t Forget Your Girlfriends
You may be tempted to think that isolating yourself from your girlfriends is a better way to get his attention, but in fact the opposite is true. If a guy sees you hanging out with your girlfriends, you’ll become even more attractive to him. The sight of you laughing and having a wonderful time with others will be completely captivating to him, and he’ll know that you’re not only beautiful, but also a woman of depth who values her relationships.
****
On Friday night, the three of us drove to the theater together in Christy's car. Since I had to be at the theater an hour and a half before the show started, Christy and Elle were going to get dinner and hang out in the historic district until it was time for the show.
“Good luck!" Christy gave me a hug as we parted ways in front of the theater, then patted my back a few times in mid-hug, like she was checking for something. “Wait,” she said, stepping back. “Aren’t you wearing the Spanx?’
“No,” I said. “I decided that I like oxygen, and plenty of it.”
She looked disappointed for just a moment, then shrugged. “Well, that’s okay. You don’t need Spanx anyway. You look great, and I love the scarf.”
Elle had crocheted a red scarf for me that looked great with my black concert dress. “I love it too,” I said. “Thanks, Elle.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Okay,” Christy said. “Now go break a leg and get the guy!”
I grinned and waved as the two of them headed along the sidewalk together.
And if I’d thought about it, I would have been concerned. But at the time, the thought didn’t even occur to me.
****
Opening night went well. There was a decent-sized audience, and they were pretty rowdy and laughed a lot during Act One. I thought I even heard Christy’s laugh once or twice. Tori did a fantastic job on her solo, belting it out and strutting her stuff in the aisles. She was even better than she had been during rehearsals, almost as if having a live audience pulled her up to a whole new level.
When the show was over, a guy and girl in their twenties who were holding hands came over to where the band was sitting. The guy had dark curly hair and the girl was short and cute and wearing a green beret that matched her blouse.
“We loved the show. You guys sounded great,” the guy said.
“Yeah, I’m a music teacher, and it was a real treat to see a show with live music,” the girl said. “Nice job.”
I saw Christy and Elle heading along the side aisle then strategically stopping in a spot where they were close enough to get a good glimpse of Scott without seeming too obvious. I shut off the keyboard, put my score in my backpack, and caught up with them.
“What’d you think?”
“Oh, he’s super cute,” Christy said. “Even better than his Facebook picture.”
“No!” I blushed and gave her a playful whack on the arm. “I meant the show, you goof.”
She widened her eyes. “You mean there was a show?”
“It was really good,” Elle said. “I didn’t realize it was going to be funny. And that one girl was so good . . . you know the one with the dark hair who came out into the audience for that one song . . .”
“That’s Tori,” I said. “Isn’t she fantastic? She’s even been in a couple—”
“He’s coming!” Christy said in a loud whisper.
Before I had time to fully comprehend what she was talking about, Scott appeared next to Elle. “Hi,” he said to her shyly. “Did you enjoy the show?”
Elle smiled in that easy way of hers that makes her whole face light up. “It was great,” she said. “The band sounded fantastic. I loved that one song, that one right before intermission.”
He nodded. “‘Light of the World.’ Yeah, that one’s really fun. We get to jam on it.”
I was horrified as it dawned on me what was happening. Scott was hitting on Elle.
Well, duh. Of course he was. I felt like an idiot for not seeing this sooner. How could anyone not like Elle? And not only that, but it was such an obvious match. He was blond and perfect . . . she was blond and perfect. The two of them could have a movie made about them.
Curse that Veronica Versaci! She shou
ld have had a disclaimer in her stupid article saying, “Let him see you around your friends unless one of them is a natural blond with a great smile who is perfect at everything she does. I mean, what kind of stupid advice was that, anyway? If you’re trying to get a cute guy’s attention, why on earth would you show him a whole bunch of other girls that he could like instead of you?
I could see that Christy was having the same panic set in. “Yeah, Annie sounded great on those keyboards, didn’t she?” she asked, her eyes darting from me to where Scott was smiling at Elle.
“Yeah,” Scott said, giving me a quick glance, “she’s really good. So, have you been to any shows here at the theater before?” he asked Elle.
“No, I’ve never even been to Madison before.” I could tell that Elle torn between her natural desire to be friendly and her distress at the turn this was taking. “We just came out to see Annie.”
“Yeah, we always make sure we see Annie when she performs,” Christy said a bit too quickly. “Because she’s so talented. Plus, she’s a really great friend. You know, she’s loyal, fun to be around . . .”
I turned and gave her a look.
“Yeah, she’s great to work with,” Scott said. “My name’s Scott, by the way.” He held out his hand.
“Hi Scott. I’m Elle,” she said. And this is Christy,” she said with a nod in her direction.
“And of course . . . we all know Annie!” Christy said, opening both hands in my direction. “Who we all came to see tonight!”
I desperately wished that she would shut up.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Scott,” Elle said. “We need to head back to Orchard City.”
“Do all three of you go to school there?” he asked.
We all nodded.
Oh please, please, please don’t ask her for her number, or her dorm room, or anything, or else I might just break down and start sobbing right here on the spot.
“Bye!” Elle flipped her fingers in a little wave as she turned and walked quickly along the center aisle toward the entrance of the theater. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing and trying to escape before Scott had a chance to ask. “See you tomorrow,” I said weakly before Christy and I followed her.
The three of us were silent as Christy backed the car out and started heading along Main Street.
“I’m so sorry, Annie,” Elle said finally. “I wasn’t . . . I mean, I didn’t . . . I’m certainly not going to . . .”
She looked so sad and embarrassed that I felt bad for her. “Oh, Elle, don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat. The whole week had been a mess.
“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Christy said, but even she didn’t sound very optimistic. “It’s not over yet. You’ve got two more shows with him, right?”
“I think it’s over,” I mumbled.
“Look,” Elle said, “if he asks about me—which I don’t think he will, but if he does—tell him I already have a boyfriend.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
But what Elle didn’t realize was that it made no difference. It didn’t matter whether the two of them never saw each other again, or if they ran off to Paris together. What had happened tonight was just proof that someone like Scott would never, ever be remotely interested in someone like me. I had been a total fool thinking that reading some Internet article would make any difference. I could read volumes of books and take seminars on how to get a guy, and it still wouldn’t change anything.
Scott Stewart was out of my league, and always would be out of my league, and that was all there was to it.
****
I was surprised to find Lizzie sitting on her bed reading a book when I got back to my room that night. I was also not very pleased, as I had been planning to throw myself on the bed and sob the second I walked through the door.
“Hey,” I said, hoping my disappointment wasn’t obvious. “Aren’t you going home this weekend?”
She looked up and shook her head. “No, one of the student workers at the library asked me if I could cover their shift tomorrow afternoon, and I needed the extra hours, so I told them I would. It’s kind of nice to be here on a weekend. I get tired of making the drive every week.”
“Yeah, I bet,” I said absently, taking off my black dress and hose and throwing them over my desk chair. Just my rotten luck. I was really, really in the mood to be alone.
“You’re all dressed up,” she said. “Where’ve you been?”
“I played for a musical in Madison,” I said, sighing, and pulling on some pajamas, then flopping down on my bed. I felt completely drained of energy. “It’s running all weekend.”
“Oh, that sounds fun,” Lizzie said. “So how did it go?”
Awful, I thought. My dreams are crushed, and I feel embarrassed and stupid, and worse than that, because of me my friends feel crummy now too. I just want to go to sleep for a long, long time, forget I ever heard about this stupid show, and never go back to the theater or see Scott Stewart—or for that matter, any other cute guy—ever again, because everything feels totally hopeless.
“It went really well,” I said without looking at her, then headed along the hall to the bathroom to wash up before going to bed.
Eight
I slept late the next morning, and thankfully by then Lizzie’s bed was made and the room was empty.
My unofficial plan was to lay there staring at the ceiling until it was time to go to the matinee show, but after a while I started to get hungry, so I got up and poured myself some milk and cracked open a pack of strawberry Pop-tarts.
I felt like such a failure I realized as I sat at my desk chewing. I had taken on a goal—a project of sorts—and had failed miserably before the week was even over. And that bothered me almost as much as the fact that I obviously wasn’t going to be riding off into the sunset with Scott Stewart the next day.
But wasn’t it better to know I had tried, at least? Shouldn’t I at least have been pleased with myself for trying new challenges, expanding my horizons?
Instead of thinking of it as a ‘failure,’ shouldn’t I maybe have thought of it as a valuable learning experience?
Maybe.
But right then, that didn’t make me feel much better.
****
The one nice thing about feeling like I’d failed was that being at the theater no longer stressed me out. Since I no longer harbored any illusions of getting him to fall for me, I had no reason to analyze what I could or should be saying or not saying, and I could just do my job. I said a pleasant hello to everybody when I arrived, got my score set up, and waited.
But just because I wasn’t stressed out didn’t mean I was no longer sad, and seeing Scott looking especially awesome dressed in his concert black still hurt. I decided to take a little walk around the theater to kill time before the show started, rather than submit myself to unnecessary torture.
I went backstage, past the green room—which wasn’t actually green—past an area with tons of costumes hanging from racks, then out into the hallway, where there was a sign for a unisex bathroom. I pushed the door open, more for something to do than because I had to use the facilities.
There was a full-length mirror adjacent to the sinks, and I couldn’t help but take a look at myself while I was there. I was mildly started at what I saw.
I actually looked pretty nice.
Elle’s red scarf added some much-needed color to my black dress, the makeup made my eyes more prominent and gave me an overall more . . . lively, energetic look. I smiled into the mirror and saw that, while I was no raving beauty, my face had a kind, unpretentious quality that was attractive in its own right. And instead of seeing drab, boring hair, I saw what a nice chestnut color it really was.
I stood a little taller and continued smiling into the mirror. The Annie I had known all these years always looked like she was hiding, like she was afraid to be noticed. But this Annie that I saw smiling back
at me in the mirror was a pleasant, confident Annie who didn’t look like she was avoiding everybody.
I liked this Annie.
So, Scott was never going to fall madly in love with me. But that was okay. It was sad, it was disappointing, but it was okay. After tomorrow, I would probably never see him again. But I would be living with myself every day for a long time.
I was about to turn to go when I heard a sound from one of the stalls behind me. First, I thought it was the sound of someone coughing, but then I recognized that awful sound of someone getting sick.
Oh no . . . was someone in the cast sick? If so, what would they do? I never heard anyone talk about understudies. Or do actors just perform no matter how they feel—you know, ‘the show must go on’ and all that?
I heard a second retching heave.
Well, whoever it was, and however it was going to affect the show, it didn’t seem right to walk out on them and leave them completely alone. Who knew how sick this person was? I washed my hands, then looked in the mirror above the sink pretending to fluff my hair up a little bit. I was sure the person didn’t want to emerge from their vomiting session to be greeted by someone they barely knew staring at them.
When I heard the stall door unlatch I glanced over my shoulder and who did I see walking out but . . .
Tori.
We were in big trouble if Tori was too sick to perform tonight.
“Are you alright?” I asked her. Stupid question, I know, but I know how miserable I’ve felt when I had to heave-ho repeatedly in my own bathroom at home. I could only imagine how much worse the experience must be to have to do it in a public restroom stall with no bed to crawl into when you’re finally finished.
She looked startled, as if she hadn’t realized that anyone else was there. “Oh, I’m fine,” she said dismissively.
“Are you sure?” I asked Tori. “You should probably go home if you’re that sick. I’m sure they can work around you somehow.” I smiled. “I’m sure they’d much rather you bow out than risk having you throw up onstage in the middle of the show, right?”
Out of My League (Madison Musicians Book 2) Page 6
