How Not to Make a Wish

by Mindy Klasky

  I handed back his jacket reluctantly and let myself out of the truck, speed-walking back toward the Landmark. As it turned out, my cell phone rang when I was halfway to the theater’s front door. I fished it out of my pocket, stopping Ethel Merman in midwail. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Kira.”

  Whoops. That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound like a loving father, just calling to see how his one and only daughter was doing. I pasted on a smile, hoping it would carry over to my voice. “What’s up?” And then, just to cut short whatever tirade I was owed, I said, “I’ve only got a minute before I have to head back into rehearsal.”

  Dad sounded like he’d been chewing on lemon peel; I could practically see his lips pucker. “I tried to call you at home earlier, but Maddy said you’d already left for the day.”

  Maddy. So he’d called while Drew and I…And I hadn’t even heard the phone ring. “Yep,” I said hurriedly. “I got an early start this morning.” I tried to sound bright and cheerful. Like I wasn’t hiding anything. Like I didn’t have anything to hide. Like my housemate hadn’t needed to lie to protect me from my father’s inquiries.

  “I’m a little surprised that you were able to wake up on time today.”

  Eww. What exactly did my father know? And how did he know it? I quickly settled on a perplexed “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Mrs. Swenson called me at the office this morning, first thing.”

  “Oh! That’s all!” I was so relieved that I almost fell against the Landmark’s heavy glass doors. I pushed through them, grateful that I was not going to have to discuss my sex life with my father. Sure, I’d been worried about Maddy and Jules overhearing Drew and me last night, but I was certain that our half-deaf downstairs neighbor didn’t know what had happened in the bed above her. She or her husband. I could still hear Mr. Swenson muttering, though, as he locked his front door the night before.

  “That’s all? She was very upset, Kira.”

  Before I could come up with a good response, Drew slipped out of the shadows. He must have been waiting for me in the lobby, because he immediately sidled up behind me, slipping his hands around my waist. I leaned back into him as he touched his lips to my neck, nuzzling the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. I pulled away and turned to face Drew, holding a finger across my lips to keep him quiet as I said into the phone, “I’m sorry that we woke her up last night, Dad.”

  Drew pointed at himself, a goofy grin spreading across his face. I nodded as Dad said, “Having Chinese food delivered late at night is ‘waking her up.’ She made it sound like you all were having a party. She said that people were coming and going at all hours of the night, that car lights were shining in their bedroom window. People were screaming out on the sidewalk.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Dad.” My reply might have been more convincing if Drew hadn’t taken the opportunity to wrap his fingers in my hair, to pull me close enough that I could feel his breath on my cheek. I hoped Dad couldn’t hear him breathing.

  “What was it like, then, Kira? What will the other neighbors say, when I call them?”

  Wow. Mrs. Swenson must have really read him the Riot Act. Dad was always worried about his tenants, about our being good neighbors to the Swensons, but I hadn’t been lectured like this since the first year that Maddy, Jules, and I moved in and decided to host a housewarming kegger.

  Drew moved around me, his fingers cupping my Teel-created bust, teasing at the bra straps beneath my now-hated sweatshirt. It took all of my self-control not to giggle into my cell phone. I forced myself to put up a hand in the universal sign for stop. Drew looked like a berated puppy, but he took a single reluctant step backward.

  “It was just one person who came by, Dad. His name is Drew. He’s in the show at the Landmark. He’s playing Juliet.”

  “Romeo,” my father said.

  I decided that this might not be the best time to clarify Bill Pomeroy’s vision of gender relations. Besides, Drew was splaying his hand across his chest, silently asking if I was talking about him, really talking about him. “Dad,” I said, putting enough emphasis on the name that my sex-starved boyfriend actually looked abashed. “I have to get back into rehearsal now. I promise we’ll be quieter from now on.”

  “No more late-night parties?”

  Since we hadn’t had one in years, it was easy to agree. “No more late-night parties.”

  He sighed. “I know that you don’t mean anything by it, Kira. It’s just that things are very busy here at the office these days. Those profits per partners don’t generate themselves, and if I lose half an hour listening to Susan Swenson tell me about how my daughter and her crazy friends were running around at all hours of the day and night…”

  Profits per partner. We were back on solid father-daughter ground. “I’m sorry, Dad.” I braced myself for the rest of the paternal speech, for the reminder about the LSAT, about the importance of my having options in life.

  Instead, my father surprised me. “Kira….” He trailed off, though. I had never heard my father sound so uncertain. Unsure.

  “What?” I said, honest concern leading me to push Drew off to arm’s length, to half turn away and cover up my free ear, the better to concentrate.

  “When I talked to Maddy this morning, she said that she’s worried about you. She said that you’ve…changed.”

  Maddy. That little traitor! I forced my voice to be firm. “You know how Maddy is, Dad. She’s always trying to control everyone. Always trying to make the world work exactly the way she thinks it should.” I didn’t wait for him to call me on the lie, to tell me that Maddy wasn’t that way at all. “I have got to go, Dad. They’re calling me from the rehearsal room. Goodbye.” I snapped the phone off, almost before he could say his own, less angry goodbye.

  Drew’s arms were waiting before I had shoved the phone back into my pocket. It felt good to let him fold me into his embrace. I leaned my cheek against his chest, listened to his heart beating calmly, steadily. “Problems with the old man?” he asked.

  I sighed and stepped back. “Nothing permanent.” I glanced toward the door of the rehearsal room, already feeling a little guilty for having lied. “What is going on in there?”

  Drew grinned and said, “Bill didn’t even have a chance to tell us the best part about the subtitles before McRae took off.”

  “Supertitles,” I corrected automatically, fighting a sinking feeling. “What’s the best part?”

  Drew grinned. “They’re not just going to be, like, translations. They’re going to be hip-hop. You know. Like rap! Dude!”

  I shuddered, imagining John’s reaction once he heard that. But John’s reaction didn’t matter. John’s job was to make the technology possible, to get the slides projected onto the set. The only thing that mattered was that we were doing something new. Something different. Something that would make this production of Romeo and Juliet famous forever.

  At least that’s what I told myself, as Drew’s distracting kiss took on a driving, rhythmic hip-hop beat of its own.

  CHAPTER 13

  AFTER REHEARSAL, DREW DROVE ME HOME. PERFORMING perfectly in the role of a solicitous gentleman, he insisted on dropping me off at the front door before trolling for a parking spot. I kissed him and hopped out of the car, ostensibly properly grateful to be spared the walk through the February cold.

  As soon as the car was out of sight, though, I sprinted up the stairs to the apartment. A cautious “hello?” confirmed that neither Maddy nor Jules was around. I dashed into my bedroom and threw open my closet door. Digging out a handful of Hefty bags from my backpack, I immediately began collecting my old, oversize wardrobe.

  In another life, I would have acted methodically, carefully stripping garments from hangers and folding them away for posterity. Now, though, I tore through the closet, desperate to complete my transformation before Drew came upstairs.

  What had I been thinking? Why had I continued wearing my baggy clothes for so long? (Read: Why had I all
owed base comfort and a crazy rehearsal schedule to triumph over even the faintest hint of a fashionable wardrobe?) No wonder Stephanie had made her embarrassing mistake—I deserved it, for being such a slob.

  A frantic five minutes later, I’d accomplished my goal. I was astonished to see how many bags I’d filled; I needed to shove them into the back of my closet. Eating myself into emotional oblivion had cost me an arm and a leg—in new clothes at least, and that wasn’t even factoring in the cost of all that food that I’d consumed. I could only hope that someone at Goodwill would enjoy the wardrobe I was leaving behind forever.

  My final act of purification involved stripping off the sweats I’d worn to rehearsal that day. I started to add them to one of the Hefty bags, but then decided that I should keep this one set. Treasure them. Always remember the way I’d let TEWSBU ruin my life, the way that I’d eaten myself into misery and despair (not to mention into a size 2X sweatshirt).

  I shrugged into a body-skimming burgundy sweater that I hadn’t worn for more than a year, then pulled on a pair of narrow-wale black slacks, as soft as velvet. Although I had thought the sweater would be far too tight, it actually managed to accommodate my new curves. I just looked very…healthy. I was running a quick brush through my unruly curls when there was a knock at the door.

  “You poor thing!” I exclaimed as I let Drew in. I hoped that the Swensons hadn’t noticed that I’d left the foyer door ajar for him to enter the building.

  He collapsed on my bed, feigning exhaustion, like a man who had just hiked miles through a blizzard. “I decided it might be easier just to park in St. Paul.”

  “I am so sorry! It’s not usually that bad around here.” Secretly, though, I was grateful that I’d had time to complete my closet exorcism. I silently vowed to supplement my wardrobe the next day, no matter what theatrical surprises Bill released upon us. “If I’d realized you were going to have to park so far away, I would have suggested going to dinner before we came back here.”

  “I’m not moving from that parking space until morning,” Drew pouted. Before I could protest, he pulled me down beside him. “Even if it means that we starve to death. At least then we’ll die together.”

  I did my best to reward him for his romantic words with a kiss. I even tried not to pout that he didn’t admire my new clothes before he stripped them off me, garment by tantalizing garment. I sent a mental wave of thanks to Teel anyway, wherever he was now.

  Drew seemed remarkably grateful for my genie’s work as well. Not that he was inclined to be a particularly good judge of anything where I was concerned. Drew was completely, utterly smitten, entirely devoted to loving me, to pleasing me.

  And that was such a wonderful change that I almost regretted that I would never see my genie again. Almost, but not quite. As Drew started to nuzzle the incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves below my right ear, an electric jangle built inside my body. This time, though, the tingling had nothing to do with magic. I gave myself over to the pleasure, forgetting all worldly concerns further than my bedroom door.

  Of course, pleasure couldn’t last forever. I eventually had to acknowledge that my stomach was growling with hunger. I eventually had to admit that I’d heard one of my housemates come in. I eventually had to sit up, to fumble in the dim light for the clothes Drew had strewn about with such reckless abandon.

  “Yum,” he said, reaching toward me after I slid up the side zip on my slacks.

  I laughed and leaned down to kiss him on the nose. “As if you could do anything about it right now.”

  He looked down, as forlorn as a little boy who had lost his toy ray-gun. “I can try.”

  “I’ll see what I can whip up in the kitchen, by way of a restorative.” He started to push himself up from the bed, but I settled my palms against his chest. The heat from his body radiated into my hands. “Just relax,” I said.

  “But—”

  “You’ve had a long day,” I laughed. He collapsed onto my pillow with a dramatic sigh.

  Jules was waiting for me in the living room, one leg flung casually over the arm of the sofa as she chewed the last bite of whatever healthful salad she’d thrown together for her dinner. “So,” she said as I slunk in from the hallway. “You were in there. How was Loverboy last night?”

  “Shh!” I glanced down the short hallway to make sure I’d closed my bedroom door behind me.

  “What?” And then comprehension dawned. “He’s here? Now?”

  I nodded, unable to keep my happiness from spreading across my face in a silly schoolgirl smile. “I’m just getting us something to eat.”

  Jules leaped up and followed me into the kitchen. Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, I opened up the freezer. The possibilities weren’t promising. There was a single Ziploc bag holding something that might have been a chicken breast, an Ice Age ago. I dug out the remnant of a loaf of bread, three or four slices with enough ice crystals to conduct a science experiment on cryogenics. Giving up my exploration of the Arctic, I tugged open the refrigerator door. I had a block of cheddar in the deli drawer. A couple of apples rolled around in the fruit bin. I shrugged. That would have to do.

  When I stepped away with my pitiful harvest, I saw that Jules was staring at me. I expected a look of sly conspiracy, a “you go, girl” celebration of my newfound romance. I could have lived with an expression of shocked disapproval—after all, things had moved forward rather quickly with Drew. But I was utterly astonished to see the naked concern written across her features.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I guess I haven’t seen you in a while.” She gestured at my sweater and my velvet-soft trousers. “When did you get so skinny?”

  I laughed. Jules’s question was the perfect antidote to Stephanie’s mistake that afternoon. Still, I knew that I couldn’t tell her the truth, and I wasn’t willing to ruin the evening by choking over genie-related words that would stick in my throat. I shrugged. “I’ve been working on it for a while,” I said.

  “And what are you wearing? A WonderBra?” I blushed. “Jules!”

  She glanced at the food I’d put on the counter. “That’s not enough for dinner.”

  I was relieved that she’d moved off the topic of my Teel-enhanced figure so quickly. “We’ll be fine,” I said airily. “You know how life is during rehearsals. No time to get to the grocery store.”

  Jules turned to the pantry, digging around to excavate her own box of whole wheat crackers. “At least take some of these.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Kira, you have to eat!”

  Wow. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said that to me. “Okay,” I said. I didn’t want to turn this conversation into World War III. I should have planned better, should have gone shopping, even though the Landmark was consuming my every waking—and now, sleeping—moment. “I’ll buy a replacement box the next time I’m at the store.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I could see that she wanted to say something else. She kept looking at the cinched-in waist of my pants, at the swell of my sweater.

  “Jules, I’m fine. I’ve just dropped a couple of pounds. You know that I had plenty to lose, after…Well…”

  “Of course,” she said. But I saw her eyes dart toward the whiteboard, as if she were seeking out Maddy’s thoughts on the matter. Bis Montag was written there. I guessed that meant we’d see Maddy on Monday.

  “Kira?” Drew’s voice called down the hallway. I looked up to see him poking his head out of my room. He kept his body hidden behind the door frame; he obviously hadn’t bothered to get dressed. His hair was tousled, and there was no possible way to pretend to Jules that we had not just been rolling around on my mattress. My heart clenched at the sight of him; he was adorable in an innocent, lighthearted way.

  “Just a second!” I called, looking at Jules with just a hint of desperation.

  “Go,” she said. But she turned back to the pantry, seeking out a pair of chocolate pudd
ing cups, the one sweet treat that she splurged on. “But take some dessert, too.”

  “Thanks,” I said. And I tried to pretend that the living room was empty as Drew and I settled into our idyllic bedside picnic.

  We quickly found a steady routine. Drew and I continued to hang out mostly at my place. He had a trio of frat-boy housemates who grated on my nerves with their constant high fives, beer-guzzling competitions, and comments that would have made a seasoned Hooters patron blush. Besides, their shared bathroom should have been condemned by the health department.

  Drew and I barely made it to rehearsal on time every morning. Drew tagged along even when he didn’t have to be there. I couldn’t imagine voluntarily sitting through some of the scenes, listening to the same lines over and over and over again. Drew, though, insisted that he wanted nothing more than to sit by my side. I tried not to preen in public.

  In the evenings, we took a break from Shakespeare. We caught up on watching all the movies that had been nominated for that year’s Oscars, pretending to evaluate the performances until we let ourselves get distracted by reenacting the better romantic scenes. We introduced each other to our favorite restaurants. Once, we tried to walk all the way around Lake of the Isles, but we were defeated by incomplete snow removal and a bitter winter wind.

  Every night, we collapsed into bed together. Simple cuddling wasn’t part of Drew’s exuberant expression of his boundless love; he was more an all or nothing sort of guy. And under Teel’s spell, Drew wasn’t about to settle for “nothing.”

  The play steadily progressed. A team of experts (Read: Musicians who were still trying to sign with a major studio) had been hired to complete the first-ever translation of Romeo and Juliet into hip-hop slang; we were supposed to get the words back by the first Monday in March, so that we’d have plenty of time to make the slides.

  One of the metal frames for the manhole covers arrived, and it was huge—heavy and gritty-looking and capable of withstanding any assault with iron-pipe swords. The actors were gradually kitted out in their full costumes—sleek, rubberized things that were glued together instead of stitched. The costumes required copious amounts of baby powder to get on, and they had an unfortunate tendency to split along their seams. Any passing cops would be certain that we were holding huffing parties in the back room as we tried to seal the things up with aromatic glue day after day.