by A. C. Dillon
First stop: the zoo. Crowded with parents and small children, Autumn still found herself amused by the notion of an animal collection tucked inside of a city brimming with concrete, cars and computer-driven signage. The penguins stole her heart, but it was the enchanted forest constructed within the Children's Zoo that held her camera lens captive.
Keeping with the youthful spirit, they skipped along a pathway to the infamous antique Carousel. Three rides—and several wars over who was to ride which horse—later, they collapsed onto the grass nearby, basking in the sun as the calliope music lingered in the background. Few words were exchanged, but there was no need. Light touches, minimal contact and telling glances communicated all there was to say.
Hand in hand, they headed north, lingering along The Mall as an enthusiastic group on rollerblades shot by in a flurry of colour. Stopping to take the occasional photo, their conversation drifted between flights of pop culture fancy and debating where to look for their own apartment back home (if her parents didn't lock her away).
"Living closer to campus means more sleep," Andrew argued, waving her closer to the wall of trees for a photo.
Obliging him with a reluctant smile, she immediately shook her head. "Downtown is great for the culture, but it's too loud. I'd rather be tucked away from the noise. Plus, it'll be cheaper to live further east or west."
"But sleep," Andrew insisted as she giggled. "I like sleep."
"So do I, but how much sleep do you expect to get living near several major hospitals and a public square housing concerts year-round?"
Andrew halted in his tracks, mulling her argument. After a long minute, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Ha. Gotcha, Daniels.
"Can we at least be close to a subway line?" he begged.
With a coy grin, she skipped ahead of him. "I could be persuaded."
A chase gave way, Autumn scrambling through the heavy foot traffic to evade her boyfriend's pursuit. In the end, all of her wiles could not erase the biological realities: her legs were significantly shorter, and Andrew had been on the track team in grades seven through nine. She laughed and flailed as he seized her around the waist, spinning her around in circles.
"I give, I give!" she squealed, playfully punching at his arms.
"What'll you give me?" Andrew murmured, setting her down.
If only all questions were so easy. "Everything."
His lips found hers anew, not as much a kiss as a caress. A memorizing of the feel of her mouth, a taste drawn from a flick of his tongue.
"I like that answer."
West called to them, drawing them into the Shakespeare garden. Filled with the flora of the Bard's plays and peppered with bronze plaques bearing quotes from his work, Autumn found herself spinning in circles. She wanted to capture it all, carry it with her for years to come. The genius of the concept lay in its simplicity, the appeal universal. Love him or hate him, everyone knew Shakespeare.
"It's gorgeous," she mused aloud, snapping another photo of the landscape.
"Look over there. Random staircase."
Autumn smirked. "I don't think there's anything random in this park. Let's check out the view."
Jogging up the staggered steps, Autumn glanced around, inhaling the scent of what she believed were pansies. Andrew's arm encircled her waist as she studied the four-acre expanse surrounding them.
"Thank you. This is the perfect first day of vacation."
"You don't have to thank me. It was your idea as much as it was mine."
Leaning into him, she found herself unable to resist their favourite game. "The zombies arrive while we're in Central Park. What's the plan?"
"Very tricky. Plenty of hiding places, plenty of people to infect," Andrew replied. "That stake over there supporting that tree—weapon of the moment. We're best to evade them and head for the south end of the park. Escape the city as quickly as possible."
"Supplies?"
"Tons of places to raid. We could dart in and out of the park along the west perimeter. Tourist trap backpacks from Times Square to carry them." He turned to face her. "See, this is why I love you."
"Zombies?"
"No, it's what they represent: we click. We laugh at the same things. We value trust and loyalty in the people around us."
There was something in the air: a kinetic energy driving her closer still to him. Her heart began to skip and start, her senses ignited by an invisible spark.
"When I first saw you, I knew you were special. It wasn't just your beauty; it was your personality. You were this contradiction: embarrassed by Veronica turning you into a spectacle, but also surprised that someone cared enough to make a grand gesture for your birthday. I could see that the world wasn't a good place for you, either. I wanted to make it better."
"You did make it better," she assured him. "You do. I didn't think I could ever let anyone be close to me, but you made me believe in love again."
"And you helped me remember what it was like to find beauty in the little things. To genuinely laugh. To breathe." He absently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her hair, tracing her jawline. "I never want to forget how."
His hand slid inside the camera bag draped over his shoulder, fumbling briefly within before extracting a small black box. Autumn gasped as the whole became more than its summed parts. A romantic walk through a park. The lavish suite he'd booked behind her back for their trip. His almost cavalier approach to asking her parents about moving in together. Her father's promise to render a decision after the trip.
Her voice was scarcely a squeak. "Andrew?"
"You offered me everything earlier today. I already have everything. I have you. Let me give you everything in return." Flipping open the ring box, he reached for her hand. "Autumn Brody, will you marry me?"
She couldn't help it: she felt tears sliding down her cheeks. "Yes," she told him as he plucked a 2-carat diamond solitaire from the box and slid it onto her finger. "Definitely yes."
"Definitely?" he teased gently.
"Shut up and kiss me before the zombies crash our engagement."
Throwing her arms around his neck, she yanked Andrew in for a kiss that turned into ten that turned into a couple clearing their throats and gesturing to their toddler in tow. Laughing to themselves, they slipped out of the garden, their quest to walk the span of the park in a single day abandoned.
After all, they would have their whole lives to see the rest of Central Park. There would never be another marriage proposal. Some things simply demanded celebration.
* * *
As much as it physically pained her not to trumpet her engagement to the universe at large, Autumn forced herself to rein it in for the remainder of the evening. Veronica deserved to hear the news in person, which meant holding off until after that night's performance of In the Garden. After being rewarded with the full-body worship she'd been promised after graduation, Autumn had crawled into a hotel robe and called her mother to relay the news.
As she'd figured, it was no surprise to her parents. Andrew had discussed his intentions with them several weeks prior. "Not to ask permission," her mother quickly assured her. "But to stress that he was committed to you for life."
Lowering her voice so as to be drowned out by Andrew's shower, she asked, "Are we crazy, Mom?"
"You know, people are going to talk. They might just think that it's not going to last. But you're not a typical teenager. You've lived through things many adults haven't. Andrew's done the same. And you know, when you've met the right person, you feel it. Your dad and I got together pretty young. Who are we to judge?"
"Thank you," Autumn replied softly. "I love you, Mom."
"Love you too, baby. Enjoy your trip and tell Veronica to break a leg, as morbid as that expression is."
Hanging up with a smile, she studied her left hand, watching the diamond's sparkle dancing in the light. I know. I've always known.
Room service supplied dinner for the evening, the afternoon's celebration cutting deep into their
prep time for Veronica's show. With a little encouragement from Andrew, she'd opted for a sky-blue silk dress that clung to her curves and low wedge heels to give her height a delicate boost towards his seven-inch advantage. He'd gone for a black dress shirt and grey slacks, refusing to bring the blazer on the grounds of god-awful heat wave but surrendering on the tie.
"Not even engaged for three hours and you're already dressing me like a wife. You're a natural," Andrew teased as they slipped into their cab.
"What can I say? We're the stuff of Taylor Swift fantasy." Dashing on her lip gloss in the cab, Autumn giggled at Andrew's eye roll.
"Anything but Swifty. That's just cruel," Andrew protested.
Planting a glossy kiss on his cheek, she smirked. “Cruel would have been making you wear the leather jacket.”
The infamous black leather jacket. She'd learned six months into their relationship—on Andrew’s nineteenth birthday—that it had belonged to his father. When he wore it, Andrew felt like he was still around to guide him through the idiocy teenagers excel at. It made her love its soft creases and glitchy zipper all the more. It had also lent an extra layer of sentiment to their shared love of "Leather Jacket" by Arkells—proof that there really was a song for everything.
“I would, you know.” Autumn startled at the sound of his voice. “If you really wanted me to, I’d wear it in this weather. I’d pass out, obviously, but I’d extract my revenge with some sort of uncomfortable lingerie,” he added playfully.
Her disbelief dripped from her response. “You wouldn’t.”
His hand squeezed her newly bejeweled one. “I would. But I know you wouldn’t ask me to wear leather during a heat wave.”
“Oh? You think you have me all figured out, then?”
“Not quite,” Andrew admitted with a smile. “But I have plenty of time, according to that ring.”
“Not if this heat doesn’t kill us first,” Autumn grumbled, cursing the broken air conditioning in the taxi.
The trip to the theatre was mercifully quick, despite the city's reputation for hellish traffic. With a knot in her stomach, Autumn handed over their tickets and accepted the program, fanning her flushed face with it. It didn't matter that she believed in Veronica's talents. It was still nerve-wracking to watch her perform. Autumn understood how easily things could go wrong on stage from her years of choir; having to perform several songs and act and dance seemed horrifying to her. Too many variables coming to bear on one single person in an instant.
In the Garden had drawn significant attention from the theatre world in its Off-Broadway launch, and with good reason. Written years ago by beloved lyricist and composer Samuel Schaztman, it had, for unknown reasons, remained unstaged, aside from a single performance in Philadelphia and three school productions. From what Veronica had explained, an anonymous benefactor had come forward and offered to finance the show, simply out of his own interest in seeing it have a proper run. Schatzman had finally relented, much to the delight of theatre junkies.
Autumn had chosen to remain oblivious to the music and key plot points, only allowing Veronica to give a summary of the musical. Her synopsis: a feminist spin and satire of infamous Biblical stories. Her role was that of a peasant girl, branded a sinner by society but beloved by a man who seemed to be a play on Abel, had he not been slain by his brother. It was a bold production, challenging the understanding of Christian audiences but ultimately coming to a place of embracing the message of a higher, loving force.
Flipping through the book at her seat, she nudged Andrew gently. "She's not in it until the end of Act I, it seems."
"Oh really? But she's getting so much attention for this role."
"It happens in shows with strong supporting characters. She's not the lead, but her character evokes affection from the audience, so the role is elevated. The lead, however, is a stage legend." She tapped her photo. "Camilla Kinsey is amazing. She's done everything from Chicago to Cabaret to freaking Rent when she was just starting out."
"Isn't Veronica's roomie in Chicago?"
"Uh-huh. V says he told her the producers were so pissed with her for quitting that show until she told them it was In the Garden that she was bailing for. That was when they became jealous."
The house lights dimmed and Autumn grinned. It was only the eighteenth performance of the show and the enthusiasm in the audience was palpable. By the time the opening number had reached its rousing conclusion, the applause was deafening.
Veronica's role emerged in the penultimate number of Act I and it took every bit of willpower not to hoot and holler wildly at the sight of her friend. Clad in what Veronica described as Tinker Bell Couture, she boldly made her way on stage and immediately earned laughter with her double entendres and coy expressions intentionally aimed at shattering the fourth wall. She was the audience's tour guide into the world after Eve's exceptionally bold choice to defy the patriarchy.
Intermission came and went, Autumn and Andrew discussing the political parallels between the show and current society with glee. As Veronica had promised, it employed subtle satire and parody to turn Biblical attitudes towards women on their head. And yet, it stopped shy of demeaning faith and religion. The only message seemed to be one of the conflict between the overarching message of Christianity and its actual application by the flawed human beings speaking on its behalf.
Act II was far more focused on the younger generations, and with it came Veronica's big number, "I'm Not Your Garden". A scathing condemnation of the men in her society, she pleaded for compassion, for a return to the true Garden of Eden in their hearts. "A place where love rules over all/A place where women rise, not fall..." Her soaring soprano earned a deafening applause that quickly turned to gasps of horror as her character threw herself in front of a knife aimed at her lover's heart in the next sequence. Collapsing into his arms, a bloody palm stained the Tree of Life at the heart of the set as it slid along its leaves, reaching in vain.
It was a stunning show, one with so many layers to it. No wonder theatre aficionados had been begging for it to be launched. In a Broadway where The Book Of Mormon was nestled alongside perennial favourites like Cabaret, the timing was perfect. Audiences were open to its message in a way that they perhaps wouldn't have been when Schatzman wrote it.
After the show, Veronica had instructed them to speak to the floor manager, who would escort them backstage. Following her instructions to the letter, Andrew and Autumn stood in a narrow corridor along with a scattering of other friends and family.
"Do we tell her?" Andrew whispered, gesturing to her hand.
Autumn shook her head. "Let's see how long it takes her to notice. It'll be fun. You didn't tell her in advance, did you?"
Andrew blushed. "Just your parents, I promise. There she is!"
"My beautiful, wonderful friends!" Veronica cheered, rushing towards them with a grin. "Well? What did you think? Be honest. I get my ego stroked every day and I'm developing a heat rash."
Autumn giggled, embracing her quickly. "Sorry, babe. I'm going to be stroking it some more. You were amazing! We loved it. Definitely a show that deserves repeat viewing to fully appreciate its nuances."
"My, my, that's the stamina a woman needs!" Veronica teased, reaching out to hug Andrew. "And you? Care to stroke it all night long?"
Playing along, he purred at her touch. "Hell yeah! At Casteel, we strive for greatness. I might just stroke your ego straight through the morning."
Taking a step back, Veronica's eyes misted over. "I love you guys. Seriously, thank you for flying out, for coming to see me. It's so nice to have familiar faces around. Shall we go to my dressing room? I'd like to lose this translucent gown pretending to be a costume."
On their way back to her personal room, Veronica paused here and there, introducing stage crew members, puppeteers (playing the various sundry of animals in the production) and her co-stars. Of particular interest to Autumn was Connor Brennan, another legend of the stage who portrayed Adam in the musical. W
ith a gentle baritone, he greeted them as if they were old friends, welcoming them to the city and urging them to return for a second performance. Zachary Parsons, the subject of the TMZ drama, was nowhere to be found.
"He practically runs out to the stage door, "Veronica explained, rolling her eyes. "If there's anyone here who’s legit looking for a nightly stroking, it's him."
Autumn was disgusted. "He does know that most of his fans are jailbait, right?"
"Like he cares," Veronica grumbled. "Great actor, lousy human. Can't win them all. But here, my pretties, is my magic little room in the heart of the O'Rourke. Voila!"
With a flourish, she opened the door, stepping inside and gesturing to the somewhat crowded but cheerily decorated room. On the large mirror near her dressing table were several photos, taped along its edge. Autumn and Veronica, drunk on the latter's birthday last April; Veronica and her mother in Paris; Veronica and Evan at the Prom; Autumn and Andrew, oblivious to the camera's gaze at her end of summer/publishing deal party.
"Gimme a sec to duck behind the magic screen and tug on something more substantial than this," Veronica announced, skipping across the room with a sundress in hand.
"No problem," Andrew assured her, moving to study the antique desk in the corner of the room, buried beneath several costumes and, possibly, a Snuggie.
"And don't think you can avoid telling me all of the details about that rock on your finger, Autumn Brody!" Veronica called out from behind the screen. "I take it you did not rob Tiffany's on the way here, but are indeed marrying the good gentleman accompanying you?" she inquired in a sloppy British accent.
Autumn felt herself flush. "That would be correct..."
Peeking her head around the corner of the screen, Veronica beamed. "I am so happy for you two! We must celebrate! One sec... Ah! Better. We even match!"
Veronica emerged, costume in hand, the pale blue cotton of her dress amplifying her deep blue eyes. Dropping the costume on a chair, she beckoned Autumn forward.
