Fame Adjacent

by Sarah Skilton

  More laughter and claps.

  “Except I wouldn’t be an impersonator. I would just be me.”

  Audience cringed.

  “So insulting, right? I broke up with him, of course.”

  (Beat.)

  “After I did the show. A girl’s got to eat, you know?”

  Cheers and laughter rang out, and a bell rang, releasing me to saunter offstage to a standing ovation when I bowed. It felt good, but I couldn’t tell if it was because the set was worthy of one, or because I happened to be the first performer. Still, I’d done my best on zero notice, and the laughter had been gratifying.

  If I didn’t place, maybe another club around here was holding a lucrative contest we could enter. I bet we’d rule at bar trivia.

  I slipped into my seat next to Thom and refastened my hair into a ponytail.

  “You were amazing,” he said, wrapping his good arm around my shoulders in a half hug.

  I leaned in close to him.

  “Was any of that stuff true?” he whispered.

  “Part of it. I didn’t do the burlesque show, but I was asked.”

  “Asshole.”

  “You know what they say: ‘Tragedy plus time equals comedy.’ I could use some air, though,” I told him. “Come with?”

  “Yeah, let’s sit outside until they announce the winners.”

  There was a courtyard out back for smokers, so we propped the door open and sat on the outdoor couch by the firepit, which displayed evidence of its usual occupants: Cigarette burns dotted the cushions, and the ashtray perched on the armrest nearest me smelled like burnt toast. I wrinkled my nose and placed it on the ground away from us. Of course, if I thought we could get away with it, I’d have slept out there happily for the night. It was peaceful, a little chilly, and the stars shone brightly in the sky above us. In California the air quality and light pollution made it difficult to see them, but here in the Northeast, Orion’s Belt was visible.

  The next performer started up, but based on the muffled, light applause, he wasn’t receiving the same loud reactions I had.

  “Does stuff like that happen to you a lot?” Thom asked. “People trying to exploit you?”

  His good arm stretched behind me along the back of the couch. His nearness, the warmth emanating from his body, had become so familiar to me. It hurt to think that with each passing second, we were closer and closer to leaving each other behind.

  “Sometimes. Not quite that rudely.” I shrugged. I didn’t know what else to say.

  Thom did, though. And since we were running out of time to have conversations like this, I welcomed the opportunity.

  “After the show tomorrow,” he began.

  “Assuming we make it in time…”

  “Assuming we make it in time, come stay at my place, okay? I don’t want you to have to worry about where you’re going to go. We’ll make up the extra bed, you can sleep all day if you want, whatever’s comfortable.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” He cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

  I smiled. “Probably?”

  “If he didn’t cheat on you, and he’s straight as an arrow, why did you and J. J. break up? Did you grow apart, or…?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He looked at me intently, and it was strange to realize I hadn’t told him this yet, because it seemed like we talked about everything. Yet we never ran out of topics.

  I took a deep breath.

  Lainey was five, I explained, learning to swing dance by standing on J. J.’s feet as he guided her around the kitchen.

  Watching them gave me déjà vu. I was transported back to J. J. teaching me the jitterbug at my parents’ house when we were thirteen. The Studdards had begun editing me out of dance numbers when the moves proved too complicated (my dancing skills began and ended with tap), but J. J. refused to let that happen again.

  It was difficult to find a place to practice, though. Having noticed our hand-holding and stolen kisses, my parents implemented a new rule: First, there was to be “no closing of the door” when we hung out in each other’s bedrooms, and then it escalated to “no more hanging out in each other’s bedrooms, period.” It was too dark in the yard to see clearly at night, so he taught me the dance routines in the hallway. My elbows would bang into the walls when he spun me. His patience knew no bounds; he practiced as long as I needed, whenever I needed it. When it came time to film the segments, I was so accustomed to dancing in the cramped hallway, my movements were squashed and odd. But at least they put me back on camera.

  Two decades later I watched him guide Lainey the way he used to guide me. “Move your feet like this…and twirl, and dip…together, apart, you got it. You did it!”

  Lainey jumped up for a high five and J. J., looking sweaty, missed her hand.

  Not to be silly. Not to make her laugh.

  Because he was high.

  Again.

  “Can I talk to you outside for a sec?” I asked sweetly.

  He swiveled to face me, eyes red. Could he have been more obvious?

  “Oh no, am I in twubble?” he asked once we were outside in my sister’s backyard. Lainey colored in the kitchen, and Renee was upstairs if she needed anything.

  I sat on the patio, and J. J. followed suit.

  “I can’t have you coming around when you’re like this, Jay. You know I don’t mind if you smoke every once in a while, but this is different. This is all the time.”

  He laughed. “Well, you know why I’m like this, don’t you?”

  I was so tired of talking about the lawsuit I could barely stand it, but if he needed to rehash it one more time, I could try. “I know you’re having a tough time about Pam,” I began.

  “Not Pam.” He pointed at me, a sneer lighting up his face. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  He stood, which proved difficult. “You, you, you,” he repeated.

  “What about me?”

  He held his arms out wide and spun in a circle. “None of this would have happened. None of it. Why didn’t you leave me alone? Why didn’t your fucking family leave me alone?”

  (I stiffened, my eyes automatically shooting to the kitchen, hoping Lainey couldn’t hear. He never said the f-word, as far as I knew, and I knew him better than anyone.)

  “What? My ‘fucking family’ helped you,” I hissed back. “You begged us to take you in. You were devastated when your parents threatened to pull the plug.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I was a kid. I didn’t know what was good for me. I needed guidance, I needed perspective.”

  “Every year my mom and dad said to us, ‘The moment this stops being fun, you tell us and you can stop.’ You know they did. They’d have hired a team of lawyers if they’d needed to, they’d have gotten us out of it, all we had to do was ask.”

  I may as well never have spoken.

  “If you’d left me alone, let me go back to North Carolina like I was supposed to, like my parents wanted,” he said, “I wouldn’t have gotten emancipated, I wouldn’t have let Pammy screw me over. I could’ve lived a Godly life, like they wanted for me. Like I should’ve been doing. I could’ve known Him, I could’ve found a purpose in Him, something real, not this secular bullshit. I chose the world, instead of Him, and I’ll be paying for it the rest of my life.”

  Tears of frustration filled his eyes. He stared at me and I didn’t dare look away. I was pinned in place, and it was painful, so painful to see him like that.

  “I don’t feel Him anymore,” he whispered, the ultimate confession. The worst confession, because it was the only one that couldn’t be forgiven. “I don’t feel His presence anymore. I’ve been trying to get it back, and I can’t.”

  I moved to hug him, but he shook his head and pulled away. His face was blotchy and although he whispered, the words cracked in my ears like thunder. “I wish I’d never met you. You separated me from God.”

&nbs
p; * * *

  Outside the comedy club, I held my breath and looked at my hands, curled in my lap.

  “Hey,” Thom said softly.

  I risked a glance, fearful of what I’d see in his eyes. (Horror. Agreement.)

  But the look he gave me could only be described as tender.

  “I believe Eleanor Roosevelt said it best, and I’m paraphrasing here, but ‘No one can separate you from God without your permission.’”

  Tears pulled at the edges of my eyes. I’d never told anyone what J. J. said to me that day; not even Renee. I hadn’t wanted it to affect her own faith, since it was helping her combat her depression. But by telling another person about it, and seeing the words through a five-year lens, it dawned on me how far-fetched and manipulative it sounded. My family hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d provided a home and a second family to a preternaturally talented eleven-year-old boy who had wanted to see what the world had to offer beyond Charlotte, North Carolina; an eleven-year-old boy who was apoplectic when his parents interrupted rehearsal to inform him they were yanking him from the show.

  We’d loved him like our own. He’d been my brother. My best friend. My boyfriend. My lover. My everything another person could be.

  Which, in retrospect, was one of the problems. There was no room for anyone or anything else, except, eventually, my niece. I’d had few friends; fewer dates. I’d chased him, emotionally and physically, for as long as I could remember. And now he regretted every moment of knowing me. By wishing me out of his life, he may as well have wished me dead.

  “There was a time, once before, when we didn’t speak for two years,” I admitted. “And when we got back together, it was like nothing had happened, like we were never apart. Once the show ended, we never lived with each other again. We were never in the same city for long, so every visit was a reunion of sorts anyway. The breakups had more time in between, but otherwise there wasn’t much difference between being ‘on’ and being ‘off.’ But I think…he represented home to me for so long, it didn’t matter if he was on the other side of the world, because you can always go home.”

  He nodded, the brightness in his eyes dimming slightly.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Do you ever miss Sammy’s mother?”

  “We weren’t a good fit,” he said carefully. “But I’ll never consider Sammy to be a mistake, and I’ll always be grateful to her for giving him to me.”

  I cuddled against him, tucked under his arm. We looked up at the stars and he said quietly, “Thanks for telling me.”

  Becky Lynn from our party group leaned her face out, her red curls bouncing. “They’re announcing the winners, you guys!”

  I’d been so immersed in our conversation I’d nearly forgotten about the contest.

  Once we were back inside, my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The seven other competitors and I were led onstage, and the MC strolled the line while the audience indicated their enthusiasm via applause for each candidate.

  When the applause-o-meter was calculated, I was declared the second-place winner, with a prize of $100. Suck it, Hilton. I tapped out a dance of joy and grabbed the envelope with a flourish. I flew off the stage double-time, looking for Thom. I didn’t see him, so I turned into the darkened hallway, the one we’d used to get outside.

  A low voice: “Hey.”

  I bumped into Thom’s chest. He slid his good hand to the back of my neck, leaned down, and kissed me.

  His lips were soft but firm, and he tasted tart and sweet from the pomegranate margaritas we’d all had, but his steady movements proved he was sober and in control. The fact that it was a deliberate choice on his part made me feel strong and weak at the same time. The way his hand trailed lightly down my back, like stones skipping across a lake, sent delicious shudders through my body.

  “You’re so out of my league,” I murmured against his lips.

  He kissed me again and again, cupping my chin delicately in his hand. When our eyes met, he said forcefully, “Are you kidding? I’m crazy about you. Why do you think I let you come with me to New York?”

  His tongue stroked mine in a way that had me delirious for more. We made out with abandon, pausing every few seconds to whisper our affection, as though we were in a race to say nicer and nicer things to each other.

  “The way you cut through everyone’s BS—how you got on Lisa’s nerves—I loved it—and the work you do, not to mention you’re gorgeous, and—”

  “I knew you were special the moment I met you. Your sense of humor, your kindness—”

  “My lack of shame?” I added drily.

  “Yes!” Kiss. “All of it!” Kiss. “Every time a new person came to group, I’d say, ‘Pretend it’s your nightclub act.’ They all acted like I was nuts. You’re the only one who went up there and put on a nightclub act.”

  “And look at us now, rolling in cash.” I pinched the envelope between my fingers and rubbed them back and forth.

  “I love how brilliant and quick you are, like I’ll never keep up but I want to keep trying anyway,” he said.

  “I love how confident you are, even when you’re totally wrong.”

  He grinned sheepishly.

  “But especially when you’re right,” I added.

  Moving as one, we glided farther into the darkened hall.

  “You want to know one of my secrets?” Thom whispered in my ear.

  “Yeah.”

  “When you came on to me at Prevail!, in your room?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I couldn’t even go swimming after. And I really wanted to go swimming.”

  “Is that so?” I had to admit, it did my pride good to hear.

  “That.” Kiss. “Is.” Kiss. “So.”

  “What was it that got to you?” I asked.

  “When you suggested we do it against the wall to keep the door shut.”

  “Then we’ll have to try that out as soon as possible,” I suggested.

  Thom’s hand made its way under my shirt to caress my skin. My stomach fluttered at the sensation. We needed to get out of there. He kissed me with such complete assurance despite his clipped wing that I couldn’t even imagine how amazing it would feel if he had the use of both arms right now. He felt damn good already. And somehow, the whole thing worked for us; with his injured arm at his side, the kiss perfectly encapsulated what I’d learned about him on the trip.

  That he’s full of swagger but also guarded; that he doesn’t let anything stop him from going after what he wants, even if it might be difficult; that he’s both self-possessed and vulnerable, and not afraid to show it. At least, he wasn’t afraid to show it to me, which made me see myself, briefly, the way he did: special.

  “This,” I managed to gasp when we broke apart for air.

  “Hmm?” He kissed the shell of my ear, down my jaw, under my chin, and to my favorite spot, the side of my neck. Sensing how much I liked it, he lingered there, as I tried to suppress the appreciative sounds I yearned to make.

  “At the hotel, you asked me what I needed. It was this.” I succumbed to the noise I’d been holding in, a sigh mixed with a whimper.

  “Only this?” he teased.

  “It’s a good start, anyway…”

  I gazed into his eyes, which were heavy-lidded with desire.

  “We have a place to stay,” he remarked, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “We have a place to…” I whispered the last part in his ear.

  He nodded and swallowed. “About that condom…”

  “Yes, please.”

  He kissed my neck once more, the spot that sent me into overdrive, and it took all my willpower to push him away. “Hurry, hurry.”

  The idea of him buying a condom to use with someone else had sent my blood boiling earlier. But I hadn’t envisioned we’d be the ones using it. I couldn’t stop smiling as Thom swiveled toward the men’s room. I gripped his shirt and pulled him back so I could plant another kiss on his lips.

  My en
tire body smiled. I moved to the bar, hips swishing, hair a mess, skirt disheveled, and lipstick smeared. The night could not have gone better, particularly if you remembered how it started: committing fraud at the Hilton. Now I was about to crack open a $100 bill and find a place to be alone with Thom.

  17

  “Hey, Becky Lynn, wait up. Want another ’rita? On me?” After tax and tip, that would set me back $20 but it seemed a steal considering what she’d inadvertently done for us.

  She raised her eyebrows. “You’re paying? Sure.”

  While the bartender finished up with another member of our group, she remarked, “I thought you said you and Thom were just friends.”

  I blushed, wondering how much of our PDA she saw. “Uh…we are. That’s been building for a while, I think.”

  She beamed. “You gave in to your feelings at a bachelorette party! The bride will love it, knowing she played matchmaker.”

  I placed Becky Lynn’s order and ripped open the prize envelope with my thumb.

  Inside was a gift card.

  To Lowe’s, the home goods store.

  For $100.

  “What the rancid fucking shit is this?” I sputtered.

  Becky Lynn looked shocked by my language. She recovered quickly, though. Swift as a hummingbird, she grabbed her cocktail off the bar and began drinking before it could be rescinded.

  I turned the gift card over in my hand, livid. The MC was chatting with the first-place winner when I stormed over and demanded an explanation.

  “I laid out the prizes clear as day before the contest. You must not have been paying attention,” he said, unconcerned. “Everyone else understood what they were.”

  “I can’t use this. Will you cash it out for me?”

  “Does it look like you’re in a Lowe’s?” he replied. He and the first-place winner chortled.