"What about you?" Allie slides down beside me on the couch, taking Rory's spot. "You going upstairs, or hanging out here for a bit?"
I glance down at what I'm wearing. I'd sort of dressed up for the show in an outfit from this cool Aussie designer. An ex-dancer, I fell in love with her clothes when I found them and tonight I picked out these great black studio pants with drawstrings that you could make full-length or three quarters by pulling them up or down, and a black cami. Still, I could do with a bit of lip gloss or something. "I might go up for a minute. You going up too?"
"Nah," Allie says. "I'll wait for Dad."
"Okay," I tell her, getting up off the couch. "I'll see you at eight thirty, right?"
"Yep. At Le Cirque. It's out of the elevators, past the high limit slots, and turn left at the bar."
I'd taken a few steps, but now I stop and swivel to face Allie. "How do you know where the high limit slots and the bar are?"
She just grins at me and shrugs before I continue out the door of the green room.
* * *
"Rory, wait!" someone calls out from the green room as I'm halfway down the corridor that leads to the elevators. I check around me, but Rory is nowhere in sight now. I swivel on the spot so I can see where I've come from, and there's Noah, running toward me.
"Sorry, Rory's gone," I tell him. "She left a couple of minutes ago."
But instead of looking surprised, or disappointed, Noah just smiles at me. Thank goodness we're inside, in the air conditioning, or I swear I'd melt. "I know," he says. "It was actually you I was wanting to catch up with, but I couldn't let Mara know. In case you hadn't noticed, she's crazy."
-
16 -
"You wanted to catch up with me?" I repeat, not entirely sure I heard Noah correctly.
He nods. "Are you off somewhere?"
"Er…" I say, not sure of the correct answer to this question. That is, the one that will give me maximum time with Noah himself.
"Upstairs, outside…maybe even to those high limit slots I've heard so much about?" Noah grins.
This makes me laugh. "Yep, that's me. My generous allowance means I'm the original high roller."
"Oh," Noah says.
I quickly wave my hands. "No, not really. I don't even have an allowance. Not to mention a job. Unless you count following your mom around the world, that is." I have to glance away from him at this point because Noah, with his tousled dark brown hair and darker than dark brown eyes, is too cute. He's changed into a very plain outfit of jeans, a fitted black tee, a black LA Lakers cap and a big, silver expensive-looking watch. He doesn't need anything fancier. Kind of like the sun—if I stare at him for too long, I get the distinct impression I might go blind. Rory is too, too lucky.
"Look on the bright side, following your mom the movie star around the world beats fast food shifts, I guess."
I think about this for a second. "Only just."
Noah chuckles. "So, um, what are you doing now?"
I freeze again with the direct question. Is this a trick? Does he want me to fetch something for him? Like a soda? Or Rory? "Er…" I say again, not wanting to embarrass myself. My eyes flick from the floor to one of the corridor's walls and over to Noah for a split second to try and gauge what he's really asking me here. Finally, I settle on saying something I know to be true. "I'm going out for dinner later. At eight thirty. With my mom, Uncle Erik, Allie, and Rory. I mean, you're more than welcome if you want to come and…" I stop myself before I blather on too much and accidentally give him my life story or something, which would be sure to see him comatose on the floor.
"So you've got half an hour?"
"Yes?" I say, hesitantly, still not understanding where this is going. Maybe he wants something more complicated than a soda? Something that will take a good twenty minutes to sort out. Like a Yogen Früz? Do they even have that in Nevada? Come to think about it, I haven't had a Yogen Früz in a while. I could really go for a chocolate almond one right now. I guess I could look it up on my cell and get a cab or…
"Thanks for the dinner invitation, but I'm meeting up with my manager. It's just that I was going to go check out the fountain. You know, Rory talks about you so much, I thought it would be good to get to know each other better…"
"Oh," I say, frowning slightly. But, wait. Does that mean he doesn't want Yogen Früz?
"So…" Noah rocks forward slightly, like he's anticipating something.
"So?" It's only then that I realize he's anticipating my answer—that he's trying to issue an invitation. Noah Hoffman is inviting me somewhere! "Um, sure. Yes! That would be great! The fountain! I haven't seen it properly yet!" I'm already cringing before I even finish my sentence. How lame did that sound? The only thing I should be doing with that fountain is drowning myself in it.
"Great!" Despite my patheticness, Noah, to my surprise, seems pleased that I've agreed to join him. "Let's go. If we hurry, we can catch the last show of the evening."
* * *
I try not to hyperventilate with happiness as we make our way quickly upstairs from the green room, out the main entrance of the Bellagio and turn right, heading down the tree-lined road so we have closer access to the fountain. There are already quite a few people lined up along the fence, and we find ourselves a spot underneath one of the ornate iron lampposts.
As we wait for the show to start, I try and think up some question or comment that will show Noah instantly that I'm funny and witty and an all-round great gal. I come up with…nothing. Surprise, surprise. But I have to say something, so I opt for something fountain-ish. "So, you haven't seen the show yet?" I gesture toward the water. "My mom and I watched it this afternoon from our suite."
"I would have liked to, but I've been stuck in meetings. And can you believe I've actually stayed here before, but I’ve never seen the whole thing? Sad, right? I checked it out on their website today and learned all about it."
"You learned all about it? Like…what?"
"Well, apparently, there are different kinds of jets. Like oarsmen, shooters, super shooters, and extreme shooters."
I give him a look. "Extreme shooters."
"I'm serious! The extreme shooters go 450 feet into the air."
"Hmmm…" I say, raising an eyebrow.
"She doesn't believe me about the extreme shooters." Noah turns to the guy standing next to him, a stranger.
"It's true." The guy leans forward to look at me. "You should believe him."
I laugh now and look back at Noah. "Okay, okay. I believe…that you planted that guy."
Noah laughs as well. "He's one I prepared earlier."
"I even find it hard to believe that you spent so long looking that stuff up. Didn't you have ten kinds of fabulousness to attend? Parties and signings and amazing things?"
Noah gives me an odd look. "To be honest, my life is more like rehearsals and meetings and boring things."
I'm about to reply when the music begins, making us both turn back to the fountain. "It's starting!" I say, as the music begins, and I feel relieved that, for a while, I don't have to try and be funny, witty, an all-round great gal or even coherent. Instead, we can just take in the show playing out before us.
We take in the first song in silence, apart from the bit where the water shoots up really high, and Noah throws a pointed look my way and mouths the phrase "extreme shooters." I narrow my eyes at him. Extreme shooters. It must be a guy thing.
By the middle of the second song, I'm starting to feel like I need to be adding to the conversation again. "So, um, Rory seemed happy tonight," I say to Noah, remembering why I'm here in the first place—to help Rory out. And who better to try than Noah, her partner?
"That kid she picked was amazing, huh?" Noah laughs. He turns away from the fountain to meet my eyes now. "You know, Rory told me why you and your mom are here, but don't stress about her. She's okay. She's just…confused. SMD can be a bit push and pull like that. She'll work it out. She needs a bit of time and for everyone to get
off her back."
"Oh," I say, my face falling. "I didn't, I mean…"
"No," Noah says quickly. "Sorry, not you and your mom, I meant Sonja, mainly. What I mean is, she needs space to work out what she wants to do next. She's right to be thinking about it. We can't do this forever. She's smart to be considering other things."
I take in Noah's words, and as I do, I detect something else that he's saying and frown. "Are you, too? Considering other things?" It's then that I remember something else he'd mentioned—meetings. Rory hadn't had any meetings this afternoon, but Noah had.
Noah bites the side of his lip with this. "Um, no, yes, maybe, maybe not. That would be telling, right?" He laughs. "Look, we'd be crazy not to. Rory and I—we're getting too old for this gig."
I nod wisely, as if I do this "advisor to the stars" thing all the time. "You're transitioning. That's what my mom said. From child stars to adult stars. Apparently it's a tricky period."
Instead of scoffing, like I'd expected, Noah inclines his head slightly. "Well, your mom would know."
Maybe. "As she put it, 'Apparently some people don't weather the change well, or at all.'"
Noah grins. "I'm sure Rory will 'weather the change.' She's too smart and too popular not to."
"I know. Though I think we're all a bit too caught up in how that's going to happen. Which is making her do weird things like lop her hair off."
"I think it looks great," Noah points out.
"Yeah, but it didn't before we got the hairdresser in. Maybe everyone just needs to back off a bit. Including the show."
"In our dreams." Noah returns his attention to the fountain. "I get the feeling it's only going to get worse."
"Rory said there are changes coming."
Noah keeps staring out at the water. "Huge changes. And not all good. Or not ones we all agree with, anyway. Things are going to be way different for us from now on."
"I see." This actually makes a lot more sense, I think to myself, as Noah and I join in the clapping around us as the song ends. So SMD are moving the goalposts. No wonder Rory feels so cheated.
After a short pause, the music starts up again then, and there's a sudden "Ohhh…" from the crowd as they hear the familiar "dum-dum, dum, dum, dum-dum, dum, dum-dum, dum." Then an "Ahhh…" as the jets start up softly, dotting from one side of the water to the other. Then, suddenly, there's a huge burst of water that makes everyone jump.
"Wow," I say, not caring if it's cool or uncool to be impressed. It's really something, this show.
"I love 'Singin' in the Rain.' I don't care if that's uncool," Noah says, echoing my thoughts. "Gene Kelly was one of the most amazing dancers ever."
"So you like Gene Kelly's version better than Usher's?" I grin.
Noah jumps on this. "Personally, I don't think you should take on Eugene. Ever."
"Ohhh!" the crowd says again as the jets suddenly twist and twirl, reaching for the Las Vegas-lit sky.
In the dark, illuminated by the fake Eiffel Tower in the background, the effect is magical. Like my dad, I can't say I'd ever thought I'd see the point of a fake Eiffel Tower, let alone imagined I'd enjoy being in the company of one, until this moment. Now I smile to myself at how ridiculous it all is. Ridiculous, but so very pretty. I guess that's Las Vegas all over, really. It's only when I go to tell Noah as much, that I realize he's not there. Then I hear a few people chuckle, and my eyes start searching the immediate area.
I don't locate him until I follow the lead of some of the other spectators and look up.
And there's Noah. Halfway up a lamppost, just like Gene Kelly. "Noah!" I say, my mouth hanging open. "What are you doing?"
"Singin' in the Rain." He grins back at me then suddenly jumps off the lamppost in time with the music, takes off his Lakers cap, and spreads his arms and legs wide, huge smile to the sky, imitating Gene Kelly.
I can't help but laugh as I watch him move straight into strolling along the sidewalk, swinging a fake umbrella, twirling around a few times with a nonexistent partner, before breaking into a very good tap routine (way, way better than my attempt at Allie's dance class).
It doesn't take long before everyone's eyes are on Noah, rather than the fountain, and clapping before the song's even over. I hear a couple of other "Ohhhs…" as well. Like, "Oh, that's the kid from SMD, you know, um…" and, "Oh, look, it's Noah Hoffman."
Noah has the time of his life hamming it up for the next minute or so, twirling and kicking through fake puddles. I'm laughing along with everyone else, enjoying his performance, when he approaches me and holds out his hand. Quickly, I shake my head, but Noah only shakes his in return. "Come on," he says. "I need a partner."
Eep.
Deep breath.
It doesn't look like he's going to take "no" for an answer. Anyway, who am I to turn him down? Haven't I dreamt about this hundreds of times—being Noah Hoffman's dancing partner? This will probably be my one and only chance. I'd be crazy to say no. I'd regret it forever.
Okay, then. I can do this.
I reach out and take Noah's hand, which is warm and soft, and he pulls me out into the space everyone's cleared for him, and he begins to tap again. "Not tap! Anything but tap!" my brain screams, but there's no slinking away now, so I take another deep breath and try and follow his lead the best I can. While I know the basics of tap and all my brushes, shuffle ball changes, stomps, scuffs, riffs, and chugs, it is something else to try and put them all together on such short notice and follow the lead of someone like Noah.
But, somehow, I do, because I have to. Because there's about fifty people watching us now, not to mention Noah watching me, relying on me, and failure is not an option. I have Hartley blood in my veins, after all, and the show must go on!
Noah makes it easier for me at every point he can. Guiding me, leading me, watching me. Every time he touches me, he somehow seems to give me the strength to keep going, even when I know I'm not getting things completely right. And I can tell he doesn't care, either. He's having the time of his life, and he's happy just to encourage me to have the time of mine, too. Seriously, I could dance with him forever. There's just something…right about it.
I make it through to the end of the song, when Noah gives us a big finish by leaping up onto the lamppost again as the song ends.
Which is also right when the security guard walks up and makes everyone burst out laughing, because it's just like in the real movie when the police officer arrives to give Gene Kelly the hairy eyeball. Playing along, Noah shrugs, then jumps off the lamppost, walks backward a few steps toward me and offers the "extreme shooters" guy his imaginary umbrella.
Then he takes my hand, whispers, "That was the best time I've had in ages. But we better go before I get arrested."
And then we run back toward the hotel, to the fading sound of applause.
-
17 -
Dinner at Le Cirque goes well—everyone behaves, Rory seems fine, and there's no mention of the incident with the hair. Sure, every time someone talks to me, they have to repeat themselves because I'm busy re-living my close encounter with Noah, practically fizzing with excitement. Luckily, they put my spaciness down to jetlag.
After dinner, Mom and I head up to bed. When we get up to the suite, she brings up the incident of the guy at the door again and apologizes, but doesn't seem to want to talk about things any more than that. We Skype with Dad for a few minutes, and then we're showered and asleep by ten thirty.
When I wake up at the more normal-ish time of seven a.m. the following morning (rather than my three a.m. stints of late), I practically have to pinch myself. Who would have thought my vacation would turn out so good? Just last week I'd been gearing up for two weeks of mooching around the back country of Tasmania, and now I'm here, in Las Vegas, at the Bellagio, dancing with Noah Hoffman, who held my hand part of the way back to the hotel from the fountain.
Yes. Part of the way back to the hotel.
But what does that mean? I don't know. I mean, we
'd been running from the security guard. Had he been pulling me along to make me run faster? Was that what he was doing? Or was he holding my hand? As in, properly? I really don't know.
One thing I do know—it's making me completely confused trying to work it out.
With a groan, I roll over, grab my cell, and text Rory and Allie.
Pancakes?
Allie's response comes zinging back within seconds.
There's another sort of breakfast food? Upstairs, or downstairs? Rory here too. Dad busy.
I text back, smiling at her response.
I'll order. Come over in 20. Mom won't want to go downstairs.
I wouldn't mind a cruise around the breakfast buffet, but I can't do that if I'm eating with my mom. She loves her fans, but I can see how having one hundred of them gawk at you while you're trying to pick out a nice-looking piece of bacon, construct yourself a fruit plate, or sneak in a little treat of a bowl of Lucky Charms, could be a tad annoying.
I jump out of bed and pull on some clean undies, three-quarter jeans, a white cami, and a matching sheer white blouse, pull my hair back into a ponytail and yell as I make my way over to my mom's room. "Mom, I'm ordering breakfast for me and Allie and Rory."
"Lovely!" she calls back. "Fruit plate and whole wheat toast, please!"
"Okay!" I do a quick double-time step as I make my way to the phone, and I keep going after I pick up and even as I request three orders of pancakes, three orange juices, a fruit plate, and whole wheat toast. It's only when I place the phone back down again, that I realize my mom has been watching me the whole time.
"What on earth are you doing?"
I shrug and start up again. "Tap."
"Why?"
"Don't know. It's infectious?" True enough, though there's no way I'm telling my mom that it's Noah who's passed on this deadly disease.
Mom observes for a moment or two longer before nodding. "Well, keep going, it seems to be making you happy."
Being Hartley Page 12
