Love and Loathing

by Gigi Blume

  We devoured the artichoke hearts (which were insanely good) and completed a gastronomical tour of the entire carnival, eating our way from booth to booth. Lady went wild with the cornucopia of smells. When Beth didn’t think I was looking, she’d sneak bits of her food to Lady’s grateful mouth. Every so often, she caught me staring at her, and a soft smile would spread across her features. Then she’d do something awesome like shove half a funnel cake in her mouth. I figured it was her filter.

  “You’re good at that,” I said, using my thumb to wipe stray powdered sugar from her chin. It was a feather-light touch, but it seared my skin.

  She smirked through the doughy sweetness. “I’ve been practicing.”

  I was coming undone. I’d never wished so earnestly for the rest of the world to fall away so I could wrap her in my arms and keep her forever.

  “So,” she said, licking her fingers. “You didn’t finish telling me how you got Lady.”

  Oh, hail poetry. Did she really have to lick her fingers? I was going to hell in a hand basket.

  “There’s not much else to the story,” I replied. “My friend helped me find out where the puppy came from and the next day, we were at the breeder’s house.” I smiled at the memory. “There were four more puppies in the litter, but I knew her the moment I saw her.”

  “Love at first sight.”

  “Yeah.” I gave Lady a scratch on her delicate, little head. “She’s my cocker-a Espanish girl.”

  She laughed and tried on her best Italian accent. “Hey, Butch! Haow about a espaghetti especiale heavy on the meat-a-balle.”

  “What’s-a matter you?” I bellowed. “Dogs don’t talk.”

  “He’s-a talkin’ to me.”

  We roared with laughter.

  “That’s my favorite scene,” I said, smiling way too much.

  “Me too.”

  The laughter tapered off as our eyes met in a sobering glow. She got me. This woman who was so determined to bury me, put down her shovel for just a long enough moment to see me. The real me.

  A weight of silence descended in a fog of electrons moving through a magnetic field. Charged particles spiraled around us. I felt like I was in the time vortex. If I were a braver man, I would have moved through that quantum space of rotational dynamics and kissed her. It would have been epic. But I didn’t. I let fear grip at my feet, cementing them on my popcorn-littered lawn. Then I reminded myself of the last time I couldn’t control my urges. She’d pulled my hair and bit me.

  “Do you want to go into the Maze of Mirrors?” she said, clearing her throat. It was the slap in the face I needed. Get back to reality—the one where I had no chance with her. The one where I would fight tooth and nail just to get to a common ground with her—where we could be civil enough to be something almost like friends.

  I nodded. This was civil. This was friendly. The Maze of Mirrors could be fun—something friends would do. I pushed down my inner Austin Powers and told him to shut his groovy self up. I could be friends with Elizabeth Bennet.

  25

  First-Rate Opportunity

  Beth

  The Maze of Mirrors was just a distraction. I was having too much fun with Will. He was funny and charming, and we liked the same things. I didn’t know what to do with this information. Also, if I were being honest with myself, I wanted him to kiss me again. Just for research purposes, of course.

  It would be the perfect place for it, dark corridors, private alcoves, secret doors. An experiment to theorize if the whole world would tilt again like it did on New Year’s Eve. But once inside, I think we both immediately regretted it. Instead of a mysterious, dimly lit tunnel of love, it was a loud, obnoxious scream prison. A Punjab lasso would have capped the experience quite nicely. Lady freaked out and squirmed out of my arms, almost landing on a boisterous kid with a buzz cut. The little brat ran through the maze, hollering and grunting to scare the smaller children. The effect was an echo chamber of high-pitched screams and the faint smell of vomit somewhere nearby. Will caught Lady just in time and stroked her snout. That seemed to calm her down.

  “Watch your step,” he said to me. “There might be puddles of questionable body fluids on the floor.”

  Yuck.

  “I’d carry you,” he said with a grin, “but I’ve got the dog.”

  How romantic.

  “How do we get out of here?” I exclaimed over the ear-splitting screams.

  “Death by madness?” he quipped.

  “There’s only one way,” I said with the most serious expression I could give. “Kill or be killed.”

  He nodded gravely. “It’s a war zone. I got your back.”

  We gave each other the knowing look soldiers made while in the trenches and then made a run for it. We barreled past children and covertly inched around corners. At one point, Will cried, “Land mine! Nine o’clock.”

  We averted disaster and gave each other high fives. Lady lifted her snout, wanting in on the action so we high-fived her paw. Little bodies blurred by like explosions in slow motion, and we ducked, zigged, and zagged as we narrowly escaped within an inch of our lives.

  “You okay?” he said, catching his breath.

  “Yeah. You? Missing any limbs?”

  He dabbed a finger on his tear duct. “I got shrapnel in my eye, but I think I’ll survive.”

  We’d made it with no casualties. It was exhilarating. But I may have made my victory dance a little too soon because, just as it would seem we were clear of danger, I took a fatal hit.

  A passing teenager with a cherry slushy crashed into me while rough-housing with his friends. Ice-cold red slush gushed onto my chest, dripping down the front of my white flowered dress.

  “Nostradamus!” I cried.

  The teenager offered me a half-hearted apology with a stifled snicker and ran off. I could sense Will trying to suppress his own laughter.

  “Be brave, soldier,” he said. “Walk toward the light.”

  “Save yourself,” I cried dramatically. “Leave me and save yourself.”

  Red syrup seeped into the fabric of my dress, leaving a wet, sticky stain. I looked like a hot mess but all I could do was laugh. Here I was next to Hollywood’s hottest heartthrob, and I could be typecast as the sticky, drippy swamp monster. He ran to grab some napkins but before he returned, a little girl with honey-blond pigtails and the biggest green eyes I’d ever seen handed me a single tissue. She didn’t say a word—just stared up at me with those enormous eyes. If I had to guess, I’d say she was about five.

  I accepted the tissue and thanked her—mostly for restoring my faith in humanity than the little gift. When Will approached with the napkins, he bent down to her level and whispered something I couldn’t hear above the carnival noise. He then reached in his pocket and handed her a long string of ride tickets. Her face lit up, and she hugged him around the neck. Her mother, a few feet away smiled gratefully and led her daughter away by the hand.

  My ovaries went zing! The way Will interacted with that little girl, the tender way he crouched to her level, the soft expression on his face when he whispered to her, the sweet reaction she made to his kindness. He was full of surprises.

  He handed me the napkins. “Do you want to return to the house to clean up?”

  He had the thoughtfulness to dampen them with water. I suddenly felt shy.

  “No, I’m good,” I said, wiping myself down. “There’s no getting this stain out.”

  “Maybe you could borrow something of my sister’s,” he offered. “She’s about your size. Maybe an inch or two taller.”

  Huh. That would be just a little awkward. I’d never met his sister, but if he told her anything about my erstwhile friendship with Jorge, I didn’t think I could look her in the eye.

  “Um, no, thank you,” I said. “I should probably head home.”

  I had a lovely time. Too lovely. But if I were smart, getting out before it turned ugly again was the best course of action. Now, how was I to get ahold of Enrique?
Or did L.A.’s fine public transportation system extend to the reaches of Will’s fairytale castle?

  His expression dimmed, and he stood looking at me like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. My chest hurt at the idea of leaving, wishing this day could last. But I didn’t want to play the fool. I’d already done a good job at that so far.

  “Well…” I sighed. “I’m just going to say goodbye to Stella—”

  His hand flew to his forehead. “Stella! I almost forgot.”

  He wrapped his strong fingers around mine and pulled me along with him, rushing through the crowd. The contact of his skin melted me from my palm, up the length of my arm, and straight to my heart. If I weren’t careful, I could fall hard. And that would just set me up to get hurt.

  Lady pattered along beside his feet, happily trotting in step with her human. They kind of looked alike. The golden streaks in Will’s brown locks whooshed in the breeze while her silky fur bounced with every spring in her step. And there I was, running along on the other side of him, bounding past people with huge stuffed animals and balloons, people of all different backgrounds. I could have sworn I almost bumped into Lady Gaga.

  When we reached Stella, she and a pretty, button-nosed girl were laughing brightly, drinking beer. By the looks of it, and her ruddy cheeks, they’d been at it a while. Actually, it took them about a minute before they realized Will was right next to them. It was rather cute to see him apologize profusely, passing her a phone from his pocket. She looked at him with glassy eyes, then back at the girl, and they both spat in a burst of laughter.

  “I’d completely forgotten about you, William.”

  He combed a hand through his hair, giving it a deliberate tousled look. Lady broke free of his grip on her leash and perched her front legs on the pretty girl’s lap. It was then that Stella noticed me.

  “Here you are, Beth,” she slurred. “I was just about to call you.”

  “How many beers have you had, Stella?” Will stared down at the woman with his hands on his waist. The girl was the one to answer.

  “One and a half,” she said with a bright smile and stood from her folding chair to shake my hand. “I’m Georgia.”

  Georgia. I should have known. She looked more mature than the photo I’d seen in the bathroom and her bright, easy personality caught me off guard. I guess Jorge had tainted my expectations.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, taking her hand. “My name’s Beth.”

  “Oh, I know.” She wagged her brows and winked at Will. Stella laughed again.

  “One and a half?” Will asked incredulously. “Cups or gallons?”

  Georgia shrugged. “She’s a lightweight.”

  “Good heavens!” cried Stella, openly assessing my appearance. “What happened to you?”

  “She got caught in the line of fire,” Will said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Saved my life.”

  Stella volleyed her eyes between us. “Indeed.”

  Will’s arm on my shoulder gave me heart palpitations. Couldn’t he feel it pounding out of my chest? Trying to conceal it was akin to holding in gas. I think I made one of those vein-popping squishy faces that accompanies extreme discomfort. Whether he noticed it, I couldn’t tell, but his arm dropped from my shoulder, and he stepped away awkwardly. He crossed his arms, then put his hands in his pockets, then crossed his arms again. My shoulder already missed his touch.

  “I best be going,” I said, gesturing to the stain on my dress. If this were a regular carnival, I wouldn’t care so much, but I knew it was an important affair for Stella, and she didn’t need a ragamuffin like me hanging around.

  “Nonsense,” she cried. “We need you at dinner. Who will sing the duet with Will?”

  “What duet?”

  Will shifted on his feet. “I haven’t told her yet.”

  Haven’t told me what exactly?

  “You haven't told her?” Stella bleated. “What have you two been doing all this time?”

  Well… should we start with getting caught in his bedroom or jump to sparks flying in our orbit?

  “Eating,” said Will.

  Yeah, that too.

  “Can we back up here?” I said. “What duet?”

  The two women exchanged a conspiring glance. Will sighed with resignation.

  “Stella wants us to sing Mabel and Frederic’s duet from the second act,” he said with a shifty sideways glance. “For tonight’s gala.”

  My jaw dropped just enough for sound to escape in a squeak. “Me? I thought you were looking for a replacement for Bing.”

  Stella grinned, and her eyes sparkled. I wasn’t sure if that was the effect of the alcohol or the ideas going off in her head.

  “Will is the replacement for Bing,” she said, nodding her head at Will. “But that means we can’t do the Pair of Ducks song, and we have to do at least two numbers.”

  Will bristled. “For the last time, It’s Paradox. Not Pair of Ducks.”

  “Well…” I had to find at a way out of this. Anything to spare me the pressure of singing in front of some of the most influential people in the business. “I don’t think I could do that. I don’t know the song, and I—”

  “Don’t play coy with me.” Stella’s eyes suddenly became steely. Also, I’m sure she was far more sober than she let on. “You know the song. You were Mabel in college.”

  How did she know that? I left that credit off my resume when it started getting too fat. Which was a good problem to have as far as resumes go.

  “Well… um…” I looked at Will. Did he know the song? If I were honest, singing with him made me more nervous than singing in front of Hollywood’s powerhouses. Performing was what I lived for. That was the kind of opportunity one didn’t pass up. He turned his head towards me, silently asking the same questions. A week ago, I loathed the man. Could I pull this off? Could he? Would he want to?

  Stella snapped us out of our little moment by the clapping of her palms. “It’s settled then,” she said with finality. “Let’s get to work.”

  Get to work, indeed. We had a few short hours to rehearse the music, learn the blocking, and commit to memory the songs we were to perform for the gala. Will’s load was double my own because he was in two numbers. It was fascinating to watch his process. He relied on the sheet music for only the first couple of run-throughs, and from then on out, strode through the rest of rehearsal with confidence, dedicating his focus on technique. He was an incredible scene partner, and I was somewhat bristled by the fact I’d only reluctantly admitted he was a good Pirate King, when in fact he could play any role. This, I thought to myself, was a true professional. I momentarily relapsed into imposter syndrome, and then reminded myself that I was the girl with the lanyard. My presence was requested at this thing—even if that meant they were temporarily insane in bestowing me the honor.

  We were in a sweeping, glorious tent situated on the back lawn of the house. A baby grand piano sat on a rented stage, and we rehearsed while the event coordinators made quality checks on the round banquet tables. Colored lights lined the draped tent walls and trellis held the stage lighting in place. Georgia played the accompanying score until Fitz arrived. She was an astounding pianist. She apologized a few times when she missed a note or two, but I didn’t even notice. She explained she wasn’t used to accompanying singers. She was a concert soloist, trained at Juilliard, and far surpassed the piano teacher of her youth. Fitz was the first to admit it. Of course, when you get to that level of excellence, the difference between magnificent and outstanding is a difference with blurred lines. Especially for the untrained ear.

  Fitz was all hugs and air kisses. It was good to see him. When he saw my stained dress, he said, “Darling, is this what kids are wearing these days?”

  I giggled. “Apparently, a teenager with a slushy thought it would be a good look for me.”

  I didn’t care my dress was ruined. Once it dried off, the red splotch was hardly noticeable. Still, I couldn’t perform like that. Stella assur
ed me not to worry. I figured she probably had my maiden costume sent over from the theatre.

  When evening came and there was no more we could do to perfect our scenes, Stella and Georgia ushered me into the house to get ready. I was given the use of a guest bedroom down the hall from the bathroom I’d used earlier and was encouraged to enjoy a bubble bath. When I saw the Roman tub and jacuzzi jets, I didn’t need much convincing.

  It felt sublime to wash off the craziness of the day. Many parts of it would stay with me, but the dust from the carnival, the sticky syrup on my skin, and my rattling nerves could just melt away with the body soap, thank you very much.

  When I emerged from the bath wearing the provided terry cloth robe and slippers, four people were waiting for me in my room. Stella, half ready with a fresh face of makeup and curlers in her hair, Georgia, looking very much the same as earlier, and two other women introduced to me as Julie the makeup artist, and Sierra who would be doing my hair.

  Makeup and hair! Wow. We didn’t even get that kind of treatment at the theatre.

  Julie and Sierra turned out to be two of the funniest ladies ever. Any sentence one would begin, the other would finish, and usually, it was more of a punchline than anything else. Then they’d giggle and do a little shimmy while they set about their work. They were hilarious. At one point, Julie had to force a frown on her face to stop me from laughing just so she could apply my lip stain.

  “It’s color-stay,” she said. “For all the kissing.”

  Then she and Sierra burst in peals of laughter and didn't come down from it the rest of the evening.

  They did a fabulous job. I never really liked having my makeup done by other people. In my opinion, professional was a term loosely given to the mall employees whom I’d previously entrusted. This was a whole other ballgame.

  “It helps to have a beautiful face to work on,” said Julie, deflecting the compliment I paid her.