We open our eyes at the same time, our lips still connected. I somehow manage to pull away from him, but I kid you not, my heart sort of breaks in the process. It feels like I’m saying goodbye again. I’m really Jewel in this moment, and he’s my Roman, and we really did reconnect after spending so many lifetimes apart. I miss him already.
“What’s happening here?”
I turn slowly to face the door. It’s Cinny. She’s back. Standing beside her scary-looking bodyguard. Glaring at me.
“I was helping,” I offer warmly, confused by the disapproving look. “With the video.”
“Well, who asked you to?” she replies.
Huh? Oh, wait. She’s joking. I laugh.
“Again, who asked you to?” Cinny repeats.
Oh, God. She wasn’t joking. To add to this nightmare of a moment, no one speaks. I’m not kidding. Every freaking person in this godforsaken rehearsal room has perhaps become momentarily mute.
“We asked her to.” Robbie breaks the awkward silence. He steps around the tripod and camera setup. “Now you don’t have to run the number again. Your standby did it for you.”
“But I told y’all I was gonna be right back.” Cinny’s voice booms in the quiet rehearsal space.
“Should you not be thanking her?” Elias asks smugly. “Since you hate my choreography so much?”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
We all turn to see Nigel and Rashmi standing at the door, a confused look on both of their faces. Probably wondering why I’m standing front and center in the room and not sitting on a folding chair in the back, like I’m supposed to be doing.
“But,” Nigel continues, “Rashmi needs to take Jerzie downstairs to school.”
“I remember where it is,” I blurt. “She doesn’t have to take me.”
Never have I been so excited to go to school. I rush to the back of the room and grab my bag. I notice Cinny’s head turn to watch me as I glide past her. I’m careful not look in return.
I literally run from the rehearsal room and race down the hall, past the elevator, and through the door to enter the dark stairwell. When the heavy door slams shuts behind me, I lean my head against it, clearly not having learned my lesson from the first time. Maybe on some level I’m hoping Zeppelin returns to bludgeon me in the head again. I need something to knock some sense into me. What was I thinking? Why did I volunteer as tribute? Now Cinny probably hates me.
I lift my fingers to touch the spot where Zeppelin’s lips were pressed against mine. My eyes close at the memory of him. Once again, I’m floating. Floating as high as I was when we were dancing. With my eyes closed, I’m back in that magical moment where he was my safety, my wind, my antigravity—I know I can’t fall down while he is here.
Only...I have to. I need to remember my place. If he’s a Montague and Cinny is a Capulet, then who would I be in this story?
Ooooh. I’m the page. That’s who I am. Mercutio’s mute page, who never utters a word for the whole play. Cinny has every right to be upset. I am a standby. Her standby. And as a standby, I have my own script to follow. Out of sight. Out of mind. I’m not here to be a star.
And I’m certainly not here to fall in love.
“I’ll Tell Thee Joyful Tidings Girl...”
Aunt Karla is talking. She’s been talking for a long time, I think. The walk from the studio. The twenty-minute subway ride it takes to get to her street. Now we’re about a block from her house, and she’s still talking.
“You okay?”
“I’m great,” I mumble.
We continue our stroll through the quiet neighborhood in Brooklyn. Aunt Karla lives in this yuppie part of town called Clinton Hill—doctors, lawyers. Those types. She’s so not yuppie, but she’s lived here since before it got all gentrified. Back when it was Bed-Stuy official. Now the edge is rebranded. I guess the white people needed it to have a different name. Anyway. It’s sixteen years later, and it’s like Jay-Z says in “The Story of O.J.” I could’ve bought a house in Dumbo before it was Dumbo. My aunt Karla...she didn’t buy a house in Dumbo, she bought one in Bed-Stuy. Crazy.
“So then what do you think about all that?” Aunt Karla finally asks, breaking the silence as we move across a pedestrian crosswalk.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I get it. Yep.”
“Jerzie?” She stops, turns to me and crosses her arms. “I said ‘bippity boppity boo.’ Then I said ‘fiddle de dum and scallywag.’”
“Oh.” I scratch my head. “Is there a reason why you’re talkin’ like the fairy godmother from Cinderella?”
“Because you’re not listening!”
I stare at the dirty pavement. “Did you say anything important? Before all the nonsense?”
“Just about birthday plans. You have a birthday comin’ up.”
“Birthdays are lame.”
“Jerzie, what’s wrong? Did something happen at rehearsal?”
“I told you it was uneventful.” I kick a rock off the sidewalk and watch it skip onto the street as a Tesla zooms by soundlessly.
“But I need details. You met your idol. Tell me everything, Jerzie! Was she nice?”
I kick another rock. “She was okay. I guess.”
“Spill it. Right now. Something happened, and I need to know.”
I sigh.
“Fine.” She hands me her bags.
I fumble with them. “Why you giving me your stuff?”
She pops a squat right on the sidewalk, crosses her legs, and leans her hands back on the dirty concrete.
“Ew. What are you doing? You realize a person probably pissed there. And then died?”
“You might be right. Which is gonna make what I’m about to do even more disturbing.”
“What are you about to do?”
“Jerzie Jhames. I will lick the very concrete I sit on in five seconds if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“Aunt Karla, don’t do that. You’ll get Hepatitis A, B, C, D. All of them.”
She sticks out her tongue and leans forward. “One.”
“Aunt Karla! I’m serious.”
Two men with jeans, hoodies, and briefcases slung over their shoulders step into the street to walk around us. They don’t even give us a second glance. Aunt K sitting with her tongue out on this street in Brooklyn is no concern of theirs. “You gonna get malaria,” I whisper. “Gonorrhea. Syphilis.”
“Two.” Her elbows rest on the concrete now. “Three.”
Oh no! Her tongue is inches away from bubonic plague.
“Okay, fine!” I grip her hand and pull her off the ground. I start talking. Fast. Beginning with me volunteering as tribute and ending with Cinny not exactly being happy about it. I leave out the kiss. It’s not like she needs to know that part anyway. Besides, it’s not like he kissed me for real. It was a scripted kiss. That’s different.
“Look at my little niece.” Aunt Karla’s beaming as she takes her purse and tote bag out of my hands. “I can’t believe you stood up and volunteered like that.”
We start to walk again. “In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea.”
“She’s jealous. That’s why she got all mad.”
“Jealous? She has everything.”
As we pass by, the door to a coffee shop swings open and teenagers stumble out, carrying a variety of sugary coffee drinks in clear plastic cups with dome lids. I’d ask Aunt Karla if we can grab something, but she’s still mad the shop is even in her neighborhood. Not because she doesn’t like coffee. She said it came only when the white people showed up. I guess being pissed off is her idea of a revolution. We step around the group of teens.
“It’s your very presence, Jerzie. How you think Black Panther would feel if another Black Panther showed up to stare at him all day in case he can’t do the job?”
“But that’s the thi
ng, Aunt Karla! Black Panther would be able to do his job and do it right. I’m not so sure about Cinny.”
“Oh, please.” Aunt Karla waves her hand dismissively. “You think Cinny wants to make a fool out of herself on Broadway? She’ll pull it together eventually.”
“Just sucks to watch her be so rude and disrespectful.”
We turn a corner, moving toward the row of stoops on Aunt Karla’s tree-lined street. Aunt Karla’s job should not afford her to live in this part of town. At least not as a homeowner. Her neighbor is a plastic surgeon. I Googled him when he moved in. Freakin’ millionaire. In fact, Aunt Karla got a bank loan for $350,000 to pay for her brownstone more than ten years ago. Last year...he paid 1.7 million.
“In your line of business,” Aunt Karla says as we continue our walk, “people can be real assholes. Hell, assholes can be found in every line of business.”
“How do you handle it?”
“I do my job, and I do it well. Today, some of the main people who treated me like shit coming up—I’m their boss now. If you’re patient, the universe has a way of balancing things out. Trust the process.”
We’re standing at the base of the stoop that leads to Aunt Karla’s historic brownstone. I get to stay here for the summer, but Aunt Karla has a roommate who gets weird when company visits too long, which makes for lots of annoying run-ins and a slightly uncomfortable temporary living arrangement. But ever since this neighborhood got rebranded and property prices went up, so did Aunt Karla’s property taxes. Now she rents out the master bedroom to make ends meet. Everybody tells her to sell. She’d be a millionaire. She justifies staying put by explaining she has every right to live in her retirement plan.
I follow her up the concrete stoop and wait while she unlocks the outside door. A few seconds later, and we’re through her front door. I drop my bag on the hardwood floor, kick off my shoes, and literally fling myself onto Aunt Karla’s plush brown sectional, which rests against one of the exposed brick walls.
“So is that it?” Aunt Karla moves into the kitchen and washes her hands in the sink.
I don’t reply right away.
“Girl, I will go back outside and lick that utility pole across the street.”
“Fine.” I sit up. “Do you believe in like...love at first sight?”
“Maybe.” She twists off the faucet and grabs a paper towel to dry her hands. “I loved you the first time I saw you.”
“That’s different. You had a nine-month lead-in. Plus, you love your brother. My dad. That’s too easy. I mean like, you see someone. There is literally no connection aside from this first encounter. And you feel this thing. You maybe love them?”
“You mean like the plot of your musical?” She pulls open the refrigerator door, grabs a bottle of water. “Is that why you’re asking?”
I contemplate telling her the truth. That I’m asking because I feel as if I may be a victim to its implausibility. But instead I say, “Yeah, yeah. Like the musical. Like Romeo and Juliet. Maybe they shouldn’t have acted so reckless, you know. Thinking they’re in love. You can’t be in love after a day. And after a moment? How can that be real?”
“I don’t know, Jerzie.” She yanks her long braids out of the bun on top of her head. They fall down her back. “Sometimes I look up at the moon and ask the same question. How can that be real? Life is magical sometimes. I will say that I’ve never experienced anything like that. When it comes to men, they typically gotta grow on me. But I think it’s cool the musical is toying around with the notion. I dig it.” She crosses to join me on the couch, grabbing the TV remote from off the coffee table to flip on her flat screen. “How’s the lead boy by the way? The one playing Roman?”
She hasn’t even said his name, and still, the mere mention of him makes the butterflies wake from their slumber. I’m trying hard to play it cool.
“He was wearing John Varvatos boots, Aunt Karla. Balmain jeans and a Play T-shirt. To rehearsal.”
“Oooh, he sounds fancy.” She twists the cap off her bottle of water and takes a small sip.
“Right? His one outfit cost more than my entire wardrobe.”
“Is this the boy we’re secretly talking about?” She smiles. “Did you fall in love today at rehearsal and forget to tell me?”
“No, no. I’m not talking about him.” I focus my eyes on the giant red NETFLIX icon that’s splayed across the flat screen, hoping Aunt Karla isn’t keyed in to the fact that I’m lying. Falling so hard for a boy I met just moments ago? What if she tells Mom and Dad? What if they tell my brother, Judas? Uggh. He’d never let me live it down. “Besides, I don’t even believe in such a thing. Love at first sight.”
“Is he cute though?”
Is he cute? Ha! He’s the epitome. “He’s all right. His name is Zeppelin.”
“Zeppelin? I heard that name.” She tosses me the remote. “Yeah, I did! I saw him and Nigel when I was coming in to pick you up.”
“You did?” My heart’s revving up again. Down, girl, I think. Steady.
“Mmm-hmm. Big ol’ blue eyes? Dark hair? Pinkish lips.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the remote. “I’m pretty sure that was him.”
“Jerzie Jhames. That boy was fine. Woo-wee, he stepped off the elevator and I was like, hot damn, who the hell is that?”
“Aunt Karla!”
“What? Don’t worry, I like my men past puberty.”
“He’s past puberty. He’s nineteen.”
“That’s eleven in boy years.”
We’re quiet for a moment and I scroll through choices on Netflix, settling on a minimalist documentary. The show starts to play. Aunt Karla’s eyes narrow at the TV screen. “Jerzie, what the hell is this?”
“It’s a documentary. About minimalism. I love the concept. I think I wanna be one.”
“When black people have very little, they call us poor. White people do it and they’re called minimalists? Jerzie, don’t watch this. How you get so uptight, niece?”
I playfully punch Aunt Karla on the shoulder. “I am the very antithesis of uptight.”
“See? Nobody your age should say ‘very antithesis.’ Thus proving my point. This seems like a good time to tell you about a little surprise. I have exciting news for you, girl.”
“Oh?” I perk up.
“Yep.” She stands. “Follow me, little niece.”
I follow her through the living room and down the hall to the master suite, where her annoying-as-shit, yuppie-in-training roommate stays. Farrah is her name. She’s in law school and wants to be a prosecuting attorney. All she talks about is politics, and I imagine all she dreams about is putting people in prison.
“Why are we standing in front of Farrah’s room?” I ask.
“Open the door,” Aunt Karla instructs. “Don’t worry. She’s not here.”
I do as instructed, and we both step into the master suite, which is twice as big as the room Aunt Karla sleeps in. The bedding is stripped. The closet door is open, revealing an almost empty space. I turn to Aunt K. “She movin’ out? Cuz that would be the best surprise ever.”
“Not quite. But she is out of town. She left this morning.”
“For how long?” I cross to the large bedroom window and stare out at the balcony. To add to the appeal of Aunt Karla’s place, it’s an end unit, so the master suite has this cool balcony attached. Aunt K has it set up with lights and plants and patio furniture. It’s too bad only Farrah gets to enjoy it.
“She’s on some sort of internship. In Amsterdam. Twelve weeks.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “So we get the place to ourselves this summer.”
“You’re lying.” I grin. “Farrah’s gone all summer?”
She nods.
“Aunt Karla!” I clap my hands excitedly. “This is the best surprise ever!” I feel my sour mood beginning to lift.
“There�
��s more.” She leans back on the bed now. “Judas gets to stay, too.”
“What?” My brow furrows.
“Yep. He’ll be here tomorrow night. Or the day after. I can’t remember. Your mom and dad are bringing him. He’s gonna help out this summer. Take you to work. Pick you up. Watch you at the house in the evenings when I have to work.”
“Oh my God, Aunt Karla.” I groan. “Judas is my babysitter? I’m too old for that. Why can’t he stay in Jersey? Doesn’t he have a bunch of stuff to do before leaving for college?”
Her phone chimes, and she glances at the caller ID. “It’s your dad calling. Why not ask him?”
She hands me the phone. I press the button to accept the call.
“Hey, Dad,” I say glumly.
“Jerzie?” Dad’s voice booms through the speakers. “Hey, honey. Why you sound so sad? Something happen?”
I look at Aunt Karla. She shrugs.
“Well,” I start, “Aunt Karla told me that Judas was staying here this summer, too, and I think that’s kind of...stupid.”
“Stupid?” Dad replies.
“I’m just sayin’. Why can’t I stay with Aunt Karla by myself? That was the original plan.”
There’s silence from the other end. I imagine he’s taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples the way he does when he’s frustrated.
“You staying by yourself was the original plan when Farrah was gonna be there,” Dad replies. “You should be grateful he wants to help. He should be relaxing before college starts in the fall.”
“I’m grateful, Dad. I am. But let’s be real. I don’t need a babysitter. He doesn’t even know anything about New York City.”
“Neither do you, Jerzie. And how is it gonna work when Karla wants to go out with her friends or on a date? How are you gonna manage being alone in Brooklyn when she has to work late? You’re sixteen years old, and—”
“Seventeen,” I correct him. “I’ll be seventeen this summer. I’ll be an adult in a year. Judas will be dragging me to the financial district to stare at the stock exchange building or taking selfies in front of banks. I’ll be stuck with him.”
Roman and Jewel Page 6
