Roman and Jewel

by Dana L. Davis

  “The media always gettin’ shit wrong. What else is new?”

  “But you’re okay,” I say. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was really worried.”

  “‘Okay’ is debatable. I have two cracked ribs, a spinal contusion, and some serious whiplash. Plus my head is pounding so hard I swear I could die right now.”

  “Cinny,” I breathe. “That all sounds serious. You should be home. Why are you here?”

  “Because I needed to talk to you. I have to talk to you.” She points to Aunt Karla’s front door. “Can we go inside?”

  “My family is asleep,” I explain. “And also...they don’t...like you.”

  “Understandable. Would you be down for sitting in the car? I promise I’m not here to abduct you. I wanna talk is all.”

  I follow her into the SUV and we sit on opposite ends of the back seat.

  “Steve?”

  The driver turns. “Yes, Cinny?”

  “Could you give us some privacy? A few minutes?”

  “Absolutely, miss.”

  The driver pushes the door open and steps outside. When the door closes and Cinny and I have complete privacy, she starts doing that thing I do. Where I’m trying to twist my fingers off. I thought I was the only one who did that.

  “I want you to know that I’m dropping the charges.”

  “Omigosh.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Cinny.”

  “I bet that was kind of a nightmare. Going to jail?”

  “I got out pretty quickly. Plus, I found out they can’t post minors’ mug shots online. So all in all, guess it wasn’t too bad.”

  She leans back and stares up at the roof of the car. “On the way over here, I went to a website and took a Cosmo quiz. The ‘are you a sociopath?’ quiz. It said I wasn’t.”

  “You sure it’s accurate?”

  “Look, Jerzie.” She turns to me. “I know I seem like a terrible person. But from my perspective, I had been with Zeppelin for weeks before you showed up.”

  “Zeppelin?” My eyes narrow. “That’s really what this is about? We’re fighting over a boy?”

  “We’re not fighting. Not right now. I’m explaining. So you can understand. Zeppelin would be so amazing when we were in a scene together. And I’d think he must feel some kinda way about me. Then Alan would say hold for one reason or another, and Zepp would disengage and retreat. It was driving me fucking mental. The closeness. It felt real for me. I was lost in it.”

  My stomach turns sour. She wasn’t lying. She did think there was something between her and Zeppelin.

  “Why didn’t you tell him that you liked him, Cinny? He had no idea.”

  She rests her head in her hands. “It’s my regret. If I could rewind time, I would’ve said it. ‘Zeppelin, I’m falling for you.’” She looks up at me. “How simple would that have been? Maybe things would’ve been different.” She’s quiet for a long moment before she continues. “But I didn’t say that. I guess I was waiting on him to say it to me. Then I walked in on y’all in the bathroom that day, and I saw the way he was looking at you. And then he fuckin’ chased after you when you left so quickly. I could tell right away. He liked you.” She turns, staring at the window. I watch her pull her sleeve over her hand and wipe her eyes with the edge. She’s trying to hide it. But it’s pretty obvious she’s crying.

  “Cinny. We don’t have to do this. You don’t have to tell me any of this.”

  “Yes, we do. You need to understand.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “After he ran off after you, I tried to rationalize it. Like, you’re mad cute, right? So I was like, he saw a cute girl is all. But then I saw that damn video with you two.” A tear slides down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away. “Jerzie, up until that day, Zeppelin had never kissed me in rehearsal. Whenever we’d get to a kiss, it was always on the cheek. I figured that was his thing and he was waiting for dress rehearsal or some shit like that before we kissed for real. But he kissed you.” She shakes her head. “I confronted him. Like, the fuck? He swore it was the moment or whatever. I think he said, ‘What’s the big deal? Who cares?’ And the next rehearsal he kissed me, trying to prove a point, I think. But I could tell he was mad uncomfortable, and again...he went running after you that day, too. That’s when I found y’all in the stairwell.”

  I nod. It’s all making sense now.

  “I didn’t mean to be all, stay away from Zeppelin like some crazy-ass baby-mama drama type shit. I just was like, I decided I’d earned the right to let him know how I felt.”

  “You had earned that right, Cinny. You could’ve told him.”

  “I was scared.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” I say. “But you have a boyfriend. Right? Zeppelin said he would come to rehearsals sometimes.”

  “I hang out with Shivers. Yeah. But he’s a friend. And not a friend with benefits. Just a friend.” She looks at me now. “Are you and Zeppelin friends with benefits?”

  “Cinny,” I say softly.

  “It’s whatever. I’m only trying to put together the missing pieces of the puzzle here.”

  “I don’t think I feel comfortable answering that.”

  She wraps an arm around her waist, wincing in pain.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Hurts like hell is all,” she says.

  Is it her heart that hurts?

  “Anyway. Me and Shivers. We mostly hang out for paparazzi pics and shit like that. We want people to think we’re a real thing. Remember? I like for the media to exploit lies. It’s when they exploit the truth that bothers me.”

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  We sit in silence for a while.

  “I ripped your posters off my wall,” I admit.

  “Say what?”

  “After I found out you got the part over me and I was hired to be your understudy, and after I cried for days. I ripped your posters off my wall. I had three. I took you off all my playlists, too. And then I unfollowed you on Instagram.”

  “Dang. Are you serious?”

  “I hated showing up for work that first day. I hated...losing.”

  “I hate losing, too,” Cinny says. “All my life, winning has been my top priority. Being number one. Being the best. It’s what I do. I’m the happiest when I’m winning.”

  I give her a look.

  “Don’t judge me for it, okay? If Tom Brady said winning made him happy, everybody would slap him on the ass and congratulate him. But I say it, and I’m a bad person?”

  “It’s not that you’re a bad person. It’s just that there are greater experiences than winning.”

  “Like falling in love?”

  Yeah. I sigh. Like falling in love. “Listen, Cinny. We both need to change our perceptions. We’re not in competition with one another.”

  “Sorry, boo, but if two people are vying for the same thing, it’s a fuckin’ competition.”

  “Then you should be declared the winner, Cinny. You got the part over me.”

  “But you won Zeppelin’s heart.”

  “Hold on.” I sit up now. “I have a thought.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “A lot of people want the same things.”

  “True,” Cinny agrees.

  “If you ask me, it’s not always a competition. Sometimes it’s just life. We’re not competing.”

  “How you figure that though?”

  “Because.” I smile. “A real competition has a clear beginning and end. Our careers have no end in sight.”

  She smiles now, too. “Maybe our existence has no end in sight either.”

  “Exactly! How can we be competing? We’re just living another life.”

  “And maybe one after this one, huh?”

  “Who knows?” I say. “Maybe.”

  “Fine.” She nods in agreement. “I’
m with that. I kinda like it, too. It’s life then. It’s this life. And we’re just living.” She exhales dramatically. “But can we agree I’m not a sociopath or a psychopath and what was the other thing you called me?”

  “Uh. A maniac.”

  “Right. I didn’t take the maniac quiz, but I think I’d pass that one, too.”

  “The ‘are you a maniac’ Cosmo quiz?” I laugh.

  “Girl, now you know those quizzes are accurate.” She laughs, too. “Look. Call me Tom Brady, but in this life, winning is my jam. It’s all I know. And I took one look at you that day in the bathroom, showing up outta nowhere. I knew there was something special about you. And I was like, the fuck is wrong with this production. Why they hiring this understudy who’s better than me?”

  “Cinny, stop it. I’m not better than you.”

  “For Broadway you are, and you know it. You’re so Broadway. I’m R & B. I’m MTV. I’m fucking fabulous, don’t get me wrong. But you’re Broadway.”

  I truly can’t argue with her there. I am Broadway. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.

  “Still,” I say. “It’s life. It’s this life. And in this life, you got the part I wanted. You’re the lead. I gotta live with that.”

  “I’m a lead who has two cracked ribs,” she admits. “So I’m a lead who will be out for the next six weeks to heal. Which means, Jerzie Jhames, that you’re the lead. For now. You’ll be opening the show.”

  Her eyes are welling with tears again. She looks pretty fragile in this moment. It reminds me of being in the conference room and watching her cry. Never thought my life would take me to such places. Watching an international superstar cry. Because of me.

  “I’m opening the show?” I whisper.

  “You are. I chatted with Robbie. And Alan. They’re panicking a little, like the money-hungry bitches they are, but I told them you got this. They know you got this. You’re a star, Jerzie. The show will be fine till I return. Plus, I heard previews sold out. Already. Everybody is dying to see this damn show.”

  “Serious?” I exhale. “But they’re all coming to see you. Not me.”

  “They might be coming to see me. But they’re gonna fall in love with you.”

  My new reality is ever so slowly sinking in. My all-time favorite composer, Robert Christian Ruiz, has a new musical. It’s called Roman and Jewel, and in it...

  I am Jewel.

  “Don’t trip though,” Cinny adds. “Imma be there every day. Watching in the wings. You can’t get rid of me. And when I heal, I’m taking my spot back. Best believe. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Right.” Of course she’s not going anywhere.

  “Gotta make sure I win my Tony to go with my Grammys,” she says playfully. “And the future Academy Award.”

  I sigh.

  “Aww, don’t sigh like that, Jerzie. What’s wrong with wantin’ to win a Tony?”

  “It’s just that...” Uggh. I don’t wanna be the one to tell her this. But. She’ll find out soon enough anyway. “Well,” I swallow. “Only the opening cast of a production can be nominated for a Tony.”

  “Wait, what? Is that really true?”

  “Yeah. It’s true.”

  “Damn.” She shakes her head. “Karma is a bitch.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Wanna know where I was headed when we got into the accident? To the hospital to pretend you caused me serious injury. So I could make sure you got charged with a felony.” She winces in pain again. “I should go. I only wanted you to know that I’m not a sociopath.” She grabs my hand. “And I’m not gonna pass the song off as mine. Okay? I’m sorry about that, too.”

  My eyes widen. “You’re gonna tell the world I wrote it with Spade?”

  “Nah.” She shakes her head. “Don’t hate me, Jerzie. But Rome wasn’t built in a day. I lost the guy. I lost the role. The future Tony—”

  “Cinny, you haven’t lost.”

  “Fine. Whatever. It’s this life. But I need time to process my new reality—life can suck sometimes. I know that now.”

  “Cinny,” I interrupt. “You’ll be back and—”

  She holds out a hand to silence me. “You’re opening the show, boo. Not me. Shit hurts worse than my ribs.” She pauses. “Look, I can’t be singing a song you wrote. I’m not doin’ that. We’re going in a totally new direction. New track. Everything.”

  “But, Cinny. That’s like cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

  “Say what?”

  “It’s this old expression. My mom and dad say it all the time. It’s when you do something needlessly self-destructive. This song with this new melody? It could be the song that catapults you to a new level. To the next, next, next level. What if that happened? Who cares who wrote it?”

  “I care,” she says firmly. “I guess I’m biting off my face to destroy my nose then.”

  “Cutting off your nose. You know what. Never mind.” Because if I’m being honest, I understand where she’s coming from. I really do. Life is funny that way.

  “Thank you for understanding, Jerzie.”

  I hug her very gently. “I’m sorry I called you a sociopath. You clearly are far from that.”

  “Thank you.” She exhales. “And I’m sorry I got you arrested. And tried to ruin your life. And Zeppelin’s, too. I wish he was still a part of the show. He was such a good Roman. You know, out of everything that’s happened, him uploading that video of me hurts the worst. It just seemed so unlike him. I pegged him as one of the good guys. I swear I did.”

  “Cinny.” I know I shouldn’t. But it’s like the words are pouring out of my mouth before I can even think it through. Zeppelin is one of the good guys. She deserves to know that. “He didn’t upload those videos.”

  “What?” She sits up. “Who did it?”

  Do I tell her I don’t know?

  “You know what?” Silent tears slide down her cheeks. She wipes them away. “I don’t even care who did it. I’m just glad it wasn’t him. You have no idea what that means to me.”

  I bet it means a whole lot. I move to push open the door.

  “Hey, Jerzie?”

  I turn back. “Yeah?”

  “Jokes aside. Do you honestly believe in all this past life shit? Like, you think it could be real?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “So then maybe in a past life, I took a guy you loved. Maybe this life is for us to even things out. A new experience for us both.”

  “Maybe.” I smile. “But if things are even. Next life? Can we like, meet up in Ibiza and dance and drink lemon drops and just have fun? That could be a new experience, too. Cuz all this is pretty tiring.”

  “Bitch, we can do that in this life.” She laughs. “I’ll make sure we do.”

  “I’ll look forward to it. Bye, Cinny.”

  “Bye, Jerzie Jhames.”

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  I’m staring at my phone in disbelief. “I cannot believe BuzzFeed News wrote an article about our show called ‘Roman and Copycat’!”

  Angel snorts. “That’s funny.”

  “So what if our set is similar to Dear Evan Hansen?”

  “Is it?” Angel asks. “Never seen Dear Evan before.”

  I slide my phone into my back pocket. “It’s similar. Because our band isn’t in the pit, it’s onstage, and like them, we’re using Ableton.”

  “Able-wha?” Angel scratches his head.

  “It’s this piece of software that plays loops and sounds to represent all the digital elements—text messages, social media chimes, etc.”

  “Oh.” Angel yawns. He’s given up on his violet contacts and has now switched to green. Like a lime, Halloween-cat sort of green. “You know a lot of stuff. Does it make your brain hurt?” He holds out his phone in front of us. “Say chee
se. I need a new pic for the Gram, and this lighting makes my eyes glow. I look amazing.”

  I lean my head on his shoulder and smile. He quickly snaps the pic with his camera phone. We’re sitting in the front row right now, watching the orchestra rehearse before the dress rehearsal officially begins in an hour or so. I swear the music is like a living, breathing organism.

  “Listen to this music, Angel,” I say. “Copycat? Ha! It’s so hip-hop. It’s so new age. It’s so high-tech. We’re badass. We copy no one.”

  “I don’t care what BuzzFeed News says.” Angel stretches out his legs. “I’m just glad tech is over. Twelve-hour rehearsals? I swear to God, if Alan adjusted one more light, I was gonna walk off and quit.”

  “Walk one step. Stop,” I say. “Uh-oh. The light’s too hot.”

  Angel imitates Alan. “Ooooh, now it’s too abrasive. Could we warm that light on Jerzie so it’s not too abrasive?”

  I laugh. “Never mind. Now it’s jarring. Mae? Mae? Is it jarring to you? It’s jarring, isn’t it?”

  Angel places a hand under his chin. “Make it intimate. Not a cold light. Not a hot light. But a Christmas light. In fact...” he snaps his fingers “...make it a night-light.”

  We both crack up.

  “We are a week from preview.” Angel exhales. “I seriously can’t believe it. You nervous?”

  Nervous? That’s an understatement. But I can’t like, admit I’m nervous. Can I? Saying it out loud would make it too real. Then the nerves would amplify. “Nah, I’m not nervous. We got this.”

  Mae taps her baton on her stand, and the music stops.

  “From the third measure.” She flips a page in her sheet music, adjusting her glasses as she studies the pages. “The oboe must be louder. Let me hear the B.” The oboe makes the most beautiful sound as the note reverberates off the walls. “Violins with the A but pianissimo. The oboe is the star here.” The violins play so soft and sweet, I place a hand over my heart. “Perfecto. Violins. Perfecto.”

  I turn to Angel. “How’s Damon?”

  Angel shrugs. “He’s okay. He will be anyway. And we kinda like living together now. It suits us.”