Roman and Jewel

by Dana L. Davis

  “Good to hear.” I stand. “I should head up.”

  He studies his phone. “I’ll be right behind you. Oooh, our pic already has six hundred likes. Told you I looked amazing. You look good, too.”

  I laugh and move toward the stage stairs, where Aunt Karla and Nigel are having a hushed conversation.

  “Excuse me?” I step to Nigel. “Aren’t you like, supposed to be working? Instead of breaking the rules, letting my aunt backstage where she’s not allowed and openly flirting with her? You should be fired for this.”

  “First off.” He holds up a finger. “She’s the one openly flirting with me.”

  Aunt Karla laughs. “You wish.”

  “All my wishes come true.” Nigel smiles. “But I probably should get back to work.” He and Aunt Karla kiss on the lips. I cover my eyes.

  “God. Get a room!” I exclaim.

  Aunt Karla laughs. “Jerzie, stop acting like a teenager. You’re the lead in a Broadway show. Grow up.”

  I stick out my tongue and move past them, up the small set of stairs where I almost slam into Lorin.

  “Hey, Lorin,” I say. “You ready for this?”

  “Jerzie,” she whines. “I found more roaches in my dressing room sink. I’m so disgusted. I have an infestation.”

  “Aww, cute. A family.”

  “You think so? I’ll have the exterminator drop ’em off with you.”

  “Cool. The mouse I saw last week in my dressing room can eat them for dinner.”

  “Uggh. Rats? These old theaters should be demolished. Have you seen Nigel?”

  “Keep walking. You’ll run into him.”

  Lorin rushes past me in a huff.

  Onstage, Alan is pointing as he talks with the lighting crew. “I still feel like we’re way too hot on Roman,” he explains. “He looks as white as a ghost next to Jerzie. How do we fix it?”

  I laugh. The man is never gonna move past the lights.

  As I walk backstage and into the chaos of so many people coming and going, I see Robbie standing near the stairwell door, chatting with Elias and Nikolai.

  “Jerzie.” Robbie waves me over.

  “Hey, Robbie.” I will never be fully calm and composed talking to Robert Christian freakin’ Ruiz! Never. But I can fake it till I make it. “Hey, Elias, Nikolai. How are you guys?”

  “Nervous.” Elias really does look nervous. “I had a dream last night that everyone forgot everything and you all stood onstage for two hours staring at the ceiling while the music played.”

  “Nothing to fear.” Nikolai rolls his eyes. “He has that dream every time a show is about to go up.”

  “Playbill is here,” Robbie says to me. “They wanna interview us about ‘I Defy’ and take some photos. Can we do it after you get through your hair and makeup and we get you all mic’d up?”

  I’m sorry, whaaaaa? Playbill wants to interview me?! Oh, screw pretending like I’m calm. “Holy shit, Robbie! Are you serious? Yeah, man. We can do it anytime.”

  He laughs. “Perfect. Come to the stage when you’re dressed.”

  “And try not to say ‘holy shit’ during your interview,” Elias adds.

  “Okay. I’ll only say it in my head.” I pull open the door and move into the stairwell.

  “Jerzie. Hon?”

  I see one of the dressers peeking out from the next level.

  “Hey, Desi.” I rush up the stairs to meet her.

  “Are you free at all to come to like, a five-minute fitting?” she asks. “There is one dress where the hem needs to be adjusted.”

  “Sure. Let me run to the bathroom superquick. I’ll come right back.”

  “Oh. You’re a doll.”

  “That’s what they tell me.”

  I rush up the stairs to the next floor, yank open the door, and move down the hallway. When I step into my dressing room, a very blond and tan Zeppelin sits at my vanity. “Aren’t you in the wrong room?”

  He stands. “I like yours better.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Cuz you’re in it.”

  “Aww.” I step into his arms. “I missed you.”

  “You saw me like, twenty minutes ago.”

  “Felt more like a long half hour.” I look into his eyes and run my fingers through his newly blond tresses. “Will I ever get used to you with blond hair?”

  “Does it look like I should be in a boy band?” he asks solemnly. “Like the kind of boy band where they wear matching clothes and do weird choreographed dances?”

  “No, no.” I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling. That’s exactly what he looks like.

  “You promise? Babe, don’t lie to me.”

  “It’s less pop, more rock ’n’ roll. You’ve definitely got the rebel without a cause, Romeo meets Roman look going on right now. Roman being blond was a good call the producers made.”

  “And the fake tan. Does it look natural?”

  “It’s cute. You look like you just got back from the beach.”

  He exhales, relieved. I hear my toilet flush, and the bathroom door opens to reveal Ava.

  “Oh. Ava is with me,” Zeppelin says.

  “You’re gonna watch the dress rehearsal, Ava?”

  “No.” She pouts. “I’m not allowed to. Nigel’s kicking me out. Dad’s on his way to pick me up.” Ava steps around Zeppelin, her bright blue eyes gazing at the lights on my vanity. “Your room is way better than Zepp’s.” Her voice is soft and gentle. Kind. “And way bigger, too.”

  “They’re the exact same size,” Zeppelin says.

  “No, they’re not.” Ava flips her long black hair over her shoulder. “Don’t be jealous of your girlfriend. Your room doesn’t even have its own bathroom.”

  “It has a sink. Same thing,” Zeppelin replies.

  Nigel sticks his head into the room. “Ava. Your dad is at the stage door.”

  “Aww,” she whines. “I don’t wanna go.”

  Nigel turns to Zeppelin. “And one of your dressers is looking for you.”

  “Got it. I’ll head back to my room in a second.”

  “And, Jerzie.” Now Nigel turns his attention to me. “Desi needs you. And Sound needs to test your mic.”

  “Got it. Headed to Desi in a second. Then to Sound. But Robbie needs me, too. We’re doing an interview for Playbill.”

  “Oh.” He winces. “That’s the priority. Get dressed and do that first. I’ll tell Desi they can use April to stand in for the fitting. You guys are the same height. I’m headed to the greenroom to find her.”

  “A greenroom? Can I see it before I go? Please?” Ava asks.

  “Fine.” Nigel motions for her to join him. “But full disclosure. It’s not green.”

  We watch the two exit into the hallway, and I turn to Zeppelin. “Have you talked to Damon?”

  “We talked. Yeah,” he replies sadly. “He’s doing another reality show. Seems like he’s recovering. I hope so anyway.”

  “That was pretty good of him to come forward the way he did.”

  “Yeah.” Zeppelin nods. “I always knew he would.”

  “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew. He’s a good guy. He’s a real friend.”

  “And how are things with your dad?”

  He shrugs. “Family therapy is a drag but we’re all getting through it.”

  I study Zeppelin. The blond hair. The tan skin. The Roman wardrobe. “You’re pretty sexy as Roman, you know.”

  “Yeah?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, you’re beautiful as Jewel.”

  “I’m not even in costume yet.”

  “Oh. Well then, you’re just beautiful.” He grins.

  I place my hands over my cheeks to cool them down a bit.

  “Ahhh... ‘See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.
O that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek.’”

  “Don’t tease me, Romeo.”

  He steps to me, wrapping an arm around my waist. I look up into his eyes.

  “Ti amo, Jerzie.” He kisses me so softly, so gently, on the lips. “Ti voglio bene. Or maybe I should say... Sei veramente importante per me. Or better yet. Le parole non bastano a descrivere il mio amore per te.”

  When Zeppelin speaks Italian, I swear I could melt into a puddle on the floor and dissolve into thin air. “English really needs more sexy ways to say I love you.”

  “Are you kidding, Jerzie? When Juliet says, ‘Give me my Romeo, and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars—’”

  “‘—and he will make the face of heaven so fine,’” I continue, “‘that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.’”

  “Now that’s a sexy way to say I love you.” He traces my lips with his fingertips. “So. Will I be able to lie next to you soon? Now that you’ve broken up with the real Zeppelin and are dating his blond, tan, boy-band cousin?”

  “My room does have a balcony.”

  “With a security camera.”

  “That disengages for twenty minutes when the Wi-Fi is unplugged.”

  “Nice. I can sneak in to see you. We can call it ‘rehearsal.’”

  “Exactly. We’d be rehearsing.”

  “And we need to rehearse. This is Broadway. Gotta be good.”

  I lay my head against his chest. Our hearts seem to be in sync with one another. Both beating slow and steady. Speaking the language only hearts can speak. The one, true universal language where no words are needed to tell the story.

  I think about what Aunt Karla asked me weeks ago. What do I know about love? What does anyone know, really? But with Zeppelin, I’m willing to try to figure it out. Even when the butterflies have all gone away, and all we have is our billion-year-old bond.

  Because I believe it will still be us. And we will still be together.

  And the world will keep on spinning.

  And everything will be all right.

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  To complete a novel...it takes a village. So, of course, I’d like to thank mine.

  First up. My brilliant agent and friend, Uwe Stender. You believe in me. You believe in my stories. I am eternally grateful for you. My phenomenal editor, Natashya Wilson, who has loved this story from its inception, back when it was only an email titled “Do You Think You Would Like This?!” Tashya—Zeppelin and Jerzie live so clearly in my heart and mind because of your guidance. And in some alternate dimension, Aunt Karla and Nigel are naming their baby after you. Thank you for EVERYTHING.

  Big thanks to Inkyard Press for being the best publisher in all the land. Thank you Bess Braswell for all your hard work. I appreciate you! Thank you to my amazing cover team Erin Craig and Elita Sidiropoulou—with extra special thanks to Illustrator Robert Ball. You three are my cover dream team!

  To my Broadway experts: Michael Potts, Ali Funkhouser, Tory Kittles, and Virginia Louise Smith. Could not have done this without you guys. Extra special Broadway thanks to Ali Funkhouser. All mistakes are my own.

  The research process for this book involved travel! Which was the first time I’d ever traveled to research a book. What fun seeing Broadway shows and venturing backstage. And thank you to New York City for welcoming me and not laughing when I would get lost day after day on the subway. And thanks to all the New Yorkers who were nice to me when I said, “Excuse me, do you know how to get to [enter destination].” On the right train headed in the wrong direction was the underlying theme of my travel time.

  Thanks to everyone who read parts of Roman and Jewel back in its earlier forms: Natasha Deen, Kevyn Richmond, Christopher DeWan, Michael Willuweit, Ravyn Willuweit, Uwe Stender (thanking you again because you read this so many times), and Katya Lidsky.

  Thanks to Linette Kim for always working so hard for me and a very special thanks to Laura Gianino. I was sitting with you in a dark corner of a restaurant when you encouraged me to write this story. It was your belief in me in that moment that began this journey. Thank you, friend.

  Speaking of friends. So many friendships that kept me sane during the year and a half it took me to write this story: My mom. You are my best friend. I’m so grateful for you and can’t wait to celebrate the book YOU will write someday. My sister, Shona. Thanks for always being just a phone call away. Mikey and Kiki, love you two so much. My daughter, Cameron, who puts up with me staring at my laptop for hours a day—love you, honey. My many lifetimes road dog, Greg Schwartz. Michael Willuweit and Kevyn Richmond—thank you for your friendship. Katya Lidsky, who is the kind of amazing friend I would dream up in a novel. My best good buddy, Bree Barton. My best good Cali cousins, Monique and Lisa. Love you two. And to all my family. Yes, including you, Dad. Love you! And welcome to the family, sweet little Ava. Great Auntie loves you and can’t wait to meet you.

  And to all my readers. Thank YOU for taking this journey with me.

  Rise up!

  Until next time,

  Dana L. Davis

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Voice in My Head by Dana L. Davis.

  The Voice in My Head

  by Dana L. Davis

  Chapter One

  My hands tighten around rusted metal scaffolding as I pull myself up onto a pair of wooden planks near the rooftop of an old industrial warehouse. I pause to catch my breath, using one hand to wipe away tears turned into tiny crystals of ice, making the skin around my eyes sting. In the distance, glimmering city lights weave through streams of heavy falling rain. It’s almost beautiful.

  Climbing this high was the easy part. Buildings under construction always have something to grab on to. Now comes the real challenge. I take a deep breath and stand, attempting to steady my sneakers on the slippery slats of wood. I’m not wearing a hat, or gloves, or even a coat, which might seem odd considering it’s December...in Seattle, but I don’t need to be warm. At least not tonight, since tonight, I’m about to die. And people who are committing a mortal sin don’t deserve to be warm.

  I glance up. I’m only a couple of stories from the rooftop, but I can’t climb any higher. Thin sheets of ice are forming on the wooden beams and my hands are bitterly cold. I peer over the edge and swallow. It’s certainly a long way down. Perhaps this height will do.

  I climb under the wobbly guardrail and reposition myself so that my feet are turned sideways and both arms are wrapped around the scaffolding. The way I’m standing isn’t exactly ideal for a graceful, death-compliant leap. I’ll have to jump at a slant, but once I’m airborne, I can shift my body and fall backward like a stuntwoman, screaming all the way down until...

  My chest tightens at the thought. Will it hurt? Can I handle it? Should I reconsider? I heave a heavy sigh. Only, the sigh turns into a sequence of shivers that reach all the way to my internal organs, causing my heart to skip a beat.

  I’m crying. Again. Now the city lights in the distance are blurring and twirling like a Van Gogh painting come to life. I’m also soaked. My thick black hair is both wet and icy and scratching my face like dead pine needles. And the wind is snapping my loose T-shirt in all imaginable directions, sending cold rain up my abdomen and chest, convincing me that if I don’t die from this fall, surely I’ll die tomorrow, from pneumonia. I think of my sister Violet. As if I think of anything else these days? Even though she’s smarter, a little bit prettier, a whole lot nicer and in general...better, I’ve never been jealous. Instead, she’s everything I aspire to be. She is my best friend. Or at least she was.

  I squint up at the Seattle sky, covered with dense clouds, and imagine God can see through the mass of darkness and sheets of heavy rainfall and is watching. Taking notes. Waiting for me to leap, so he can put me on the et
ernal naughty list and cast me away. I’ve often pondered: When people kill themselves, is there any part of them that wants to live? Now I know the answer. There is. At least for me. There is this tiny part of me that wants nothing more than to climb down this scaffolding, get my feet planted on solid ground and live. But then what would happen? My parents would still look through me, as if I didn’t exist, the kids at school would still pity me, while simultaneously longing for Violet’s return, and pain would continue to embody every part of me. Of course I want to live. But not like this.

  “Help me, God...” My barely audible voice catches in my throat as a gust of wind slams into my chest, causing me to almost lose my balance. Shit! I attempt to stabilize, though ice has formed around the railing, burning the tips of my fingers. With each labored breath I take, I suck in cold air. It fills my lungs like a sledgehammer to the rib cage. Doesn’t help that I’m full-on sobbing at this point. Perhaps it doesn’t matter how I fall, just so long as it gets done. It’s not like anyone cares if I die dramatically anyway. It’s not like anyone cares if I live either. I am simply a sad reminder of the person who will be lost. A haunting reminder of Violet.

  “Help me...” I sob. “Please, God, help me.” My shoulders shake, both from the sobs and uncontrollable shivering. “I beg you.”

  I’m not exactly great at talking to God. This used to be one of Violet’s strong points. We’d hold hands at night and she’d say all these eloquent prayers with words like humbly and forthwith. But when it was my turn, I’d mumble something like, God, thanks for another day. Keep us safe. Amen. Violet never criticized or tried to get me to be more like her. She’d only nod in full acceptance of my pitiful prayer and repeat Amen. This is the Violet way—one of many traits that makes it so easy to love her.

  “God! If you can hear me,” I cry out into the darkness. “I...beseech you!”

  I don’t know what that means. Beseech? I remember Violet said it once in prayer. Sounded a lot less like a brand of hard candies coming from her than it does from me.

  “I...” I pause.