“Two skinny caps?”
“Thanks, just put them on the table,” Scout says.
The lady leaves our coffees on the table, walking away, as Scout says, “And that, too.”
The cappuccinos were a low move on her part. The smell of the rich, roasted beans, not burnt, makes me smile and sip, feeling warm and capable.
“So?”
“I’m not sure. As expected he isn’t speaking to me yet. He’s said, like, one sentence to me in a text. I’m not whinging about it. I deserve it.”
“Kalli!”
Scout realises her voice was loud enough to make another customer turn and scoff at her.
Lowering her voice, she says, “Kalli, you’re killing me here. Yes, you fucked up, but do something about it. You guys will never speak if you let this silence happen.”
“What do I say? It’s too late. He won’t listen to me.”
“Do you know that? Give him a chance.”
I shrug. I don’t want to fight, but it’s obvious that forgiving or accepting what a slutty, bitchy girl I am won’t come fast or easy.
“Prove you’re worth it, Kalli. I know you are. Because of you I spoke to Steph about everything I was feeling. Finally, after I let go with you, I felt like I could trust others. She wants to be there with me when I tell my parents ‘cause she knows I’ll be crapping my panties. I wouldn’t be feeling more and more okay with being gay if it weren’t for my best friend right here.”
Especially since Nate left for his photography trip more so than before, I’ve wondered about him getting sick of me. What if I’m too late? What if I pushed him too far?
Do I have a chance to work out whatever is going on between us?
But the simplest one sticks: What if he does hire a private room to shoot a sexy, thin, impossibly-long haired model in? How on earth do I live up to that? What if she’s topless or completely naked? What if she spreads her legs for the camera, or does bedroom eyes, looking over her shoulder at him? Would he even want to resist temptation like that?
Scout lifts my ankles and hugs them to her chest, like a girl with her little dolly. Scout’s stupid, but she’ll always make me laugh, which is why I say, “Fine, I have an idea.”
•••
Friday morning I get the email. Not only are two of my violin students performing at the concert in a few weeks’ time but they want me to do a special piece to finish off the night as well as my standard at the beginning. No one ever closes the night’s concert until the organisers feel they have something special to leave with the audience.
Since Nate comes back tomorrow, I practise for two solid hours after I return from a lecture and a tute. I concentrate on a section of bars that I keep playing off tune. Those I tend to forget.
For those two hours I relish my fingertips callousing, and the black string lines embedded in them.
After I pack my bow and violin away, brush away the white resin dusted on my jeans, I get on my computer and start on Operation Nate. I find all the ones I want to find, find the book I need to and get started.
I don’t stop until dinnertime, and even then, I gladly suffer the consequences of indigestion from stuffing my face because it means I can get back to my room faster to finish off.
Later when I’m done, I tell myself I’ll call Nate. I dial his number and repeat to myself it’s okay, stay on the line, while each ring mocks me more. One, was this a good idea? Two, he might not pick up. Three, he’s busy. Four, crap, hang up now before you annoy him. Then on the fifth ring, his voice comes on puffed, saying, “Hello?”
“I’m sorry, I interrupted you. Uh—”
“Hey, Kall. I just made it. Didn’t see it was you.”
Legs hanging over the side of my bed, back laid over the cover, I close my eyes and wonder if he means he wouldn’t have picked up if he saw it was me calling, or if he’s happy I’m calling him and is pleasantly surprised.
Can’t imagine it’s the latter.
“I’ve got something of yours here. Scout told me you were back tomorrow and I’d like to give it to you. That’s all.” No sex, no crazy Kalli.
“Oh, well, maybe. I’ll text you if I’m free.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry about the last-minute thing. Okay, bye.”
Crap, shit. This is bad. Not only does he sound disinterested, but I foresee myself making a bigger and bigger fool of myself. I am already shaking, feeling cold without being cold by the chills on my skin, knowing I’m ending my first chat with Nate in a week so soon, but it’s for the best. It is.
“All right. See ya, Kall.”
18
Saturday would have been a bad day if not for the fact I woke up to a text from Nate saying he’ll come over that night. Half an hour before he arrives, I towel dry my damp hair and stare down the line-up of hair treatments. I decide on my smoothing spray and run over my hair with the straightener to give it a perfect finish and a nice gloss.