Dinner, Sex and a Movie(2)

Jake (looking at the piano):

Maybe it’s a precious antique.



Emma:

That they just happen to let students draw on and carve names into.



Jake (laughs):

I don’t know, it might be worse to have it circulating in the general public. Especially with some of those comments written next to your name. I think “Bitch” is the nicest of them.



Emma:

Those are warnings that I take pride in. Warnings you might have heeded.



Jake:

Not really my style, Emma. Regardless, so long as the piano is here, you know where it is.



Emma:

You have a point there, which puts you one up on the previous callers.



Jake:

Well, I am good, if I do say so myself. Then again, I have no frame of reference for this sort of thing. The phone call, I mean. What do I do next?



Emma (sighs):

Bra size or panty color.



Jake:

Huh?



Emma:

Ask me what my bra size is, or what color panties I’m wearing, idiot.



Jake:

Tempting, but that’s not actually why I called.



Emma:

I’d like to give you credit for not going there, but I think I’m more afraid of why you “really called.”



Jake:

Don’t be.



Emma:

So why did you call me then, Jake?



Jake:

I don’t know.



Emma (let down):

You would have been better off going the panty color route.



Jake:

Something came over me. I had to call. You, specifically.



Emma:

That’s because my name is first on the list. Poor Jane will be hearing from you next.



Jake:

No, I’m not gonna call any of them.



Emma:

Until you finish licking your wounds from this fiasco.



Jake:

Where is 609, anyway?



Emma:

Cape May. Dammit, why did I just tell you that? I meant Andover, Massachusetts.



Jake (visibly shudders at the name Andover):

Let’s stick with Cape May.



Emma:

What’s wrong with Andover?



Jake (cringes again):

Nothing. (Changing the subject quickly) They’re black lace, aren’t they?



Emma:

Fuck you, Jake. I’d say it was nice talking to you –



Jake:

I’m sorry. Wait.



Emma:

Why?



Jake:

Just hear me out.



Emma:

That would require you to have something to say. FYI, Bra size is off limits to you. Here, I’ll help you out: So, you are the school janitor, then?



Jake:

Brickman? No, I am…or was…the Spring music teacher.



Emma:

There’s a success story. Just the type of wealthy Alpha male I intend to marry.



Jake:

I just got stateside again a few months ago. I needed a job.



Emma:

Stateside?



Jake:

I was recording in Europe.



Emma:

Recording what, property deeds?



Jake:

I’m a guitarist. I played with Red Velvet for a bit, then Knockout Mouse.



Silence.



Jake:

We were all the rage round the ‘Dam. Also: Berlin, Cologne, Prague, Copenhagen and London.



Emma:

Which is how you ended up back in a boy’s school in Bryn Mawr. Had to flee Londontown before the lifestyle did you in, eh?



Jake:

That’s true, actually.



Emma:

You would have been better off asking my bra size.



Jake:

Come on, woman, give me a break. “Twenty-something, drifter guitarist” is a hot description. It’s way hotter than “wealthy Alpha male.”



Emma:

Um, no.



Jake:

I can be the good-looking bad boy that you never had, and you can be the angel that comes along and saves me from myself. You can hear it in my voice, don’t I sound dangerous?



Emma:

What the hell does dangerous sound like?



Jake (looking at himself, impressed):

Six-three, lean muscle, black T-shirt and jeans.



Emma:

That would hold my attention. But what do you look like?



Jake:

That’s me darlin’. I’m made entirely out of testosterone and danger. Along with my Strat, that’s pretty much all there is to me.



Emma:

Strat?



Jake (proudly):

Fender Stratocaster. My guitar. It’s a Rory Gallagher.



Emma:

So you are a sexy, broke rock star who fled London with an Irishman’s guitar to avoid a premature trip to the morgue.



Jake:

I am only twenty-six. Twenty-seven is when that tends to happen. How old are you?



Emma:

They’re black lace. Why are you leaving Bryn Mawr Academy, Jake?



Jake:

My gig’s up; I’m moving on.



Emma:

Where? Oh, wait, I forgot, you are a “drifter.” You’ll be going wherever Fate takes you.



Jake:

That’s here.



Emma:

OK, you lost me.



Jake:

I was in the act of leaving the building for the last time, but then I stopped and made this call.



Emma:

Oh, this is so lame.



Jake:

Something came over me. I’ve known about the numbers under the piano since I was in school here.