The lovers on the bench, the ones I’m staring at through the windows, they pull apart and I see the tears in their eyes. In the space of seconds, they’re shouting at each other.
How quickly things can change.
“We sent you to Italy,” my dad goes on, “but that slipper didn’t fit. Claudio & Rigby’s was a great opportunity for you, but that ended with an unfortunate exit scene and … regrettable consequences. Did you ever consider the backlash, Dessie? We sent you on countless auditions and you even got to audit those acting workshops at NYU. We—”
“And so you sent me here,” I say, watching the sweet couple tear each other apart through the glass, “but couldn’t bear for me to have a normal experience like I wanted, so you made sure to package it all up nice and pretty, dust it with promises of success and a handshake, and let your daughter believe in the lie.”
“Dessie …”
“I have to get back to rehearsal, Dad.” My voice is heavy and broken. “You know, to rehearse that role I don’t really deserve.”
“You deserve the world, sweetheart.”
I hang up, clenching the phone as tightly as I am my jaw. The lovers outside walk away, and so do I.
The rest of the rehearsal is considerably less pleasant, and when Eric asks me what’s wrong, that’s when I engage in my first true bit of acting, putting on a light smile and convincing him that I’m totally fine and can’t wait to sing my heart out. And for the first time in any rehearsal in my life, a person is actually convinced by my performance; Eric grins, squeezes my shoulder, and advises me to “up the sexy-sexy” in my song tonight. “Get Clay-boy all hot and bothered.”
And until I’m up on that stage and singing, I’ll sit here and hug my knees to my chest, leaning against the wall and waiting patiently for the storm of my father’s words to clear.
I wanted to sit in the back where I usually do, but Brant thought it’d be a better idea to sit up close so we can really see her. Surrounded on all sides by other college dudes makes me nervous. I constantly check over my shoulders to make sure nothing weird is happening.
Dmitri’s on the other side of the tall table we’re all sitting around and he’s signing to me what he’s saying as he tells Brant about his latest short story, which involves a video game that fulfills any sexual fantasy the player has, and the player in Dmitri’s story turns out to have sick, crazy-extreme interests that basically turns the video game into a murderous monster.
Meanwhile, I’m having fun negotiating with a fucking barstool. It’s one of those tall seat-like ones where I don’t know whether to sit in it or lean on it.
Brant hits my shoulder, then points. I turn to find three people coming in through the doors. Eric, who I met last year but never got to know, leads the trio with Chloe at his side, who looks like the scary byproduct of a raven, Death itself, and an extra from some unreleased Tim Burton flick, if I had to guess.
Behind them is Dessie, the beauty who owns a room the moment she walks in. She changed, wearing a sexy sleeveless red top and tight jeans. Fuck me …
But her face seems pensive. I see the tension in her body before she’s reached us. Her foot kicks into a chair and she glares down at it, annoyed. She squints against the smoke in the air, a scowl on her face for a moment as she gazes over the room.
Then her eyes land on me and her expression changes. The tension there drops away. The trace of a smile crosses her face and her stride becomes lighter.
Did I do that to her?
I’m fucking floating right now at the sight of her.
I hope I’m not grinning like a dumb shit, because I’m definitely grinning like a dumb shit in my mind.
“Dessie,” I say when she’s come to a stop in front of me.
“Clayton,” her lips say.
I’m really holding back right now. I want to grab hold of her and claim her as mine in front of everyone in this room. I want every ogling dude in this room to know that she’s taken. I want to put my mouth on her pretty pink lips and taste her.
Her gaze shifts, and in the next instant, she’s greeting my roommates. Brant gives her half a hug, which is more than I even gave her, the big drooling ogre that I am, and Dmitri offers her a curt nod and a dimply smile after readjusting his glasses. The table only has two more chairs, so Brant offers his to Dessie, opting to just stand squished between Dmitri and her. Eric and Chloe take the two that remain, making our table an unnecessarily crowded one.
Eric reaches his hand over the table, introducing himself to Dmitri, if I had to guess. It belatedly occurs to me that Eric’s gay. I snort, amused at the prospect of anything happening between those two. Good luck cracking Dmitri’s bisexual-slash-asexual egg, I’d tell him.