Chapter 18
IMPROMPTU
I joined the Drama Club.
I know, I know. Completely out of character. But one day, I just happened to see the flyer for Guys and Dolls hanging on the bulletin board outside of the gym, and I don’t know. It just seemed like it would be a fun thing to do.
I needed something fun to look forward to.
Besides, ever since our hockey team blew the regionals, I’d been looking for something new to occupy my time. Something silly. Something mindless. Something I didn’t have to take so damned seriously.
Which doesn’t exactly explain how I wound up with the lead.
That’s right, ladies and gentlemen. You’re looking at Sky Masterson, compulsive gambler and con man extraordinaire. I was kind of psyched about it, to be honest. That was Brando’s part in the movie, and there were few actors cooler than a young Marlon Brando.
In any case, by landing the lead, my presence was required during every minute of after-school rehearsals. Which took place every weekday. For three hours. Every. Day.
I was actually fine with it. Between school and rehearsals and the occasional workout at the ice rink, I was busy almost every minute of the day.
I even started working back at my father’s office a few days a week. I figured the New Year was a good enough excuse for a fresh start, and the old man was really trying to make up for our fight. He’d even curbed his drinking. Or maybe he just got better at hiding it from me. I didn’t care. As long as he was making the effort to be human, I didn’t see the harm in giving the guy a second chance.
The kids in the drama club weren’t normally the type of people I hung out with, but I was glad to have been given the opportunity to get to know them just the same. I already knew Pick’s sister Penelope, but she and I really bonded over the weeks of daily rehearsals. Same for lots of other people involved with the production. Kids I’d seen in class or in the halls, but whom I never stepped out of my bubble to speak with. That all changed almost instantaneously. And after only a few days, I started to notice a trend.
They started to look up to me. And not out of some warped obligation to treat “the popular guy” like a god, but because they respected my abilities. They valued me because of me, not my status.
Well, former status.
I was pretty sure they all thought “the cool kid” was going to barge in and make a mockery of their production, but I showed them pretty early on that I’d be taking it seriously. I think I surprised them. Hell, I surprised myself.
I was proud that they were able to recognize how hard I was working, how much I poured into every minute I was on that stage.
My commitment spilled off stage, too. No cast member ever made a character decision without first consulting with me. I liked that they felt I had something worthwhile to offer. I liked that I did. I’d always felt at home on the ice, but it was mind-blowing to discover I was just as comfortable on a stage. And that comfort allowed for a talent I didn’t even know I possessed to shine through.
It was addicting to slip into someone else’s skin, to pretend I wasn’t me for a while. To get out of my own damned head. To focus on something outside of myself. I know everyone likes to rag on the “theater kids,” but I totally got why they were so into it.
They were currently taking up residence in the auditorium’s seats to serve as an audience while Heather Ferrante and I commanded the stage. I could tell they were getting antsy. We’d spent all week practicing the same scene but things just weren’t going well.
Rehearsals were pretty brutal even when they did. Miss Tate cracked one helluva whip, but it was only because she expected the best out of us. When she wasn’t playing slave driver, she was actually pretty cool.
Oh. And she refused to call us by anything other than our character names.
“Sarah,” she said to Heather (see what I mean?), “I’m not feeling outrage from you. I need outrage!” Miss Tate raised her paper-laden hands in the air and shook them. “You are a well-bred, God-fearing woman. Sky has just taken liberties with you without your permission. This is your moment to put that shyster in his place!”
“You really do need to slap me,” I encouraged.
Heather peeked a look at me before directing her comment to her shoes. “I guess I don’t feel comfortable hurting him.”
I snickered at that. “Hea—I mean Sarah,” I corrected, shooting a sidelong glance at my drama teacher. “You think I’ve never been slapped by a girl before? C’mon. Lay one on me. I can take it.”
The entire cast sniggered as Miss Tate ran through the motivations yet again. Sky Masterson was supposed to sing “I’ll Know,” ending his song by kissing Sergeant Sarah Brown. Sarah was supposed to get pissed, slap him, and tell him where he could stick his line of bullshit.
Aaand scene.
Miss Tate had insisted that we didn’t need to actually kiss, which was a good thing because Heather was the most innocent girl I’d ever met. I’d never had much interaction with her prior to joining the drama club, but I always thought she was pretty. Long blonde hair, nice smile. But quiet. And shy as all hell. The girl blushed anytime I came near her.
I was supposed to make it look like we were kissing by taking off my fedora and leaning in, shielding our faces from the audience who’d be able to draw their own conclusions.
Finally, out of frustration, I decided it was time to shake things up.
Without even waiting for action to be called, I invaded Heather’s personal space, slipped my arm around her waist, and pulled her toward me. I paused for exactly one second to raise an eyebrow at her in silent questioning, asking if what I was doing was okay. She looked surprised, but trusting, so I just went for it.
The second I planted my lips on hers, the entire cast started hooting and hollering.
I felt Heather melt into me for a quick second before she pulled herself together and remembered we were in a scene. She pushed off my chest and swung her hand in a wide arc, meeting my face with an audible slap!
Everyone clapped and the two of us cracked up as Miss Tate practically had an orgasm right there in the auditorium. “Bravissimo! Yes! That’s what I’ve been looking for!”
I threw an arm around Heather and laughed into her hair. “That was amazing. I’m really proud of you.”
She buried her face in her hands, blushing like crazy. “I can’t believe we actually did it! I’m so embarrassed!”
“Don’t be. It was perfect. Think you can play it like that for the show?”
She acknowledged my compliment, however warily. “Well, my surprise might not be as genuine, but I think I can fake it.”
“That’s why they call it acting.”
I released her from our hug, held her hand, and we both took an exaggerated bow. The cast broke into even louder applause and laughter, which brought some much-needed levity to our afternoon.
Heather and I met each other’s eyes in a knowing smile as I gave a rub to my cheek. “By the way, Ferrante,” I teased, speaking loudly to be heard over the applause. “You’ve got one helluva right hook.”
* * *
My birthday was March 15.
We’d just had a fantastic dinner. I’d requested Mom’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and a chocolate cake for dessert. She’d barely cleared the cake from the coffee table when Dad launched into his new favorite topic. He’d spent the entire winter riding my ass about applying for college, and it looked as though he wasn’t about to let up, even on the occasion of my birth.
So there we were sitting in the TV room—Dad in his recliner, me on the arm of the couch—having yet another “discussion” about my “future.”
“I’m not just going to hand over the keys to the kingdom,” he said. “You’re going to need to work for it and you can’t do that with only a high school diploma. Even one from St. Nicetius.”
I let out a heavy breath before explaining—again, “Dad, I already told you. I didn’t even apply anywhere and it’s way too late to do so now. Maybe I’ll go to college next year. I just need some time to figure out what I want to do with my life.”
“I was hoping you’d want to take over the family business.”
That was a new one. Dad had always hinted about Claudia and me “inheriting his empire,” but I always took that to mean in a monetary sense. I never thought he seriously expected me to actively run the show. “Hotels? I don’t know if that’s for me, Dad. No offense.”
“You’ve been doing a great job for me down at the office. I think you might have a knack for this line of work. What’s the problem?”
I don’t want to wear a suit. I don’t want to sit in some stuffy board room all day. I don’t want my travel limited to the handful of cities that host a TRU Hotel.
I also didn’t want to insult the guy by saying any of that to him. “The problem is that I think it’s unfair.”
“Unfair.”
“Yes. You shouldn’t be the one to tell me what I should be doing with my life. I really appreciate all the work you’ve put into your business and I’m flattered that you think I’ve got what it takes to continue it for you. But Dad...” I ran a hand over my hair and aimed pleading eyes at him. “Can’t you see that I’m not the guy for the job? Maybe when I get older I’ll decide to take over the reins. But right now... Right now I need to figure out who I am. And then I might have an answer to who I’m going to be.”
Just then, I was saved by the bell as the phone rang, enabling me to put a temporary halt to the conversation in order to go answer it.
“Hello?”
“How’s your birthday going, dickhead?”
Pickford.
I chuckled as I thanked him for his call. We chatted about random shit for a few minutes before he asked, “Hey, are you around tonight, man? I know it’s your birthday and all, but I really need someone to talk to.”
“Uh, let me check.” I held my hand over the mouthpiece and turned to ask, “Hey Dad? You mind if I cut out for about an hour? My buddy needs me for something.”
My buddy. It truly wasn’t until that moment that I realized I’d never said that about anyone before where I actually meant it. I had “people I hung out with,” but Pickford was the only person I ever felt close enough with to classify as a true friend.
Except of course for a certain girl whose name I refused to think about, much less say.
I met Pick at The King Neptune Diner. He was already waiting for me at a table near the back of the room. The covert rendezvous was freaking me out. I had no idea what was so important to warrant a secret meeting. I hoped everything was okay.
One look at Pick’s face told me it probably wasn’t.
I saw the Coke waiting for me as he sipped his own. “What’s up, man? You alright?” I asked, taking the seat across from him.
“Yes and no. Hey, thanks for meeting me.”
“Of course. No problem. What’s going on?”
“You hungry? Should we order food?” He twisted his head around, looking for a server, an obvious ploy to remain evasive.
“Pick. What the fuck.”
“Hey, I’ve got a birthday present for you. Layla is single. She and Coop are over. For good this time.”
A pain shot through my chest at the mere mention of her name. As much as I wanted him to confirm the news, I didn’t think I was ready to talk about it. I wasn’t ready to hope again.
Besides, I knew he was only trying to bait me into a conversation about Layla in order to avoid the bigger topic at hand. “You didn’t plan this big secret meeting just to share gossip about my non-ex-girlfriend, did you? Just tell me what’s happening with you.”
There was a distinct pause as he let out with a deep exhale, met my eyes warily, and just spilled it. “Well, UCLA wants me. Free ride. Tuition, board, starting spot on the team...”
“Holy shit! Congratulations, man. That’s amazing!”
“Yeah. Yeah it is. The problem is I have no idea what to do.”
Damn. I didn’t envy the position he was in. On the one hand, it was an incredible offer from a great school. On the other, I was well aware of the fact that his old man had been pushing for Columbia, expecting that Pick would follow in his footsteps and become a doctor. Just from the look on his face, I could tell that he wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to the guy.
I didn’t need a primer on why he couldn’t talk to his father. I’d been in the same boat for eighteen years.
“I get it, but damn, Pick... How could you be expected to turn it down?”
“I can’t. I don’t want to. I didn’t.”
His face relayed guilt, pride, and more than a little anxiety. “Oh shit. You already told him.”
“Yeah. And all hell broke loose when I did. He flipped the fuck out. But I don’t care. I have to do this. Free ride? Ball for the Bruins? This is the first step toward the rest of my life we’re talking about, here. The coach really thinks I have a chance to go pro.”
That was the truth. He was the greatest athlete I’d ever known in real life. If Pickford Redy didn’t have what it took to make it in the NBA, I couldn’t imagine who did.
“Believe it or not, my father is the least of my problems. I didn’t even tell you yet about Lisa.” A pair of worried brows drew together as his eyes met mine. “She completely lost her mind over the news.”
“I believe it,” I snickered out. “She’s not exactly the picture of calm, that one.”
Pick dropped his head and his shoulders started shaking. I thought he was laughing but soon realized he was actually crying. “She broke up with me.”
I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever seen a guy cry, and I knew I sure as hell didn’t let anyone see me on the rare occasions when I was reduced to tears. He must have been positively devastated to lose it in front of me like this. “Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
He wiped his nose on his napkin and tried to pull himself together. “She got into F.I.T., did you know that? I think she was counting on me going to Columbia even more than my father, because that meant we’d both be living in the city. We were planning to make a go of it. But now, all I ever hear from her is What’s the point, Pick? Why stay together when you’re moving to the other side of the country, Pick?”
“Shit. But it’s only March. Doesn’t she want to hold off until—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head at the table. “She doesn’t think we can do long distance. She doesn’t even see the point in waiting until I leave in August. She said it will hurt less if we just end it now.”
I didn’t think “hurt less” was an option. The dude looked completely annihilated.
He pressed his palms to his eyes and shook the last of his tears away. “Look at me crying like a fucking pussy. Don’t say anything about this, okay?”
As if I would. My friend was already being torn apart. There was no way I’d ever betray his trust on top of it.
“Never.”