Page 65 of Cool for the Summer

“You nailed it, baby,” she says when she picks up.

“You could have given me more warning,” I say lightly.

“It was short notice, and I wasn’t even sure you’d want the job, but I’m glad you liked them. Think of me when you’re on your yacht.”

I laugh. “You know I’m not a boat person. But maybe…” Beck’s blue house flashes before my eyes and I blink it away before I can get sidetracked. “Did you read the play?”

“I read it.”

“And?” I tell myself it’s okay if she doesn’t like it. I’m not a real playwright, anyway. It was just a lark. I can stick it in the proverbial drawer and never look at it again.

“It needs some work, but it’s dynamite. Julian is…he’s real, Van. And I’m not making any promises, but some day you’re going to get to play him and it’s going to be magic.”

I have to stop in the middle of Park Avenue South and scrub a hand over my face, ignoring the disgruntled pedestrians around me. She liked the play. And playing Julian…that’s a dream I can throw my weight behind.

“Thanks, Joan.” It’s completely inadequate, but I trust she can hear the emotion in my voice.

“Where are you staying at the moment? I want to send you something to celebrate.”

I look around, as if I can conjure up a place to live right there. “Ah, I’m currently between addresses. But I’ll let you know when I find something permanent.”

“Fair enough. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks, again. For everything.”

“You got it, baby.”

We hang up and I’m about to look up a hotel in this neighborhood when my phone announces a new call. Kingston James.

I slide to answer and realize he’s started a video call with me. The screen blurs, then resolves into Kingston’s face. I recognize the colors of his Rosedale kitchen behind him. “Kingston? What’s up?”

“What is up is what did you do? I called Beck to talk to him about the welcome back party and I thought Cleo was dead he sounded so sad.”

“What? Cleo’s okay, right?”

“She’s fine. But your boy is not. I repeat: what did you do?”

I bristle at the implication, however accurate, that I did something to Beck. I didn’t ask him to fall in love with me. I told him—explicitly—that wasn’t something I was capable of. And the fact that I can’t stop thinking about him is just an unfortunate byproduct of my bad decisions.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re disentangling ourselves from our summer arrangement,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster while walking in a sea of people toward Union Square Park, sweat gathering under my backpack and soaking through my shirt again.

Kingston grumbles something unintelligible, though I can tell it’s not particularly flattering to me. “Hang on, I need reinforcements,” he says.

“Huh?” His screen grays out for a few seconds, during which I seriously contemplate hanging up and blaming it on my cell connection. By now I’m in the park, so I take myself out of the flow of traffic and snag a spot on a green New York City park bench.

Kingston returns to the screen, then a second square pops up. It’s Pete.

“Pete, where are you?”

My friend grins wide. It’s weirdly good to see his smiling, familiar face. “Amsterdam. Where are you? Is everything okay?”

“Rosedale,” Kingston answers as I say, “Uh, the city. But just for a minute. And everything is fine,” I reassure him before Kingston can start throwing me under the bus, because I have no doubt that’s why he brought Pete on the call.

“Oh cool, well, we’re mostly all packed. At least I am. Jack’s out right now getting another suitcase to take back all his treasures. Can’t wait to see you guys.”

“Same. Well, we should let you get back to packing,” I try, but Kingston interrupts.

“Pete, I wouldn’t bother you on your sex vacation, but you’ve got to back me up. Tell Van that he’s being a dumbass about Beck.”

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