Page 62 of What You Own
Two more numbers went by, my anxiety growing with each passing moment. My insides felt watery, and my heart kept pounding sharply. My fingers were trembling so badly from adrenaline that I nearly dropped my water bottle several times. Ryan had to help me take off my jacket and tie.
The stage went dark.
“Break a leg, babe,” Ryan whispered. “You were meant to do this.”
I kissed him, steeled my spine, wrapped “Mark’s” scarf around my neck, then walked out to center stage. The music began, a familiar, thrumming beat. I fell into beats and strums I knew by heart, backward and forward, and in the same instant the lights flashed up, I began to sing.
Everything I had went into that performance. The audience wasn’t there. Nothing existed except the music and the lyrics, and then the harmonious sound of Ryan singing with me. We moved around each other on stage, using choreography committed to memory years ago. The moment lasted forever, and then it was over.
I blinked stupidly into the lights, not recognizing the thunder in the room as applause until Ryan grabbed my hand and reminded me to bow. I squeezed his fingers, grinning like a fool, and soaked up those few seconds of attention. Held them close to my heart, until Ryan let go, and we walked off the stage.
I tackled Ryan, and he stumbled backward until he hit the wall by the curtain pulley. My chest heaved with silent laughter, and I hugged him hard, not caring if anyone else in the wings saw. He kissed my temple. I buried my face against his neck, grateful and happy and so full of energy I didn’t know what to do with it. I’d never felt more alive than in that moment.
“That was amazing,” I whispered, just loud enough to be heard over Larry and Susan’s hilariously off-key performance ten feet away.
“You were amazing,” Ryan said.
“Thank you for getting me to do this.”
“Hey, you made all this possible on your own. I was just here for moral support.”
“You’re more than that, and you know it.”
We stayed huddled there, in our little corner of the wing, through the rest of the performances. After the final act, Lou took a mike out onto the stage amid thunderous applause. Ryan and I stepped closer, hands still clenched tightly together.
“As our evening together draws to a close,” Lou said, “I want to once again thank every single performer and behind-the-scenes volunteer that helped make tonight’s benefit revue possible.” He waited for the applause to die down. “I’d also like to thank each and every one of you for attending tonight, and for your generosity. You’ve made a difference in someone’s life, and we’re all extremely, humbly grateful. Good night.”
We hadn’t rehearsed it, but it seemed like the right thing to do in that particular moment. Ryan and I pulled the stage curtain closed on Lou and our amusing, successful Paige Center fundraiser.
Chapter 18
Ryan
THEAUDITORIUMand lobby were still kinda nuts when Adam and I left our hiding place. The kids were out and full of sugar, and the adults were making use of their final liquor chips. We still had lots of food to eat, and I helped myself to a plate of these little pie tart things that a lady called a “keesh.” Or something. Adam said they were like egg pies, only with spinach and mushrooms. With my nerves worn off about my confession and performing, I was hungry.
Adam too. He sampled some of the food, while we chatted with well-wishers and potential donors. Now that the singing was done, Adam fell right into the part his daddy had molded him for—the businessman’s son, comfortable talking to anyone.
A familiar face a dozen feet away startled me, and I gave Adam a nudge. “Your Daddy’s still here,” I said.
“Of course he is,” Adam said. “He bought this thing. As long as he’s getting attention and free martinis, he’ll hang around.” I didn’t like seeing all that bitter hanging off Adam, but I couldn’t do much for it in public. I’d kiss it out of him later.
Tommy bounced over for a hug before he left. His uncle hung back, and Bobby didn’t get anywhere close, and I appreciated that. Telling all that to Adam before we performed hadn’t been the plan, but we were both figuring out that plans changed—a lotta times for the best. What you planned to do mattered a hell of a lot less than what you actually did. The actions you owned.
At some point, we drifted closer to Langley and Joe Quartermaine, who were chatting with Ellie and a guy whose back was to us. I was a fool and let Ellie catch my eye, and she waved us over.
“Ryan, Adam, come here for a sec,” she all but screamed across the lobby.
I winced, nervous for good reason. Adam got all stiff again and kinda robot-walked over to his old man. I got a good look at her companion, and recognition slammed into my chest.
“You guys remember Scott Bakerfield, don’t you?” Ellie said.
“Sure,” I said, accepting a handshake. Scott graduated with us—well, with Ellie and Adam, but we were all in the same grade—and he’d been in the drama club, doing lights for all of the theater productions. IncludingRent. Guy looked exactly the same, except he’d traded band T-shirts for a suit.
Adam shook his hand too, a little more relaxed than when we walked over.
“Scott writes in both the Arts and Community sections for the Post,” Ellie said, and I saw the ambush hiding in the canyon. “He was just speaking to Mr. Langley and Mr. Quartermaine about their participation in the fundraiser, and I knew he had to get your input too.”
“You’re a reporter?” Adam asked.
