Page 74 of If Not for My Baby
“Indy,”I chastise. But casual. I’m keeping itverycasual. Whose bones are tingling? Not mine.
Jacob tips his head to the side and squints at me. I say nothing, attempting to embody whatever it is he’s looking for. “If you’re actually interested in getting into the business, come back to the city after Labor Day weekend. We’re holding chorus auditions for theWest Side Storyrevival. I can probably squeeze you in.”
Me?OnBroadway? In the show I’ve memorized every inhale let alone word to? “That’s my favorite show.”
“She’ll be there,” Indy promises.
The smile that splits my face is probably manic-looking. I’m positively humming—
But…I can’t.
For a hundred reasons, I can’t. Starting with a fall plane ticket to New York I’ll never be able to afford, and ending with a mom that can’t relocate to a city like this with her health. “No, wait,” I say, catching myself. Better to shut this down before I spend even a minute under the spell of all that could be. “I can’t. I’m sorry, you’re kind to offer, but—”
“She’ll think on it,” Indy interrupts my inelegance.
“She should,” Jacob says with the kind of confidence movies have made me expect from a New Yorker. “Life will sabotage your dreams enough. Why do it to yourself?”
—
“You didnothave to do that,” I mutter under my breath when Tom and I meet on the corner outside our hotel. He’s in a dark cable-knit sweater with a black shirt underneath, his hair tied back in that signature unruly man bun that does inhuman things to me. He’s wearing his cap, too, which I’ve come to expect whenever he’s out in public and it’s not five in the morning. I try not to squeak when he cranes down to brush a chaste kiss across my cheek. He smells like a fresh shower and the light that breaks through stubborn rain clouds.
“You look just stunnin’ in it.”
The warmth on my neck as he kisses me there, too, subdues further anger. “It’s too expensive.”
Tom is fighting a smile. “I don’t splurge that often.”
“No,” I moan as we stroll off down the sidewalk. “That makes it worse!”
“Does it?”
The musical intonation of his voice kills me. It’s that Irish lilt—everything a melodic cadence. He saysDoes it?like I’d sayOh, really?What an insufferable flirt.
“I feel like Pretty Woman.”
He pulls me close, pressing his lips to my hair. I’m warm everywhere our clothes touch. “You’re a very pretty woman.”
Nothing could have prepared me for the knock on the hotel door this evening. I was halfway through my blow-dry when the bellhop greeted me with a black-and-white-striped bag stuffed with delicate pink tissue paper. Molly had thought it was for her at first so I spasmed and blurted that it was a gift from my mom.
“I thought you guys were poor,” Molly had said, eyeing the bag’s label. “Pie-grièche is a really pricey brand. I think Sofia Richie wore one of their dresses for her rehearsal dinner.”
Inside I’d found the dress fromThe Morning Show with Joe Jennings. “My mom has a friend who works in fashion,” I’d lied, sliding the dainty black lace between my fingers.
When we’re a block or so away from the hotel, Tom calls us a cab. This time I take the middle seat and allow myself to snuggle into him unashamedly. His hand loops easily around my waist.
“I love the dress,” I admit. “I only know how expensive it is because before I left Joe’s show, I googled it to see if I could buy one for myself.”
“It’s a very satisfying sensation, gettin’ you something you’ve craved.”
“Can I do the same for you? Need a new book of dusty Grecian fables? Another pair of high-tops?”
His laugh wreathes the cab’s interior in neon lights. “You’ve plenty I’m craving.”
Oh,God.
“I got offered to try out for a musical in the fall,” I blurt. If only just to change the channel in my mind fromprimal lusttohuman conversation.
“You did? Jesus, Clem, that’s fantastic.”
