Page 75 of If Not for My Baby
“Just the chorus, but…it was incredibly cool,” I admit. “Somewhere, my sixteen-year-old self is cheering in the streets.”
“But not the present model?”
My hands smooth the fine creases of my skirt. “It’s just not feasible. With my mom and all.”
“Are there no caretakers in your town? You could split your time?”
“Fibro isn’t really a disease that requires a caretaker. Certainly not one insurance would cover. My mom’s just got a statistically rough case—more flare-ups than most, worse symptoms. Sometimes her flare-induced depression is the most serious one. Which is why this clinical trial could be so great. It’s for patients like her.”
He takes my hand. “I’m sorry you’re both saddled with this. And that this audition isn’t worthy of your cheers.”
“It’s okay. It was nice just to be considered for something that means so much to me.”
The cab comes to a stop in a nondescript alley. Bags of trash line a graffitied wall.
“Then I’ve picked a decent second date. This way,” Tomsays, and I follow him, careful not to let my kitten heels sink into unidentifiable sludge.
He slips us through an unmarked door and suddenly I know exactly where we are.
A wave of astonishment smashes into me so hard it almost feels like fright. I have no idea how I’ll recover from this: we’re backstage.
“Is this the Walter Kerr?” I can tell by the jade green tiling and copper color of the hallways. It’s like wandering inside of a music box…I’vedreamtof this place.
Tom’s impressed. “You know what’s playing tonight?”
I shake my head, biting my lip to hold in the squeal.
“A musical calledHadestown, based on the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. I’ve heard it’s phenomenal.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed. “This is the best date of my life.”
Tom huffs in amusement. A security guard guides us through a back entrance and deposits us in our seats right as the lights are dimming. I realize, as Tom removes his baseball cap, that our clandestine entrance was so he wouldn’t be seen. The overture picks up and the crowd’s din drifts into silence and my heart is in my throat before the first note is even sung.
Twenty-Six
“And the harmonies—” I tellhim around a mouthful of chicken Parmesan that might actually befromItaly. I have to stop my eyes from rolling back in my head. “Just chilling. This is delicious, by the way.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Tom says. “I always come here when I’m in the city.” We’re seated in the back of a restaurant called Melograno. It appears humble—simple ceramic dishware, old-fashioned exposed brick—but I can tell from the clientele that this is a fancy spot for fancy people.
Everyone is beautiful and wearing the kind of clothes that are too luxurious to even boast a gauche designer label. Nobody’s batted an eye at Tom, but the maître d’ brought us to an empty back room without being told to, which made me think it wasn’t his first time serving a famous person hoping to avoid the public eye.
Tom’s gaze is fierce with affection as he sips his water. He hasn’t stopped looking at me like that all night. Looking at me like he’s falling in love. “The harmonies really weresomething else. Every one of their voices a more rousing instrument when strung together. I think I hear the music differently when I’m sitting next to you.”
I can’t help my smile. “I love the way you speak. What did you say during intermission again?”
Tom shakes his head. “I can’t recall.”
Our waitress tops off our water and then lingers, studying Tom for the third time tonight. She looks like she’s about to ask us something inane just to stick around.How’s your steak, sir? Would you like a lap dance with that?She’s young and attractive and I run my finger over the perfect curve of his thumb until she gets the hint.Mine.
“Sumptuous,” I say, ignoring her until she abandons our table. “That the end of act one wassumptuous.”
He laughs his all-teeth laugh and I melt into my chair. “It was, though.”
“I know.” I remember the vivid sweeps of red lighting that accompanied the devastating finale, and the goose bumps that crawled from me every time Orpheus sang. “I’ll never get over it. My heart is permanently shattered.”
“The ancient Greeks knew a thing or two about heartbreak.”
“So did Shakespeare and your gal Nora Ephron.”
