Page 82 of Come to Me
Where do they get the energy? I'm ready to collapse on this stupid, ugly couch and they want to go out?
She shrieks. "Oh my God, Alyssa! When did you get engaged?"
Well, fuck. Her gaze is on the ring. This is what it was like last time. When I wore the ring, everyone wanted to see it or talk about it or offer their little commentary on it.
Nicholas keeps his eyes on my face, his eyes too knowing.
"Monday," I say. "My boyfriend was visiting."
"Congratulations are in order," he murmurs.
I nod.
"Thank you." It feels like what I should say. I deliberately look away.
"Damn. This calls for celebration shots," Ellen announces.
"I'm tired," I protest.
Ellen shakes her head. "So we'll only have one celebration shot." She picks up my purse and hands it to me. "Come on, let's go. I know a great bar. It's all theater people. They know better than to ask for an autograph."
She should have led with that. "Okay," I agree. A few drinks might help break up this awful tightness in my chest.
I follow her through the hallway, to the back entrance of the theater. Nicholas trails behind.
It's dark outside, but it's still warm. Even though she's wearing heels, Ellen walks fast. She has the no-nonsense, take no shit, take no prisoners New York vibe. I hate to admit it, but I'm madly jealous. One day, I'll learn not to take shit or prisoners.
"Are you always nervous after a performance?" she asks.
I bite my lip. I'm not hiding it well.
"Just tired usually," I say.
"It takes some getting used to. Coming down from that high of performing in front of a live audience. It's a rush like no other," Nicholas offers.
Ellen turns a corner, ducking into a quiet side street. "Fuck. If I was engaged, I'd be a nervous wreck. I can't imagine any scenario where that doesn't end with me stuck at home with some brat and him fucking his secretary behind my back."
"Good pep talk," Nicholas comments.
"So, you're a romantic," I say. That should be enough to convince her I'm totally doubt free.
I don't know about Nicholas.
"What I need is someone like Nicholas. Some pretentious tool with no interest in settling down. Who will happily be a theater actor forever." She says it with a grandness, like she's preforming Shakespeare.
"Thanks," Nicholas says dryly. "I'm flattered."
"You should be." She drops back to her normal voice. "Guys are drawn to my 'delightful spirit.' They love dating an artsy theater girl until they realize it means I'm busy all night, kissing other guys on stage. Then, they want to civilize me. Turn me into a good future housewife."
My chest tightens again. Luke has always been upfront about supporting my acting career, but things could change. We never talk much about the future. He must have expectations. He must...
I shake my head. That's ridiculous. He's obsessed with not getting in my way. And after how his father treated his mother... There's no way he expects to civilize me into a good future housewife.
Ellen points to an unmarked black door. She pushes it open and steps inside. I follow her, stepping into a dark dive bar.
It's quiet. A dozen people maybe and soft rock playing on the stereo. There are magenta lights, but it's otherwise plain--black floor, black booths, black stools.
Ellen waves to the bartender--a cute guy who barely looks old enough to drink. She turns back to me. "What's your poison?"
