Page 11 of Betsy
It didn’t.
“Can I assume you’re calling about the job?” Maybe I could guide the conversation in a better direction.
A tug on my harness pulled me forward to the edge of the wall. I leaned over and looked down. Aaron gestured big sweeping motions with his hands, his face a picture of spent patience. He may be at the end of my rope literally, but he was also at the end of his own metaphorically.
I held up a finger to let him know I’d be just another minute. Now that I had Betsy on the phone, I couldn’t let her hang up without some sort of commitment.
“How about we discuss it more over a cup of coffee in about an hour? At the roastery near your studio?” If I could sit down with her face-to-face, I knew I’d be able to convince her to sign on to the tour. Then I’d have more time to work on getting her on stage and sharing her voice with the world.
“Let me stop you right there, buddy.”
Buddy? My smile widened.
“I don’t date musicians. So whatever thoughts you have going on in your head, you can just nip them right in the butt.”
“I think the saying is ‘nip it in the bud,’ not butt. Also, I don’t have any thoughts in my head.” Well, I had some. I wasn’t dead, after all. “I take that back. I do have a thought. I think you should stop jumping to conclusions about me. The coffee suggestion was purely professional, I assure you. So we could talk over tour details and job specifics. That’s all.”
“Oh.”
“And also, now, so you can apologize in person,” I needled. I didn’t actually need an apology. Seemed like whatever made her think the worst about me went deeper than our ten-minute interaction the day before. At least, I didn’t think I’d said or done anything to make her automatically have a low opinion of me.
She made a noise which I deciphered as the wordfinebeing pushed past clenched teeth.
“Excellent.” I poured on cheer like salt on a wound to help the healing process. “See you in an hour.”
As soon as I hung up, Aaron yanked on the rope, sending me careening toward the drop off. I scowled at him but yelled down, “On rappel.”
Aaron made afinallygesture with his hand as he shouted, “Off rappel,” and disengaged from the rope so I could abseil down.
“What took you so long?” Aaron slipped me a side-eye before clipping off the rope.
“Had to take a phone call at the top.” I unhooked myself from the belay and stepped aside so another team of climbers could take my place and ascend the wall.
Aaron’s elbow shot out and connected with my arm. He flashed me a cocky grin. “And what’s your excuse for on the way up? I mean, I’m used to smoking you, but you usually give me a little more competition than that.”
“Let’s take it out to the real world, and we’ll see who can be called king of the mountain.” We lived in a mecca of amazing climbing spots from Joshua Tree only a couple of hours away to Yosemite, which made a great weekend getaway, and yet my brother only faced walls that were manmade for reasons I didn’t understand. The gym was nice for a good workout and some training, but it nowhere near compared to the real deal.
Aaron shook his head. “Whatever, man.” He checked his watch. “I need to hit the showers and head to work. Some of us have honest-to-goodness jobs to get to.”
I unlatched the buckle of my harness and stepped out of the leg loops. “Don’t hate because you have to punch a time clock and I don’t.”
“Since you’re not hindered bythe man, take care of this for me.” He dumped his harness at my feet. “See ya later.”
“I love you too,” I called after his retreating back.
He kept walking but held up two fingers like the peace sign. An unspoken response between us to meanlove you too.
After taking care of our equipment, I quickly showered and drove to the roastery where I’d told Betsy to meet me. The smell of coffee beans gave me a jolt as soon as I walked in the door—lightly caramelized and almost nutty. The three employees behind the counter moved in near choreography set to the rhythm of the grinder and the hiss emitting from the steam wand on the espresso machine. A low hum of voices as well as the clacking of a patron typing away on a laptop in the corner added to the symphony of a thriving business.
I scanned the dining room but didn’t spot a woman whose stature belied the size of her personality. Small things were generally marked with the adjectivesweet, but Betsy struck me as someone who’d shed that representation like an outgrown coat—if it’d ever fit her at all to begin with. I imagined Shakespeare had someone like her in mind when he wrote “Though she be but little, she is fierce.” Then again, my high school English Lit class may’ve failed me, because I couldn’t remember which character in which play had inspired that line. Oh well. The point remained. Betsy seemed like a handful that didn’t appreciate any attempt at being handled.
The door opened behind me. I turned to step out of the way so I wouldn’t block the person from joining the line to order but stopped at the revelation that the newcomer was none other than the woman I’d been waiting for. Her crown of tight spiral curls had been piled on top of her head and commanded to stay with nothing more than a flimsy elastic band. One whose authority was presently being questioned as an errant strand worked its way loose of its confines and sprang toward freedom to settle along the graceful curve of her exposed neck.
She had on a red-and-white-striped T-shirt and a pair of sunshine yellow headphones wrapped around the tops of her shoulders like a scarf. Her black-framed glasses only enlarged her caramel-colored eyes, which stared back at me with a half-challenging, half-guarded expression.
The glasses were new. I’d never been accused of being super observant—ninety-five percent of guys aren’t, if we’re honest—but as soon as I’d heard and then seen Betsy, it had been like she’d faded out all the sound and color around her and adjusted the dials on some invisible soundboard mixer to make herself come into complete focus.
It had happened before. When I’d been stuck on lyrics and inspiration struck in the most unusual of places. Or when I’d passed a man at a traffic light holding up a cardboard sign and I couldn’t get him out of my mind. A supernatural poke and whispered command to pay attention.
