Page 82 of Grumpy Puck

Seraphina plops into the chair Michael vacated.“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”Not exactly.The trigger for him leaving could have been so many weird behaviors around us that it’s a wonder he lasted as long as he did.

“You think this is like your asshole of an ex situation?”she whispers.

“What else?”Even people as grouchy as Michael don’t just leave in the middle of dinner for no reason, and in this case, the reason is obvious.

“Well, fuck him,” Seraphina says.

Yeah.I did.Seemingly countless times.

“Better you be rid of him now,” she continues.“Before you get too attached.”

Yeah, except it’s too late for that one.

I put my fork down.“Sorry, everyone.I think I’d better go.”

“Yeah,” Dad says.“Smart.Go after your Boo.”

Mine.Sure.

Pushing to my feet, I make my exit, and though I didn’t just have a one-night stand or anything close to it, the term “walk of shame” is perfect for my current situation.Everyone saw Michael storm out, and now they’re looking at me with expressions that range from judgy to pitying.

Once I’m outside, the pressure behind my eyes grows stronger, especially when I realize that I don’t have a ride back.

My nose makes a sniffle.

No.

I’m not going to cry.

Screw that.

Getting my phone out, I summon an Uber.I’m about to stuff it back into my purse when it rings.

My heart leaps inside my chest.Could it be Michael calling to apologize?Then again, he’s more likely to ask me to move my shit out of his house.

It’s not Michael, though.The number is a 212 area code, which I believe is New York.

“Hello?”I clear my throat to make sure what I say next doesn’t sound as miserable as that first greeting.“Calliope speaking.”

“Good evening, Calliope.This is Maximilian Bowman,” says a booming voice.

Maximilian Bowman?I strain my brain until I recall that he’s the husband of Sugar, the woman who was the first to ask for my business card at Michael’s fundraiser, and who got a napkin with some scribbles instead.

“Hi,” I say.“We met at the fundraiser, right?”

“Correct,” Maximilian—or is it Mr.Bowman?—says.“I’ve been thinking about that outstanding rat show of yours, and when a spot opened at my theater, I?—”

“You own a theater?”I blurt, and then want to smack myself for interrupting the man.

“Apologies,” he says.“I figured my name spoke for itself.I don’t own The Jewel outright, but I am the largest stakeholder and?—”

The Jewel?That’s one of the biggest?—

“Is this a good time to talk?”he asks.“Perhaps over video?”

Shit.I need to focus.“Yes, Mr.Bowman.So long as you don’t mind that I’m about to get into an Uber.”

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