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“I would love to watch you do physical and vocal warm-ups and acting exercises, Mrs. Naylor!” I tell her. “I’m going to stay and watch you do physical and vocal warm-ups and acting exercises,” I say to Lily.
“I would rather die,” she states.
“And I would love to watch your death scene.”
She growls at me. “Please leave. I’m begging you.” She lowers her voice. “You will never want to put your penis in me again if you see this.”
“Whelp! It was fun while it lasted,” I say as I take a seat. “Go on. Warm up your instruments.”
She drops her binder onto the chair next to mine, scowling at me.
“Be sure to face me so I can see you,” I remind her.
“Can you see this?” she asks as she gives me the finger.
“Is that a finger warm-up?”
“Yes, and I’m just getting started.” She flips me the double bird.
We both realize that the teenage girl is still standing there gawking at me. “I think I follow you on Instagram.”
“I’m not on Instagram.”
Lily nudges her. “Clarissa, come on.”
Clarissa turns an even deeper shade of pink and follows Lily to the center of the room, where over twenty people of all ages and sizes stand in a big circle while doing absolutely ridiculous things with their faces and tongues and bodies, in unison.
For half an hour, I watch in delight as these theater nerds do a series of yawns together, flap their lips like a horse, and then enunciate as a group, repeating sounds like “Bah dah gah bah dah gah pah dah gah pah dah gah” and “hah hah hah hah hah hah!” followed by a super fun game where they say “zip zap zop” while clapping, and then they do stretches and skip and crawl around the room while breathing really loudly. For the first few minutes, Lily is clearly mortified, but after a while it’s like she’s forgotten that I’m here, and she becomes so engrossed in the group and what she’s doing, and she looks so young and exuberant.
I’m not turned-off at all.
I mean,myinstrument isn’t exactly getting warmed up at the moment, but I do love seeing her like this. She has no pretenses. She has that spark she had when I saw her on stage years ago.
Fuck Broadway if they couldn’t see what I see in her. She’s happy here. She’s my star.
* * *
I get to work so early on Monday morning it’s embarrassing. I’d already gotten so used to having Lily sleep over that it felt all wrong to wake up without her. Even though I have no reason to doubt how she feels about me, I had this awful knot in my stomach lying in bed alone, wondering if her dad had found her personal phone and read our texts to each other. I’m not an anxious person, but things have been so good lately, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
While I was eating breakfast, I texted her from my work cell phone to her work cell phone and told her I was hoping to see her at the office “as soon as possible so we can get back tothat project we started last week.” I couldn’t even think of one of our actual deals that we’re working on, much less something clever. “I think it’s important for us to get back to it as soon as possible,”I wrote. There’s no cool way to tell a girl that you miss her. There’s no professional way to compose a message that explains what a relief it was to find that your pillow still smells like her and how you clung to it all night with your face buried in it. There is definitely no way I’m going to tell anyone how sick I felt waiting twenty minutes for her reply or how excited I was when it finally came.
Lily Barnes: Good morning, Mr. Carver. I agree. We should get back to our top priority new project sooner rather than later. You can expect to see me at the office within an hour. Would you like me to stop by Limestone to get you an Americano on the way?
Me: I don’t even want you stopping at stoplights on the way if it slows you down.
Me: Because of the project. For work.
Me: But please obey all traffic laws on your way to the office and at all times. See you soon, Miss Barnes.
Lily Barnes: I’ll try to be there in half an hour, Mr. Carver.
Me: That’s more like it.
I’ve been smiling like a fool ever since, but it has now been thirty-five minutes since I got that last text from her and she’s not at the office yet. I respond to some emails and scan the local news online, but when she’s still not here five minutes later, I get worried again. Just as I’m standing up to go casually walk the halls, my breath catches at the sound of clicking heels on the natural stone floors. I’m blinded by glossy blonde hair, my lungs are filled with the fragrance that my body needs more than oxygen, and there is so much adrenaline being pumped through my bloodstream I could lift the building to tilt it and make her slide toward me even faster. She shuts the door behind herself, pushes in the lock, and we’re hugging each other for like, three months. I don’t even want to pull away from her to kiss her.
“I hated not sleeping with you,” she whispers.
“Everything fucking sucks without you now,” I say because I give up. My days of being cool are over. My days and nights of enjoying the sprawl of my king-size bed are behind me. I’m wondering if we should just tell Jasper we’re dating. I’m wondering if we should be telling Human Resources that we’re dating. I’m wondering what the harm would be in us having sex really fast in here before my staff meeting—if we keep all of our clothes on and barely move and don’t make a sound, can that really even be considered sex? “I’m losing my mind.”
