Page 130 of Caper Crush
“No, I wasn’t sure if that was public or not,” Max says. “She said she can’t stop thinking about the little, red painting and knows she really wants it.”
That’s my favorite kind of patron. I check my phone and respond to her message, Max looking over my shoulder, delighted.
I look for William, but I don’t see him.
“Do you have more wine?” Rory asks. “Or should I go out and buy some more?”
“I think we have more,” I say. I walk back to the kitchen and pull out our stepstool to look in one of our upper cabinets where we keep a stash of wine.
I hand a few more bottles down to Rory. The party is not going to end any time soon. It has been a long time since we all got together.
I carry two chardonnays to the dining room table to add to our stock. And then I search again for William. He’s gone. I thought he might come by to say goodbye one more time before he left. Again, there’s that gap between us—that we’re not connecting or communicating.
Chapter thirty-five
I’mdancingasweset up for our Saturday concert. William texted me this morning that he’d come to the show.
“Are you going to be able to perform tonight?” Rex asks wryly. “You’re effervescent.”
“Yes.” I wave my hands in the air. “I might dance a bit more than usual.”
“Will you be able to sing any sad songs?”
“Maybe not.” At his look of concern, I add quickly, “Yes, I can. Are you expecting scouts?”
“Hope springs eternal,” Ling says.
“I do think I’m closer than I’ve ever been,” Rex says. “The thing is, one guy said maybe I should focus on being a lyricist—because my lyrics are good. And you know, I’d be good with that. I love writing lyrics. I’d still be performing with you guys.”
“Until we need our wheelchairs to roll up onto the stage,” I say. “I’ve always said that you’re brilliant at writing lyrics.”
I text William:Are you here yet?
William:No. Can’t come now. New client. Books are total mess. Have to work.
My mood plummets. I shake my head. He has to work. I can’t be so emotionally vulnerable that his having to work pulls my good mood down.
We finish our set. No William.
I help Rex load up his van with all our equipment. Joel, our manager, and Carrie will help him unload it at his loft.
Rex high-fives me. “It looks like we might both succeed in following our dreams.”
“I’m pretty happy,” I say.
“Only pretty happy?” he asks. “Where is William?”
So it was obvious that I was looking for him in the crowd.
“He said he had to work.”
Rex slides into the front seat. As he closes the door, he says, “I’m sure he did.”
“I’m going to go see him now,” I say.
I take a Citi Bike over to William’s apartment in Tribeca. I don’t text in advance. I don’t want him to say I can’t come over. A queasy feeling has invaded my stomach, like something isn’t working. The same feeling that first took hold last night when William left, but I told myself that I was wrong. He was understandably tired. And then today, he emailed me that he was sorry he’d left and he hoped Peter and I had come up with some good ideas. I took his words at face value. But now that he didn’t show up at my concert, and even worse, didn’t suggest I come over afterward to spend the night together, the nauseated feeling is alive and well in my stomach, tumbling around like socks in a dryer with a tennis ball hitting them.
I push my Citi Bike into the lock. It doesn’t click. I push again. Again, no green light. I wheel it over to another and push it in hard. The green light flashes. I walk over to his apartment building. I buzz his apartment. What if he doesn’t buzz me in?
