by Eve Yohalem
“He’s here,” I said.
Jules smoothed her dress one last time. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
True Fact: Everybody matters. Even sidekicks.
I put Otis’s service vest on him so nobody would give us any trouble about dogs and food, and we all went outside.
Ed got out of his black SUV. “Aw, shoot, Julie. I was halfway out the door on my way to get you and Blue, and I get a call from my agent. Timing is everything, right?”
Nervous Jules stood at the bottom of the porch steps, fiddling with the clasp on her bracelet. She looked up at her dad through strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face, but Ed didn’t wait for her to answer.
“He starts talking, and he keeps talking, and the whole time, all I’m thinking is No way am I gonna be late for my girl. How fast can I get rid of this guy so I can get to my girl?”
Ed opened his arms and Jules melted like a pint of ice cream in a pizza oven. “You’re not late, Daddy. You’re right on time.” She dropped her bag and stepped into the hug.
“Phew!” Ed tilted her chin up with a finger. “Because the last thing I want to do is wreck our first big night out on the town.”
Wait—their first big night? Jules had been here for more than two weeks already, and she and her dad hadn’t gone out once?
“It’s all good, Daddy.”
Ed turned to me. “How are you, Blue? I’m almost as excited about getting to know you tonight as I am about spending time with my girl here.”
Ed had this way of talking to you like you were the most fascinating person in the world. It wasn’t what he said; it was how he looked at you and only you when he said it.
“I’m good, Mr. Buttersby.”
“Otis?” Ed held out a treat he’d brought with him, so Otis was good too.
We got in the car, Jules up front next to Ed, Otis and me in back.
“So what happened with your call?” Jules asked.
“You know how it goes. More numbers, more rewrites, more meetings.”
“The usual,” Jules said.
She said this like she really did know how it goes with major movie studios, like she and Ed talked about this stuff all the time. Which they probably did. My parents talk about their work too, but that just means I know the names of lots of flowers and the difference between drywall and plaster.
When we got to the restaurant, it was crammed. As in, people were spilling out the door and there wasn’t a single spot left in the parking lot. I’d forgotten it was Thursday, which is the night Harbor Burger has their weekly jazz jam, where people take turns sitting in with the band. During the year, when it’s just locals, it’s not so crowded, but in the summer, when half of New York City moves to town, you can barely squeeze inside.
Jules snapped to attention. “Did you have your PR guy tell them we were coming?”
“No. I swear it, Jules. This crowd has nothing to do with me.” Ed sounded like he meant it, but then again, he was a professional actor.
We parked down the road and walked back. Inside was a big front room with a bunch of tables, Sky’s the Limit walls, and lots of windows. All the tables were full, and people lined the walls, waiting for other people who were waiting for other people to get up. Luckily, we had Otis with us. People tend to make way for a service dog that looks like a wolf.
The band was set up at the near end of the room. All the musicians were oldish men, except for the guitar player, who was a girl in tenth grade at Sag Harbor High School. At the far end of the room a huge food line snaked to the counter. We got in line to order, which was good because Otis had just alerted and I was starting to feel woozy in a low-blood-sugar way. Ed and Jules talked about something called film noir, while I zoned out staring at the big whale-shaped sign on the wall that listed all the burger toppings.
“You thinking cheddar or Swiss, Blue?” Ed asked, breaking away from his conversation with Jules.
I dragged my eyes from the whale sign to Ed. Otis headbutted me and bowed. I ignored him. I didn’t want to go through the whole medical alert thing in front of Ed.
“I’m having more of a pickles or onions dilemma,” I said, trying not to slur.
Before Ed could give an opinion, the woman behind us said, “Excuse me, you’re Ed Buttersby, aren’t you?”
Ed clicked on a charming half smile. “Yes, but don’t tell anyone. I’m here with my daughter and her friend tonight, and we’re having some family time.”
“I knew it was you!” the woman said. “I told my husband, but he didn’t believe me. Do you mind if we take a quick selfie with you?”
“Well, I—” Ed started.
“And then I swear we’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.” The woman yanked over her embarrassed-looking husband by the wrist.
Ed let out a sigh that the woman ignored, and leaned in so she could take a picture with her phone.
“You play drums, don’t you?” The husband raised his voice a little to be heard over the music. “You should sit in.”
“No sticks.” Ed held up empty hands. He looked down at Jules and mouthed Sorry even though he didn’t look all that sorry.
“You should totally do it,” said another woman in line near us. “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”
Next thing we knew, a crowd of burger eaters was begging Ed to sit in with the band. It’d taken all of two minutes for us to go from being just another group waiting for dinner to being the center of attention for the whole restaurant. It was like Cinderella turning into a princess and bathing all the little forest friends in her glow. (Just to be clear, in this scenario, Ed was Cinderella, Jules was the mouse footman, and I was the assistant to the mouse footman.)
“Dad…,” Jules said, her voice a warning.
“Jules, if I don’t do it, they’ll never stop. You know how this goes,” Ed said with a smile. I was learning that actors have a whole range of different smiles that regular people don’t have. This one was Ed’s I’m irresistibly charming so just let me do what I want smile.
Jules grabbed his arm. “This was supposed to be our night.”
“It’ll just be one song. So they’ll leave us alone.” Ed’s eyes were on the band, not Jules.
“You promised,” she pleaded.
He pried Jules’s fingers off his arm and backed away. “Five minutes max. Then I’m all yours.”
Jules didn’t answer. I’m not sure Ed noticed.
Jules and I smooshed against the wall to wait, and I put Otis between us so no one would step on him. Luckily, service dogs are trained to know how to make themselves as small as possible. We could hear Ed, but we couldn’t see him. Not that I cared. I had bigger problems. I could feel my blood sugar dropping fast. My head hurt and I was getting shaky. Otis kept whining and headbutting. If I didn’t eat soon he would start to bark. Also, if I didn’t eat soon, I might pass out.
Before I wrecked things for Jules or embarrassed myself, I’d test my blood sugar and see how bad the situation was. Unfortunately, there was no way to make it to the bathroom through the crowd.
Jules was in a corner, swaying on her toes, trying to see the band over people’s heads.
“Can I switch places with you?” I asked. If I stood in her spot with my back to the room, I could test and no one would see.
“Why?”
“I need to test my blood sugar.”
Jules’s head snapped in my direction. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just need to test.”
We switched places and I unbuckled my diabetes kit from Otis’s carrier. My hands were trembling. Otis licked them.
“Do you need help?” Jules said, watching me.
“I’m okay.”
I opened the vial of testing strips but couldn’t get one out.
“Let me.” Jules took the vial before I could answer and pulled out a strip. “In this little slot at the end, right?”
I nodded and she stuck the strip in the glucom
eter. I pricked my index finger with a lancet (twice—it was time to throw this dull lancet in the trash and start using a fresh one) and squeezed out a drop of blood.
Five seconds later: fifty-nine.
“Good low, Otis.” I gave him a treat. “Sorry I made you wait.”
“How bad is it?” Jules asked.
“It’s not great,” I said, “but I’ve got candy in my kit. I’ll just eat some now and it’ll tide me over until dinner.” I had to be careful not to eat too much, though, because dinner would push my blood sugar up more.
“My dad didn’t know,” Jules said. “Or else he never would have left.”
“I know.” But there were other reasons Ed shouldn’t have left.
I crouched next to Otis and he licked my cheek. Actually, it was nicer on the floor, like being surrounded by a little forest of legs. I texted Mom and Dad, and then I poured half a fun-sized pouch of Skittles into my mouth and slumped against the wall to wait for the sugar to kick in. Jules slid down next to us while Otis stood guard.
Looking up, all I saw were arms with cell phones snapping pictures, taking videos.
The band finished the song and everybody cheered. Jules jumped up. I was halfway to my feet when she kicked the wall and plunked back down.
“What’s wro—”
The band started up again. Ed was playing a second song.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
True Fact: A human chain is stronger than a riptide. (TF supplied by Jules Buttersby.)
The mood in the room went from fun to freaking out. Ed played a solo that sounded like somebody taking a kitchen’s worth of pots and pans and dropping them on the floor, and people clapped and woohoo-ed.
“This’ll be all over the Internet in an hour,” Jules muttered. “I wonder if he knew about the jazz jam the whole time. I bet that’s the real reason we came here.”
“No, that can’t be true,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “He seemed so excited to hang out with you.”
Seemed. But there was no way for Jules to know for sure.
“He’s not even good,” Jules said.
True Fact: The drummer before Ed sounded way better.
A mom near us said to her daughter, “Can you believe this? Honey, you have to understand—Ed Buttersby is one of the most famous actors in the world.”
And then the dad said, “Even though his last three movies flopped.”
Jules, scrunched on the floor next to me in the corner of the room where no one could see us even if they wanted to, even if they had been looking, peeled Sky’s the Limit off her fingernails while strangers talked about her father like she didn’t exist. I didn’t know what to do. I was glad it was too loud to talk much because I had no idea what to say.
I tested again without bothering to hide it, since nobody was paying any attention to us. My blood sugar was up to the seventies.
Actually, it wasn’t true that no one was paying attention to us. Otis hadn’t taken his eyes off me and Jules. Now that my blood sugar was normal, he relaxed, but he never stopped guarding us. Jules buried her hand in Otis’s ruff, something I know from experience is guaranteed to make a person feel better.
Two more solos and thousands of photo ops later, Ed finished the second song. I hoisted myself up—a little shaky from my blood sugar swing—so we could shove our way back to the burger line, but Ed waved us over to a smaller dining area off the main room, where the manager was waiting to take our order personally.
Everybody’s eyes followed us as we snaked through the restaurant. I imagined people thinking, Who’s that kid with Ed Buttersby? For once, the answer didn’t have to be Diabetes Girl. I could be whoever I wanted: Sailor Girl or Treasure Hunter or Rising Eighth Grader (if I ever finished that science project) or Future First Person to Land on Mars. I got to decide, not them. Jules, on the other hand, didn’t get to decide tonight. She could only be Ed Buttersby’s daughter.
Even though there were loads of people still waiting in line—and plenty who had been waiting longer than us—the restaurant had cleared this whole room and a manager was waiting on us, just because Ed was famous. Which made me feel important and embarrassed all at the same time.
Otis wedged himself underneath the table where he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way and so I could slip my feet out of my flip-flops and massage him with my toes. Maybe now that we were finally sitting down just the four of us, Jules could have her special dinner.
“So what did you think of your old dad, Julie? Not bad for a guy who makes movies for a living, right?” Ed said. His face was red and sweaty, but he looked really happy. And bigger. Like cut flowers after my mom puts fresh water in the vase and leaves them on the back deck to soak up the sun.
“Did you make the manager boot someone from this table so he could give it to us?” Jules demanded.
“Oh no,” the manager said. “Somebody was already getting up.”
“You know I’d never do that,” Ed said.
“Whatever,” Jules said. “Let’s order. Blue’s blood sugar is low from waiting for you. She needs to eat.”
“You okay, Blue?” Ed asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, giving Jules a look that said NOT okay to play the diabetes card.
I asked for a cheeseburger medium—with pickles and onions—and tater tots. Jules asked for a salad with no dressing.
“How ’bout a milkshake with that, Julie?” Ed asked. “They make their own ice cream here.”
Jules, who had been so excited about her classic American dinner only an hour ago, said, “Just water.”
“You sure? I hear they’re great,” Ed said.
“Water’s fine.”
Ed squeezed Jules’s hand. “Blue can’t have a milkshake, so you’re not having one either. You’re a good friend.”
Ed really didn’t get it. Or maybe he didn’t want to. He had ruined their special night. The classic American dinner would have just made Jules even sadder. Besides, Jules knew that I wouldn’t have cared if she’d ordered a milkshake, and anyway, if I really wanted one, I could take a big bolus of insulin and have it.
Through the doorway and a big pass-through window thing, I could see other diners. A lot of them stared at us instead of at the band. Some of them pretended not to stare at us, but you could tell they were staring anyway because the blank wall over our heads couldn’t possibly have been that interesting. Do apes in the zoo feel this creeped out?
“Um, excuse me?”
A hipster guy in his twenties hovered in the doorway with that look you get when you really need to pee and you’re about to ask if you can cut the line.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I just need to say—I mean I just want to tell you how much your work means to me. There and Back is what made me want to be an actor. So, uh, thank you.”
“Thank you,” Ed said, smiling at him and only him. He half stood to shake hands. “And good luck.”
“Mr. Buttersby?” Another guy. “Can I just ask—I’ve always wondered—what did you think happened to your character at the end of Plutonium? My girlfriend said he was dead, but I think—”
A woman: “Space Voyager is my favorite movie of all time. You have no idea…”
So many famous people come to the Hamptons during the summer that regular people usually pretend to ignore them. But after one person stepped through the doorway, it was like floodgates had opened and another person came after them. And another and another and another. And then they weren’t staying near the doorway; they were coming right to the table.
“Oh wow, I can’t believe it’s actually you!” a girl shrieked.
Jules flinched. More people came. Surrounded us.
“Dad,” she begged, “do something!”
Somebody touched my hair. I turned. A little kid with pink ice cream on her chin stared at me. Otis pushed out from under the table.
Jules squeezed her eyes shut. People crushed in, shrinking the room smaller and smaller. Otis swung his head from side
to side, trying to clear space. I felt like a pair of lungs having an asthma attack.
Ed held up a hand. “All right, everybody, let’s just—”
Cameras flashed. Otis barked.
Ed stood up, still friendly, still soaking up the sun. “Let’s dial it back now, everyone!”
“Ed!” somebody yelled. “Ed Buttersby!”
Jules smacked the table. “Forget it! Let’s just go.”
Ed looked over his shoulder. Saw Jules’s puffy face. Saw, finally, the room, the people, no dinner on the table, no big night out. He leaned close to Jules. “I’m really sorry, babe. This is a disaster, but I’ll fix it, I promise. You two go wait outside at the car. I’ll get our food to go and we’ll have a picnic.”
But Jules was frozen, blinded by camera flashes, deafened by all the mes and mys and needs. Each person was like an octopus arm, studded with suction cups, glomming on to us. It made me want to Incredible Hulk through the wall, and I was just the mouse footman’s assistant, the sidekick of the sidekick. If I’d been in Jules’s shoes, I’d have been feeling so many things: mad at Ed, sad about the big night out being a big pile of dog poo, mortified in front of all these people taking pictures of the movie star’s daughter crying so they could post them online.
I jumped up. “Otis!”
But Otis was already by my side. Ready. I grabbed his collar and took Jules’s hand so we were one unit and no one could separate us. I squeezed and Jules squeezed back.
“Out,” I commanded.
Otis was like Moses parting the Red Sea. A German shepherd on a mission is no joke. The electricity sizzling from his nose to his tail curled the hairs on my neck. Parents shot out their arms to shield their kids. We marched straight for the door, one solid chain, and nobody stood in our way.
Right before we got outside, Jules tugged on my hand. “Look.”
I followed her gaze back over mobs of people, over the jazz band, and through the pass-through window. The chaos was over. Ed had gotten all the fans to line up so he could sign autographs and pose for selfies one at a time. He was smiling again, looking like there was no place in the world he’d rather be.