Say Yes_Ian

by Amelia Mae

  “I’m sorry,” I say, touching her shoulder. Aya and I bonded over being the only two Asian waitresses here. She was born in Korea, but she was adopted and raised by a single white woman, Carmela, who she loves dearly. I’m half-Japanese on my mother’s side. My father, wherever he is, is a good -ol’-boy from Kentucky. I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen.

  Dan, the bartender, loads imported beers and shots of expensive whiskey onto a tray for Aya. She rolls her eyes, yet again, and heads back to the unruly group.

  “They give you any more shit, I’ll throw them out,” Dan tells her.

  “Thanks,” she says, smiling slightly.

  I start to turn away with my full drink tray when Aya smacks herself playfully on the forehead.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe I forgot to ask,” she says, “How was that callback?”

  “I didn’t get it,” I reply glumly. “They went with someone else.

  “I’m sorry, girl. You’ll get the next one.”

  I nod, hoping to avoid talking about it more. As much as I love acting, the reminder of how I left a promising, stable career as a pharmacist, much to the dismay of my mother, my family, and my now ex-fiance to pursue a pipe dream is still a sore spot.

  “I mean,” she starts, “I know it sucks now, but it’ll get better…”

  I cut her off, “I actually got a call about a gig this afternoon. A music video. I’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

  I load the whiskey and cocktails onto my tray and head back toward my table before Aya can respond.

  I’m halfway across the floor when I overhear the girl with the Rainbow Brite hair from earlier on the phone.

  “It’s her, I swear,” she says in a loud whisper. “Get over here now.”

  I stop, trying to hear more.

  “It’s definitely her, Ian,” she says.

  Ian. The only person I know named Ian is someone I haven’t seen since high school. He’s sort-of famous now, the drummer in a band that’s getting pretty big. But I’ll always know him as the sweet, dorky guy who couldn’t say two words to me without tripping over himself.

  She couldn’t possibly have meant Ian Brooks.

  I laugh at myself for being that ridiculous. Of course not.

  Because why in hell would Ian Brooks want to talk to me?

  The intense brown-eyed guy passes a whiskey to the surfer-tan guy and I hear him call the guy Shawn. He couldn’t mean Shawn Kinney. Shawn is the bassist in said pretty-famous band. Which would make Brown Eyes the one and only Jack Cordero, the guitarist with the reputation of being a… lover of many, many women.

  Am I really waiting on the members of Say Yes? Who also happen to be my high school classmates?

  Another guy with icy blue eyes and blonde hair joins the group and this confirms it. This guy I immediately recognize from, well, everywhere as their frontman Dylan Cotter. He’s on the cover of the tabloid magazines I pretend not to read as I wait for my turn at auditions. He’s the face of the band. And holy hell, what a gorgeous face it is.

  Rainbow Brite drags someone behind her as she returns to the group. A tall, handsome, tattooed man with dark hair, brown eyes and a boyish smile I’d know anywhere.

  Definitely.

  Ian Brooks.

  Ian Brooks, the junior high school marching band nerd that everybody picked on, who sometime between junior and senior year, grew into his body, traded playing drums for the marching band to drumming for the best/only rock band in town, and became Ian Brooks, every girl’s James-Dean-Rebel-Without-A-Cause bad rocker boy fantasy.

  He’s taller than I remember. Shoulders broader. A little scruffier. More ink on his arms. But that’s him alright. In the flesh.

  I’ve seen the Rolling Stone cover and the spots on television. I’ve downloaded Her Name in Stars and play it as I fall asleep.

  Is this really happening? Is Ian Brooks, the famous, wealthy, and painfully hot drummer walking into the Caspiar Club? And am I, Cora Dwyer, ten years ago voted Most Likely to Succeed and currently running for Biggest Disappointment, about to serve him drinks all night?

  Yep.

  3

  Ian

  I don’t love the club scene. Not anymore.

  I used to love it. I mean, who wouldn’t. Lots of alcohol. Beautiful women in crazy tight dresses. Drugs - if you know where to look.

  And when you’re a young, twenty-something guy in a band and just got your first taste of stardom, not to mention your first major payday, there’s nothing better than a club full of vices and people fawning over you, telling you that you deserve to indulge.

  After pretty much every show on our early tours, you’d find me in a club. I wasn’t as loud as my bandmates, but I definitely partied as hard. Drank just as much. And took home just as many women. Maybe more.

  Had to prove something to myself I guess.

  After the accident, though, drinking and partying lost a lot of its appeal. I haven’t set foot in a club in over a year. Haven’t had more than one drink in that amount of time either.

  Haven’t been with a woman in…

  Well, if you have to think about it, it’s been too long.

  But, it’s not every day that my baby sister turns twenty-one. And she wants to do what twenty-one year olds do. Drink. A lot. In a fancy place. Which means I’m braving a night at the Caspiar Club.

  “Ian!” my sister shrieks. She bounds towards me and throws her arms around my neck like she hasn’t just seen me this afternoon.

  I give her a big hug, lift her up and spin her around.

  We’ve always been close. She’s copied everything I’ve ever done. Like getting into anime. And moving to L.A. And getting into the music business. Plus, she’s the only family I have left.

  She ushers me over to the rest of the group and pushes me down on the couch. She takes a seat between me and Jack as he wraps his arm around her. I recognize my bandmates, obviously, and a few of Nikki’s friends.

  “Where is she?” I ask Nikki, figuring that I’d spot Cora immediately. Somewhere in the crowded room, sipping a pink drink, surrounded by glamorous friends.

  “She’ll be back,” Nikki replies.

  I put my hand up to call over a cocktail waitress.

  Seconds later, a beautiful woman in a short black dress arrives.

  Oh my God. It’s her.

  Cora Dwyer. And she’s my waitress.

  No fucking way.

  She immediately turns away from me and stalks off towards the door marked Staff Only. I take off behind her, lightning at my heels.

  “Cora!” I call after her. “Cora!”

  She hastens her pace.

  I quicken mine.

  She reaches the door and is about to fling it open. I reach out, blocking her. She turns around to face me, embarrassed.

  “Oh, sorry,” she stammers, “Didn’t see you there.”

  “Really?” I say, raising an eyebrow. Worst lie ever.

  She looks at the floor.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I look her up and down. The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer. Not to mention, my jeans a size too tight.

  “Cora? Is that you?”

  She nods.

  I wait for her to respond.

  Wait…

  I feel like a fucking idiot. Does she know who I am? I mean, it’s been awhile. Am I really arrogant enough to assume everybody knows who I am? Am I that guy?

  “It’s me. Ian Brooks. We went to high school together.”

  “Yeah,” she says, “I know who you are.” She’s still tense. “Everyone knows who you are.”

  I laugh. “I guess so. Times have changed, haven’t they?”

  She nods, looking up at me. She’s nervous and wraps her arms around herself. It’s strange. The Cora I remember had this eternal confidence. I’ve never seen her nervous.

  But, sweet Jesus, she’s still so fucking beautiful.

  A lock of her long, thick hair fights its way from her messy up-do and I can’t help
but imagine undoing that ponytail and watching her black mane spill out and cascade around her back and shoulders. Then I’d tangle my fingers in it and…

  I shake myself back to reality.

  “What have you been up to?” I ask.

  I can only imagine. Cora was the “it” girl in high school. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Graduated top ten in our class. Star of the school musicals three years in a row. I played drums in the pit orchestra while she played Laurie in Oklahoma senior year and felt that horrible pang of jealousy when Colin Asher got to kiss her on stage every night.

  Everyone expected great things from Cora. I’m sure she’s about to tell me she’s working her way through med school or about to take off tomorrow and do humanitarian work abroad.

  “Well,” she says, defensive sarcasm taking over, “I’m twenty-eight, single, and a cocktail waitress. So dreams really do come true. Excuse me.”

  What the hell was that about?

  She tries to push past me, but stumbles in her high heels.

  Her fingertips graze my arm as she steadies herself.

  Her dark chocolate eyes lock with mine.

  Fuck, she has the same effect on me that she did ten years ago. The blood flows straight to my cock.

  Down, boy. Now is not the time.

  “What’s wrong with being a cocktail waitress? Job’s a job, right?” I shrug.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re living your dream.”

  “Well then,” I start, “What are you doing with your non-work life? Other than feeling sorry for yourself, I mean.” I mean it more light-heartedly than it sounded.

  She smirks and I can’t help but stare at her mouth, wanting to sink my teeth into that pouty bottom lip. Wondering how that tastes.

  “I’m an actress,” she says timidly, “Well, I’m trying to be an actress. Kind of a cliche, right?”

  “No,” I say. “It’s perfect.”

  4

  Cora

  I’m standing face to face with Ian Brooks. And he’s smiling at me.

  God, that smile.

  That face.

  That body.

  That soft white cotton tee shirt covering his hard chest and tattooed arms.

  I mean, who would have thought that Ian Brooks from high school would grow up into six feet of pure man.

  Fuck me.

  “Cora?” he asks, “Did you hear me?”

  He startles me and I realize that I’ve been staring shamelessly and completely missed the last thing he said.

  I fight to keep my cool.

  I also see Dan looking at me, wondering why I’m talking to a single patron instead of tending to my other tables.

  Right. I’m working.

  Ian smirks. I’ve been gawking and he’s noticed. He probably gets that all the time now.

  “I should get back to work,” I tell him, making no effort to return to the floor.

  ‘Probably, yeah,” he says, making no effort to get back to the party.

  Dan glares at me. Okay, I’m really leaving this time.

  “What time do you get off tonight?” he asks.

  “Huh?” All I heard was get off.

  “I’d like to take you out after your shift. Maybe a drink or a bite to eat. Not a date or anything. I just want to see how you’re doing,” he says, seeming to sense my hesitation. “No pressure. Just dinner.”

  He has this hopeful look in his eye, like he’s just asked me to prom and is holding his breath waiting for a yes.

  “I’d love to,” I say, “I get off around two.”

  He looks relieved. “Perfect. I’ll be here.”

  The rest of my shift drags on at a snail’s pace. I check the time, thinking that hours have passed, but it’s only been twenty minutes.

  When Dan mercifully announces last call, I know the clock has struck two. The lights go up. The patrons head out, looking for afterparties.

  I scan the room for Ian, but don’t see him. Maybe he’s bailing. Or made other plans. It is pretty late and he is a famous rock star after all. I start my sidework as Aya joins me, loading trays with glassware.

  Suddenly, she looks up towards the entrance.

  “Mmh,” she grunts. I know that grunt. It’s that achy, sexually-frustrated sound of someone who desperately wants to get her hands on another someone.

  Ian’s here.

  I’m pretty sure I made that noise too when I first saw him. In my mind anyway. Before the room started spinning.

  He approaches us and I think I hear Aya panting.

  “Are you ready, Cora?” he asks.

  I look around. “I’ve got some work to get through, it might be another— Ouch!”

  Aya knocks me in the ribs. “She’s ready.”

  “Aya!”

  “No, I’ll cover for you. I owe you one from last week.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Now!”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll go change.”

  “I’ll wait for you by the hostess stand,” Ian says. He winks at me and walks off.

  “Thanks,” I tell Aya, giving her a quick hug.

  “No problem,” she replies, “But, girl, if you don’t get that yummy boy naked in your bed in an hour, you’re a failure at being a person.”

  I blush, wondering if Ian heard that.

  “Seriously,” she continues, making no effort to keep her voice down. “I want to bite him like an apple.”

  I laugh. “What does that even mean?”

  I meet Ian at the hostess stand and we head to a twenty-four-hour diner a few blocks away. I’ve let my hair down and changed out of my cocktail dress and into the outfit I’d been wearing all day, a pair of tight jeans, a long, threadbare grey tee-shirt and canvas sneakers. I suddenly wish it were twenty times sexier.

  Maybe I should have left the heels on.

  In flat shoes, Ian is almost a head taller than I am.

  I like it. I feel delicate next to him.

  His fingers graze mine and I shiver.

  “Are you cold?” he asks, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders and sliding it over mine.

  “No,” I answer, “Not cold.” Just nervous. I try to give the jacket back.

  “Take it anyway,” he insists.

  “Won’t you be cold?” I ask.

  “Nah, I run hot,” he tells me.

  “Yeah.” Very hot.

  “Yeah what?” he asks.

  I feel my cheeks flush. “Nothing."

  We take seats in a booth across from each other as a server, a giddy teenage girl who is trying and failing to pretend that she doesn’t recognize Ian, hands us menus.

  We read our menus.

  We look around the room at the specials.

  We people watch.

  And now we’ve been quiet for so long it’s weird.

  I try to work up the nerve to talk, but, for some reason, I’ve decided that the next few words out of my mouth will be the most important sentence I’ve ever uttered. So, naturally, I’m speechless. Come on, Cora. Just fucking talk.

  I open my mouth just as Ian asks, “How’s acting going?”

  I’m caught by surprise.

  “It’s… well,” I fumble.

  “That’s good,” he says, smirking.

  “I mean it’s good. It’s going well,” I lie, “I got the lead in a thesis film by a UCLA student. And I’ve been in some plays and stuff. Nothing big, though.”

  Okay, none of that is technically lies, but the film went nowhere and the plays were attended almost exclusively by the friends and family of the cast. And none of it was paid. But I try to make it sound better than it is.

  “And I have a meeting about a part in a music video,” I tell him. “My agent called this afternoon, but I haven’t been able to get back to him yet. I honestly don’t even remember him considering me for the job.”

  Ian smiles. “That’s awesome. I’m sure you’ll get it.

  “I hope so,” I say, “I mean, it’s not the kind of stuff I really want to do, but I’m not reall
y at a place in my career where I get to be choosy.”

  “Really?” he asks, “What kind of stuff do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply, “I… I want to be able to take on the hardest roles out there. The video stuff would be cool, but it’s kind of…”

  “Beneath you?” Ian volunteers.

  “No, of course not,” I stammer, “I don’t mean it like that. I just… I want to be able to do the kind of roles that only the best actors can play. Not just the roles that any pretty girl can do.”

  “I understand what you mean,” he says, “I want Say Yes to go down in history as one of the great rock bands, but most people want to put us in the same box as every sellout pop-punk-wannabe band. Same as all the others.”

  “You’re not though,” I say, “You guys are pretty good.”

  “Thanks,” he says, sarcasm in his voice, “We were shooting for pretty good.”

  “Really good. Incredibly good. The stuff of legends.”

  He cuts me off. “Okay, okay, no need to oversell us,” he says with a laugh.

  We sip our coffee and the waitress drops off platters of bacon and eggs. We decided on breakfast for dinner.

  “So,” he says, “Are you still seeing that guy? The one you dated in high school? Or anyone for that matter. I don’t see a ring.”

  “Nope, I’m single,” I answer. “Very single.” Wow, way to sound pathetic, Cora.

  “You were dating that guy from the football team. Do you still talk to him? What’s his name?”

  I take a shaky breath. “Evan…”

  It’s a touchy subject and Ian notices the tension in my voice. “We don’t have to…”

  “No, it’s fine,” I start. I clear my throat, trying to figure out how to get all this information out as painlessly as possible.

  “Actually, Evan and I went to college together. He went pre-med and I went into the pharmacy program. We got both got into grad school locally after that. Stayed together the whole time. Eventually he proposed. And I said yes.”