by Hazel Kelly
"And you are literally the only person who knows besides Ethan, and he's not going to tell anybody."
"Your secret is safe with me."
"Good."
"But only if you tell me what really happened."
I ran a hand over my head. "I told you."
"You expect me to believe that he kissed you and stopped there? After all those years of jacking off to the thought of your-"
"Brandi!"
"Sorry, but you know I'm right."
I groaned.
"I don't know the guy that well, but he never struck me as the tender kiss goodnight type.”
"There may have been a bit of harmless fooling around once we got home, but that's it."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"You are full of shit, but I know this is a crazy big deal for you so I'm going to give you some time to make sense of it."
"Thank you."
"But then I expect every last detail."
"Deal," I said. "And I really appreciate your support."
"And my keeping my mouth shut."
"Right."
"So now what?" she asked.
"Now I'm headed to go meet some agent Ethan got me an appointment with."
"Oh, that’s exciting."
"I'm not really sure what to expect," I said. "Hopefully I'll get to meet the guy, but there's a chance I'll just drop off my head shots and my resume and that'll be it."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."
"Thanks."
"What are you going to do if you fall for him for real?"
"The agent? I don't think-"
"Not the agent, dummy. Ethan."
I pursed my lips. "I don't know. I can't figure out if that would be the worst thing ever or the best."
"Probably depends on who you ask."
"No shit," I said. "Why do you ask?"
"I don't know. I guess part of me likes to believe that you guys would've been high school sweethearts if things had worked out differently."
"I'm sure we wouldn't have been. I was a drama geek, remember? And he was a jock."
"I know, but that's just how other people made sense of you back then. I think you guys could've overcome that, ya know? If your parents hadn't gotten in the way."
"We'll never know, will we?"
"The point is, I just want you to know you have my support," she said. "To fight for what you want."
"Uh-huh."
"And if that's more time with Ethan, I think you should go for it."
"Okaayy. Where is this coming from?"
"I think he's the only guy that ever looked at you right."
"What?"
"You deserve a guy that worships you, Jen."
"And you think Ethan is that guy?"
"I think he could be," she said. "If you stop making excuses for why he can't be."
Chapter 38: Ethan
I remember what she was wearing the day I left- a pair of rubber duck pajama pants and an old sweatshirt she used to wear inside out cause she didn't like to feel like a walking ad for clothing brands.
She hugged me before I left, but I got the sense it was under duress. Like she only did it cause our parents were standing there, and it seemed like the right thing to do. She smelled like nail polish remover.
Once my luggage was in the car, there wasn't much space. But if she’d wanted, she could’ve scrunched in next to me in the back of my dad's pre-owned Chevy. Instead, she stayed home.
I didn't see her for two years after that, but there wasn't a day that went by when I didn't think about her.
I even stole a picture of her from one of the shoe boxes at the bottom of the hall closet.
It was her squinting into the sun and blowing on a white dandelion. I used to guess at what she was wishing. Sometimes I would pretend it was for me to come back, even though it was taken long before I left.
I don't know why I was so fixated on her, even after I moved so far away.
Perhaps it was because she was the first beautiful thing I saw after my mom died. So I clung to her smile, her freckles, her chiming laugh, as if they were symbols that life could go on…
The day she died was the first and last day I ever waterskied.
The sun was as bright as I’d ever seen it that Saturday morning when we arrived at a family friend's lake house. My mom loved the lake, along with the ocean, rivers, rain… any kind of water really.
I used to love going to the lake, too, because I'd get to eat hot dogs and Fritos all weekend- and lots of barbequed corn, which I always believed was unfairly classified as a vegetable.
I used to struggle getting up on the skis. I found it nerve wracking and difficult, but that day I finally did it.
And once I got the hang of it, I couldn't get enough. I was crushing it. Best of all, my parents and the Toohey's were cheering me on big time. I can still recall how proud I was to see them all clapping and waving at me from the back of the boat.
Eventually, I needed a rest and it was my mom's turn to go out next. She was really good. She could lift one ski up and jump in the air. It was one of the only things I can remember her being a show off at.
As soon as she let go, Mr. Toohey hit the brakes and started to turn the boat around so we could pick her up and see if she wanted to go again.
And that's when those idiots came tearing around the corner straight towards her.
We all waved our arms and yelled for them to slow down.
But they weren't even paying attention. They were shitfaced and going too fast and she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
If I'd gone for one more spin it might've been me.
My dad pulled her out of the water.
She was unconscious and bleeding from the side of her head. It wasn't until years later that I realized she was lucky she didn't lose her head completely.
The postmortem said she was killed instantly, and that even if she hadn't been, her brain never could've survived the impact.
The driver lost his boating license and a few years of his life to jail.
I lost my mom.
"You okay?" Woody asked as he handed me a crate of Bacardi from the back of an open truck.
"Yeah," I said. "Just a little down."
"You want to talk about it?"
"I suppose if I did, you'd be the guy to talk to."
"Sure would," he said. "I've just about been through it all."
"What do you know about loss, Woody?"
Woody sat down on the end of the truck bed and checked his watch.
None of the other staff were due to arrive for another hour, which was more time than we needed to unload the truck.
"What kind of loss are we talking about?" he asked, sliding the last crate my way. "Cause I know what it's like to lose your home, your parents, your self-belief, even your marbles."
I forced a smile and put the last crate on the trolley. I had no right to sulk around Woody.
The guy had been homeless before Ben gave him a job here, and he'd taken the opportunity with both hands and turned his life around in the space of a year.
"I lost my mom when I was a kid," I said. "It was a boating accident. She died instantly, and I saw it happen."
He nodded. "I'm sorry, Ethan. That's fucked up."
"Yeah, even after all this time."
"My mom was a junkie. She died in an empty bathtub after shooting up between her toes."
"Shit."
"I like to think she felt good on the way out."
I tilted my head. "Didn't you feel kind of abandoned?"
"Yes and no."
I raised my eyebrows.
He pulled his chin where his thick beard used to be. "Yes, because I was on my own after that, hopping between foster homes like a frog hops between lily pads."
"Yeah."
"But no because she didn't owe me anything, ya know? She never asked for me. I was just one more thing that happened to her in her life, if that makes sense."
"Sort of." I leaned an elbow on the inside of the truck.
"There are two kinds of people in this world, Ethan."
"Go on."
"People who stuff happens to, and people who make stuff happen."
I nodded.
"And I've been both," he said, sliding down from the truck bed. "And I can tell you, the latter's where it's at."
I stepped back so we could close and latch the doors.
"Stuff used to happen to me,” he said. “And I used to let it be an excuse for why I couldn't get this or that or go after this or learn that or-"
"Got it."
"But stuff happens to everybody." He grabbed the front handle on the trolley.
I pressed two hands against the crates at the back to keep them steady while he pulled.
"So your stuff isn't an excuse," he said. "Unless you want it to be. But then you end up being one of those people life happens to."
"A victim."
"Yeah." He switched the hand he was pulling with.
"So what changed for you?" I asked. "After all those years on the streets?"
He shrugged. "I just started dwelling on my moments of good fortune instead of my moments of bad."
"Something tells me you're simplifying things."
"Sure I am," he said. "But it's easy to overcomplicate stuff, and you don’t get any extra points in the end for making life harder than it needs to be."
"I suppose that's true."
He smacked a flat button beside the double doors so we could wheel the stock into the club’s storeroom. "So whatever it is that's got you down," he said. "My advice is to shake it off."
I took a deep breath.
"Cause when you focus on what's got you down, you can't see all the reasons you have to get up."
"And what if you can't have what you want?"
He walked backwards for a moment and squinted at me. "Why wouldn't you be able to have what you want?"
I shrugged. "Cause life isn't fair."
He scoffed. "Life's plenty fair," he said. "Or at least, it's the same kind of fair for everyone."
"Perhaps."
"So unless you want something that's going to bring harm to someone else, you ought to go after it."
"I suppose."
"You suppose right, Ethan," he said, fixing his eyes on me. "After all, the worst thing that can happen is you fail.”
“Right.”
“And failing can be tough, but there’s no failure like not trying.”
Chapter 39: Jenny
I'd never seen so many skinny girls and moody looking boys.
It was the first time in my life I felt like I should've colored in my eyebrows and worn Spanx.
"Jennifer Layne?" A woman at the front of the waiting room stared down at her clipboard. How her thin frames stayed on her nose was beyond me.
I stood up and lifted a palm towards her as two dozen eyes watched me like the hungry cast of a perfume commercial.
The woman led me down a narrow hallway which was lined with black and white headshots of glamourous people with bedroom eyes. Then she opened a door at the end of the hall and nodded for me to enter.
A man with a sizeable pot belly concealed under his blue button down sat behind the cherry wood desk along the far wall.
I heard the door close behind me.
"Jennifer-" He looked from me to a paper on his desk. "Layne, is it?"
I nodded.
"I was expecting you to be more butch."
I raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"My nephew was under the impression that you were bald. And gay."
My lips fell apart.
"Not that there's anything wrong with either of those things, but I wasn't expecting a full head of hair."
I tilted an ear towards him. "I'm not gay either."
He squinted at me. "Not even a little bit?" he asked. "Cause there's a huge demand for-"
"I'm not a homophobe or anything," I said. "I would take a gay role if that's what you're asking. If it was tasteful. I have gay frien-"
"Forget it," he said, standing and walking around his desk with a swagger that suggested heavy shoes. "It's obviously a misunderstanding."
I swallowed and took a step forward. The room was beige and bare apart from a few movie posters on the walls between the windows.
"Ira," he said, sticking out a chubby hand.
I took it. "Thanks for agreeing to meet me on such short notice."
"No problem." He nodded at the manila folder in my hand. "Is that for me?"
I handed to him. “It is.”
"Great. Have a seat, Jenny, and we'll get right down to it."
I bent my legs and balanced on the edge of the chair, suddenly conscious of my posture after seeing all the swan necks in the waiting room.
He sat down with such force that his chair rolled back several inches. "So I take it you're from a small town in the middle of the country that no one's ever heard of and you want to be a star."
I scrunched my face. "Would you prefer if I made up a more original story?"
"Not at all," he said. "Everyone loves that one, but I appreciate you offering." He laid the folder down in front of him and flipped it open.
I pursed my lips, watched his dark eyes scan the stack of pictures accompanying my resume, and listened to his heavy breathing as I prayed he’d be able to help me.
"What's your dream role?" he asked, lifting his eyes. "If I could snap my fingers and have you cast in something tomorrow."
"Norma in Sunset Boulevard."
He nodded and stuck his lower lip out. "So you're a confident singer?"
"Very."
He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, and nodded.
I raised my eyebrows. "You want me to sing something?"
"Well, I can't send you somewhere to sing with my recommendation if I haven't heard you, now can I?" He shook his head. "No offense, but you wouldn't believe the shit people lie to me about- that they tap dance, that they do their own stunts, that they'll take their clothes off when they won't, that their sex change is complete-"
"I understand."
“Great.” He nodded. "When you're ready."
I took a deep breath.
"That means now."
I started singing Norma's big song from Sunset Boulevard with all the feeling I could. And it was easy. I’d cried to “With One Look” a thousand times.
He kept his eyes on me and let me sing the first four stanzas, raising his hand to stop me after I sang the part about making the whole world cry.
"Good."
I smiled, relieved to have sung out some of my nervous energy.
"In forty years, you'll be a great Norma."
"Thank you."
"But let's see if we can get you something more age appropriate in the meantime."
I raised my eyebrows.
"There are auditions next week for Chicago. A few of the main parts are already spoken for, but in my opinion, what you need is some exposure so people with pull start to recognize your name. At this stage, even snagging a role as a stand in would be a worthwhile victory for you."
"I completely agree," I said. "I'm not so naive that I think I'm going to be Elphaba by next summer. I'm open to anything and willing to put in all the hard work it takes."
"Is this all your updated contact information?" he asked, pointing at the page in front of him.
I nodded.
"Great," he said. "Now, before you get your hopes up, I can't promise you anything."
"I know."
"But I'll do what I can to make sure a few people see you in the next few weeks as a favor to my nephew."
"Sure."
"And if people like you and you get some work, we can draw up something official."
"Something official?"
He waved his hands in the air. “Yeah. Something that says it's my job to lose sleep over making sure you get jobs in this city."
I smiled. "T
hat sounds good."
"I thought it might."
"What should I do in the meantime?"
"Wait by the phone," he said. "I'll be in touch in the next forty eight hours."
"Great."
"Other than that, just make sure you don't get fat or injured or lose your voice, and we won't have any problems."
I pursed my lips and nodded.
"You can see yourself out?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, thank you. It was very nice to meet you."
"You, too, Jennifer. Happy to help."
I stepped out of the room and let out an exhale so big I was surprised I didn’t deflate entirely. Then I did a little happy dance, shaking my hips back and forth silently for a second to help me calm down.
But I still couldn't even get close to keeping a straight face as I walked out of the office, my head held high and my chest bursting with pride.
After all, I was finally starting to feel like this city was beginning to love me back.
And there were so many people that I needed to thank for encouraging me to keep going after my dream.
But there was one person in particular that I couldn't wait to share the good news with.
Chapter 40: Ethan
Ben walked across the empty club with his keys in hand.
By the time he sat down at the bar, I'd made two Dirty Shirley’s.
"I feel good about how that meeting went," he said.
I nodded. "So does everyone else, Boss."
He shrugged. "The bonuses had to happen. Things are going so well. I couldn't not incentivize people, could I?"
"You could," I said, hopping over the bar and taking a seat beside him. "But then you'd be like every other prick with a club on this street."
"You'd know."
"Sure would," I said, sliding my drink towards me. "Worked for half of 'em."
"Everything cool with your sister?" he asked. "After the other day?"
I swallowed.
"And your two nights off work?"
“Stepsister.”
“Whatever.”
I glanced down at my drink. "Gretchen seemed bummed that I showed up for the team meeting."
"Gretchen wants your job."
I raised my eyebrows. "I hope you told her she couldn't have it."
He shrugged. "I'm going to create a position for her. She’s the closest thing to your equal we've got."