And the Next Thing You Know . . .

by Chase Taylor Hackett

  “Katrina, this is—”

  “Theo,” I said, before he could dwarfbrain me again.

  “You’re at Parker O’Neill as well?”

  “Temporarily,” I said. “I loved your performance this evening!”

  “Thank you! It’s so nice of you to say so. Jeffrey, have you ever heard us perform? As I recall, you didn’t have much of an ear for music.”

  Jeff glanced at me a second before he answered.

  “I’m learning.”

  I don’t know why I was blushing, but I knew that I was. I looked around and there was Roger, eyeing me like I was some interesting new species.

  “Hey guys.” Fletch had stepped over to us, although I don’t think he’d ever been very far away. “Jeff. How’s it goin’.”

  Wowza. He was even better looking up close.

  “Hope you’re well, Fletch,” said Jeff.

  “Thanks, I am.”

  “Good to see you, Jeff,” said Katrina, and she went.

  I was watching the triangle of guys around me. It was interesting that Fletch didn’t feel any need to put his arm around Roger or anything, which anyone else would have done. I guess when you look like Fletch, you can be pretty confident, but still—I admired him for it.

  “Hi,” I said to Fletch.

  “Fletch this is—”

  “Theo McPherson,” I said firmly.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  I hated hanging around in clumps of tall people like this. Which gave me an idea.

  “Fletch, could you introduce me to the other musicians?”

  “Um, sure. You guys okay?” The last question was addressed entirely to Roger.

  “Wait,” said Jeffrey, and his hand gripped my arm. Pretty firmly too. Was that panic? “Where are you going?”

  “I’m just going to congratulate the others,” I said, gently pulling my arm free.

  “Yeah, okay,” said Roger, answering Fletch’s concern.

  “We’ll be right back,” I said.

  I figured Jeff and Roger had some issues, and maybe if somebody said I’m-sorry and the other person said I’m-sorry-too, maybe somebody would feel a little better.

  But what do I know?

  Chapter 23

  Abandonment Issues

  Jeffrey

  I watched Theo walking away with Fletch. That kid really was a piece of work, wasn’t he? First he insisted I talk to Roger, which I seriously did not want to do, which he knew I did not want to do, and then he just ditched me. I stared after him as Fletch introduced him to the other woman from the quartet—what was her name? Viola? No, but something like that.

  “Hey,” said Roger, pushing his curls back the way he does.

  “You look really great, Roger. Not being a lawyer agrees with you.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a lot of changes, obviously, but they’ve all been really good. I’m doing some graduate work at NYU, and I have a handful of students, my one beginner and a few older kids prepping for their college auditions. I’m playing a lot. I’m pretty happy.”

  “I’m glad. And you and Fletch finally…”

  “And yeah, Fletch and I finally. And you? Seriously, how are you doing?”

  “Seriously? I’m great. Everything’s great. Never better.”

  “Really?”

  I took a breath.

  “Okay, I’ll admit you knocked the wind out of me, but—I’m doing better.” He just looked at me, like he was expecting more. “I’m not sure why, but I honestly feel like I’m doing better. Okay? That’s all you’re going to get from me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get anything, I was just sincerely asking.”

  “I know. And you sent Tommy over to spy on me, so I’m sure you’re up to date.”

  “No! The move was totally his idea! And I promise you, he hasn’t been reporting back to me. For example, he’d told me about Theo, the funny new kid at the firm, but he hadn’t said a word about you and Theo.”

  “Me and Theo?”

  “Not really your type, but I think he’ll be really good for you.”

  “Theo?! We’re not—no, we’re—he’s just—”

  “Really? You guys aren’t...?”

  “Really. Definitely really. We’re not.”

  “Then is he writing a book about you?” Roger seemed to think this was pretty funny, and I didn’t get the joke.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The way he watches you.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. I glanced over to Theo where he was talking to the guy, the cello player. And yeah, Theo was looking past them back over to me.

  “Well, I don’t know what that’s about, but don’t read too much into it. You remember Rebecca McPherson?”

  “Of course. How is she?”

  “She’s great, she’s here somewhere. Theo is her little brother.”

  “Ah. Of course, I can see that now.”

  “The hair,” we said together.

  “So no, nothing going on there,” I made clear.

  “If you say so.”

  “Dweeb, you about ready?” Fletch always called him that, I never knew why. He had Roger’s violin case slung over one shoulder, and his music bag in the other hand. Theo was somewhere behind him.

  “Yeah, I am. Take care of yourself Jeff.” Roger gave me a quick one-arm hug that I didn’t have a chance to return. “Nice meeting you, Theo.”

  “You too. It was really nice meeting you both.”

  And they went.

  I looked around the room, faces I knew, faces I didn’t.

  There was Dan Kaminsky, holding forth to a group of associates over by the bar. Funny, from here he looked like a nice guy, but I knew, up close and personal, he was a complete shit-hook. You don’t get to bill what he bills an hour by being nice.

  That was my world, over there. Business. Making money. Talking about making money. What was I doing, talking about string quartets and major chords? That was my Hiromi competition, yukking it up over one of Kaminsky’s famous anecdotes. I should be in there, pretending I haven’t heard the stories before. Not like me to let those ass-lickers get ahead of me. But for some reason I just couldn’t move.

  Was it Roger? No. Roger didn’t upset me. It’s not like I wanted him back or anything. I didn’t. Never did. But something…

  I looked over at the crowd around Kaminsky again.

  I heard myself sigh.

  “Hey,” said a quiet little voice next to me. Theo’s voice. “You okay?”

  “Me? Heh. Never better.” I shook it off. “You were hoping this was going to be a big scene or something, weren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little scene anyway. Or maybe there’d be a little scuffle and you’d step back and bump into some old broad in a tiara who’d fall into a guy carrying a pie, and the next thing you know…”

  “Oh man! You should have told me! I’m sure we could have managed that, and that would have been fabulous!”

  “Just a little effort on your part, Jeff.”

  “Nothing like a dash of the Three Stooges to make a party really click.” I was still surveying the crowd, but now I was picking out a few faces that I’d love to hit with a pie. That one, and that one, and what’s her name, that jerk from corporate…and oh! Victoria! Most definitely Victoria, kerpow, right in the kisser. Theo was a genius.

  “Honestly, Jeff? I’m sorry.” Did I really hear that?

  “Did you just—apologize?”

  “Only a little bit, and don’t get used to it. But you owe me some stories, I think. You and Roger, how it all went wrong, da-da-dee da-da-da.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh for sure.” He grabbed an hors d’oeuvres off the tray of a passing waiter. “This is sooooo good,” he said with a mouthful of stuffed
mushroom.

  “Newsflash. I don’t owe you zip.”

  He snagged two glasses of champagne off another waiter and handed me one.

  “I got half the story from Rebecca already anyway.”

  “Remind me to speak to Rebecca about that.”

  “I just figured you’d want to give me your side of things. She said she was never really sure how serious it was for you. Roger, the break-up.”

  “She said that? Not sure I was serious?’

  “Yeah, something like that. So, were you?”

  “What?” I looked down at him. He had that mocking grin on his face, as usual. Those taunting dimples on those pretty cheeks. I just wanted to slap that jeer from his face. I’d have done anything to stop that mouth from laughing at me.

  “Serious,” he said.

  “I’m sorry—what are we talking about?”

  “Roger?” he prompted.

  Oh, yeah.

  I looked at this glass of champagne that had gotten into my hand somehow, and I tossed it back in one big swallow.

  “C’mon,” I said, stifled the little burp that followed, and plopped the glass down on a table next to a couple of first-year associates—who looked offended.

  “Boo!” I said, just to watch them jump. I grabbed Theo’s hand and started for the ballroom door with him following.

  “Where we going?” For absolutely the first time ever, he wasn’t fighting me, just following.

  “I want to show you something.”

  “Hey Jeff,” said Theo behind me, “what you got to show me, I don’t wanna see.”

  Great, keep taunting me. At least he was still following. I led him out through the front lobby and onto Fifth.

  “Taxi, please,” I said to the doorman.

  “Are you kidnapping me?”

  “Could be. Just get in the cab.” He was still holding a glass of champagne. I took it from him and gulped what was left. “Here,” I handed the glass and a twenty to the doorman.

  The cab pulled away.

  “I am going to regret this, I know it,” said Theo.

  “I definitely will.”

  Text to Rebecca

  Your party is a snore-fest.

  Where are you? Are we at the same table for dinner?

  Actually, your plus-one is subtracting himself.

  Traitor!

  Ha.

  Wait.

  I’ll go with you.

  Too late.

  Chapter 24

  Caution: Hard Hats Must be Worn

  Theo

  You know how people say things like ‘I’m here against my better judgment’? I finally knew what they meant.

  Every instinct told me, do not get into a cab with this guy.

  Okay, it wasn’t like I was crawling into the backseat of a taxi with a total stranger. It was Jeff. I was not going to wake up, trussed like a turkey in a leather sling, or in a bathtub missing some internal organ or other. It was Jeff, my sister’s best friend. I’d been sharing a hide-a-bed with him for a week, and if you can’t trust your sleeper-couch comrades, then who? But still. He was being really weird. And don’t forget, Jeffrey Dahmer was nice-looking, too.

  All this was rattling through my brain as I scooted across the backseat of a taxi and Jeff climbed in next to me.

  But no, I reassured myself, ol’ Jeff was way too square to be a serial killer. That at least would be interesting. And Jeff wasn’t very interesting, was he?

  In any case, I had gotten in a cab—against my better judgment. Jeff gave the driver an address on the Upper East Side, which I figured was his apartment. Why were we going to his apartment? He obviously wasn’t taking me there for the usual reason guys take you to their apartment.

  He pulled his tie loose and undid his top button.

  Maybe Jeff just wanted to get stoned. Did super-square lawyers—who wanted to be partners someday—get stoned?

  At his building, we walked across a lobby of polished terrazzo past a weaselly-looking doorman who was sneaking a cigarette under the desk.

  “Good evening, Mr. Bornic,” said the weasel. Jeff gave a tiny wave without actually looking at the guy. Come to think of it, he hadn’t looked at me since he’d pulled me across the ballroom of the Pierre in front of half of the New York legal community.

  We got in the elevator, and he pressed 24. Then he changed his mind and pressed 23. Hmmmm. What, did he forget where he lived? Neither of us spoke until he had stopped in front of a door and put his key in the lock.

  “Just to warn you—it’s a construction site. Watch your step.”

  He pushed open the door to a dark apartment, reached inside and flipped a light switch. A small light over the door came on, just enough so you could see—a really big, mostly empty, room. There was a stack of drywall to one side, some orange power cords coiled and piled up, plaster dust everywhere. Bare walls of plasterboard, with white tape covering the seams. Rough-cut holes with wires hanging out. But the dominant feature of the space was a really big expanse of glass on the opposite wall, and the city beyond. Along the right wall, a staircase came down from the floor above.

  Christ-on-a-crescent-roll, this was going to be a hella nice apartment.

  “C’mon in.”

  I followed him, tentatively.

  “Why are we here again?”

  “I told you—I want to show you something.”

  “Okaaaaaaay. What exactly?

  “This!” He made a big, sweeping gesture to the empty room. “The first thing I want you to see is the large open space here in the living room and the grand piano in front of these windows.”

  “The grand piano?”

  “The architect and I, we planned this, so you’d come in and see the huge windows and the view, and the gorgeous piano in front of it.”

  “I know you don’t play.”

  “Not even the radio.” An hour ago he didn’t know what a major chord was.

  “Then—why?”

  “Well, I used to know this guy—he plays violin in a string quartet, if you can believe it. He has a little console piano in his apartment, so I figured he must use it for something. And even I can hear the difference between a console and a grand.”

  “The piano was for Roger?”

  “Bought and paid for, and sitting in a warehouse somewhere. The Steinway people are just waiting for a delivery date. They’re very accommodating, the Steinway people.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  I stood in front of the windows—and the view to the East River and beyond. The glass was so big, it actually made me a little nervous standing next to it.

  “Notice the staircase,” said my tour guide. I turned and looked back to the stairs coming down. “Generally in duplex apartments in the city the staircase is super steep. Or a spiral. Staircases are really expensive things because they eat a lot of square footage and square footage on a crowded island is, well, really expensive. And a staircase eats the square footage on both floors. Most people want to minimize that—hence the steep spiral staircase. But I said, noooooo, make it a shallow, gracious descent. Know why?”

  “I bet you’ll tell me.”

  “For little tiny Scottish terrier legs. They can’t go down steps that are too steep because their little legs are so short, they tumble right over.”

  “Let me guess who has a Scotty.”

  “Ding ding ding!” He touched his nose with his index finger. “So I designed this really expensive staircase—the custom work alone, and then the loss on the resale value of the property because of the lost square footage? Don’t want to guess. And I don’t even like the dog. There’s a lot more apartment that direction,” he gestured off toward a hallway, “and the new kitchen’s going in along there,” he gestured in the opposite direction, “but it’s all just bare drywall. C
’mon.” He took my hand again, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and he led me over to the stairs. “Careful, there’s no railing.”

  At the top, the opening into the other apartment was closed off with a plastic tarp. He had to rip up the tape that held it in place, and he was able to get an opening big enough to climb up out onto the next floor. He helped me up, and turned on a table lamp.

  This was clearly his current apartment—everything here was finished, although furniture was pushed up against the wall and covered in plastic drop cloths.

  He pulled off his jacket and tossed it at a chair—which was covered in plastic, and the jacket just slid to the floor. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “I want to show you something down here,” and he led me toward the kitchen at one end, a counter separating it from the rest. He turned on the overhead kitchen light, but stopped just outside. “With the new kitchen going in downstairs, I’m taking this out, and the wall will be moved out to here.” He pulled me into the kitchen. “So imagine that wall pushed out a couple feet beyond the counter. The space will be closed in, and soundproofed, floors, walls, ceilings. So someone could practice in here anytime, day or night, and never worry. It’s big enough that a quartet could rehearse in here even. With his little piano against this wall for whatever he does with his little piano. Room enough even for a bed for that goddamned dog. And there’s a handy powder room next door.” He flipped off the bright overhead light, and we just had the softer light from the table lamp by the stairs.

  “No terrace?” I said. Jeff’s head snapped up to see if I meant it. I didn’t.

  “No,” he said laughing quietly. “No terrace. Leave it to you—I show you all of this, and you ask me about a terrace.”

  “Why are you showing me all this?”

  “Because you asked me.”

  “I asked you?!”

  “If I had been serious.”

  Ohfuck. What was I supposed to say to that? Yeah, I’d been provoking him, but I had no idea. I didn’t mean to put him through all this. The evening had started out to be such fun, listening to music, teasing Jeff, but now—now I felt like last year’s pond scum. I stepped over to the couch, pulled up one end of a drop cloth, and sat.