If Ever

by Angie Stanton

  Los Angeles

  "Whoa, look at that shiner?" Dominic says when he sees me the next morning at 9 a.m.

  "All the credit goes to you." I went to bed with a bruise and woke up with streaks of black, blue and purple. Exhausted and still recovering from the excitement of Tom's kisses, I'm now faced with disappointed reality. It's like he opened up this exciting door and then walked away with it swinging shut in my face.

  "What's the matter? No word from Lover Boy?"

  "Spare me. I'm not in the mood." I stare out the window and wish for a second cup of coffee.

  "Chin up. We've got a great number for this week, and after our scores, we may finally be gaining the momentum we need."

  After a couple hours of plugging through the steps, I admit the number does seem fun in a playful, quirky way. But I can't shake the feeling of how a couple days with Tom has changed my whole outlook. How have I done the show all these weeks without his fun distraction? And now that he's gone, how am I supposed to go back to the status quo?

  After a short break, I'm on the floor stretching again. My bruised muscles are still rebelling from yesterday's nasty fall.

  Dominic checks his phone, looks up at me, and grins.

  "What?" I snap and immediately regret being bitchy.

  "Someone just asked for your number.”

  My body hums on high alert. He had better not be teasing me. "Who?" I act like we both don't know it's Tom. Dominic aims his phone at me and takes a picture.

  "What are you doing?" I cover my face too late.

  Dominic laughs and sends off a message. "You'll see."

  But I don't. It had to be Tom. I'm sure of it. For the next hour I'm desperate to hear my phone ping, but nothing. I check the ringer, it's on high, but no missed calls or texts. By the time I leave the rehearsal hall at five o'clock, I'm all crabby pants again, not to mention hangry.

  Back at my apartment, I realize I should have grabbed something on my way home. I find a half-eaten bag of Cheetos and hope it'll tide me over until I have enough energy to go out. Maybe I'll just order pizza instead.

  A couple hours later, I'm about to give up on ever hearing from Tom and grab a shower when my phone rings. I freeze and am hit with an adrenaline rush. I scramble to look at the screen. It's an area code and number I don't recognize. It keeps ringing. My heart pounds double time.

  What if it's not him? What if I'm disappointed? What if it's a telemarketer trying to sell me lawn service?

  It rings again. Who am I kidding? I snatch it up and blow out my breath and answer as nonchalantly as possible. "Hello?"

  "How's your shiner?" a delicious British voice asks.

  I laugh and hope it doesn't sound like a high-pitched giggle. "Pretty bad. I don't think it's going to be gone by next week's show."

  "Send me a proper picture, would you? I couldn't get a good look at it in the shot Dominic sent."

  "Absolutely not!"

  His laugh is a low rumble that reminds me of when I danced with him. "Why not?"

  "Because it's hideous. You'll have to wait to see it like the rest of the country when they air it on Monday night."

  "It was a pretty spectacular crash."

  I sit on the couch and play with the fringe of a throw pillow. "I'm sure you'll be replaying it all night once they play the video." We laugh and I wish so badly he were here with me.

  "How was your flight home?" I ask, because I have no idea what else to say. I want to ask him everything, and yet it all seems too personal, or stupid, or inappropriate.

  "I couldn't sleep. Honestly though, I haven't slept much since I met you."

  "Really?" A jolt of happiness reaches down to my toes

  "Mm hmm." His voice lowers. "I had a lovely time with you in L.A. I've never not wanted to get back to work until now."

  I can't believe he's telling me this. "That's really sweet, but I find it hard to believe."

  "It's true. I keep thinking of this bossy blonde girl from Iowa trying to give me vocal direction."

  I bury my face in the pillow. "Yeah, sorry about that."

  "And then I watched her dance. It was so beautiful, I nearly wept." His voice is deep and kind. I was lost in the experience and it felt good. Better than anything has in a long time. That is until him. Now I don't know what to do with myself. I start pacing. "How is New York?"

  "You're changing the subject, love."

  I grin at the endearment. "Is the city as exciting as it sounds?"

  "I like it. There's always something happening. You'll get to see it soon."

  "Every week I think I'll be seeing New York, but then I sneak through by the skin of my teeth." In the bedroom, I sit on the bed.

  "When you do get to New York, I want to see you."

  My heart skips a beat. I stare at the ugly bruise in the mirror and wonder why me? He must have tons of options out there.

  "That is if you're interested," he adds as if I wouldn't jump at the offer.

  "Of course I'd love to see you."

  "Good. Now I might have to rethink my voting methods to get you out here sooner."

  "I don't think I should share that strategy with Dominic."

  "Probably not."

  "I just realized that I know very little about you, and you've been watching the show all season, so you probably know way more about me."

  "I'm a boring bloke," he says, his voice laid back and relaxed. I picture him in faded jeans, a T-shirt, and no shoes, lying on his couch. I want to stretch out next to him.

  "I don't believe that for a second. When we get off the phone, I'm going to Google you and search out your deep dark secrets. Unless, of course, you want to tell me some."

  "And spoil your fun? I think not." He laughs.

  "I'll be the judge."

  "And when you're done, if you aren't running the other direction, I'd still like to see that shiner of yours."

  I groan. "It's awful and embarrassing."

  He laughs. "Come on, I was there at its inception, don't I get to watch it evolve? From black and blue, to purple and then maybe a little green and yellow after a few days."

  My hand goes to my cheek. "It better not."

  "So tell me about your new dance. What music is it to?"

  I go lie on the couch and tell him everything I know about it. We end up talking for well over an hour.

  Tom sighs. "Well, it's getting late here. I should let you go."

  "I suppose."

  "Thanks for helping fill my evening. If it weren't for you, I'd have spent the night binge watching Stranger Things."

  "That's enough to give you nightmares. Thanks for calling."

  "My pleasure."

  "Good night." Hanging up is like cutting off my oxygen.

  I toss my phone on the bed, leap onto it and squeal like a little girl. Even though it's an impossible situation with us on opposite sides of the country, I really like him. And when I'm in New York, it'll only be for a day. I love and hate this so bad.

  Between my rehearsal schedule and Anna's new job, we've had trouble connecting, but when we do, she's bouncing off the cell tower waves.

  "I don't talk to you for a few days and suddenly you're dating a Broadway star!" she screeches, and I hold the phone away from my ear.

  "No, not even close. We spent a handful of hours together over the course of three days. That's it. He lives three thousand miles away."

  "But you made out? I saw a picture online. And why didn't you call me right away?"

  My whole body flushes when I remember Tom's kisses. "There's a picture of us online?"

  "Lots of them. Mostly with Dominic. Haven't you Googled yourself since the show began?" Anna says. "But, oh my God, Chelsea. You should see this one of Tom. He is so freakin' hot."

  "Are you looking him up?" I picture her huddled over her laptop like when we were in college.

  "Of course. Have you seen these pictures? He's with celebrities. He's a really big deal."

  If she Googled him, I know exactly wh
at pictures she's looking at. He's posed with more celebrities than I can name. Apparently it's a big deal for famous people to meet Broadway stars back stage after they see the show. Will I ever get to see that side of him? "This whole thing is pretty surreal," I say.

  "Have you talked to him? Are you going to see him again?" she asks.

  "Yes, and yes." I catch Anna up on our couple of phone calls. "And when I get booted from the show, I get to see him in New York."

  "Chelsea, this is so exciting. It's almost better than you being on Celebrity Dance Off."

  "Way better, but let's not make this bigger than it is. He might change his mind about me."

  My days are jam packed with even more rehearsals and meetings as Dominic and I try to take advantage of our new found popularity. This week he's decided I should be a genie in a bottle who he's just released. Of course, he's thrown in just enough tricks to keep me up at night in a panic. But now I have Tom distracting me with texts throughout the day, quick phone calls during his intermissions, and longer ones each night when we're both home.

  We're working through our number when my phone rings. I run to answer before it goes to voice mail. Dominic throws up his hands and calls a ten-minute break. So now I'm talking to Tom from the rehearsal studio parking lot. "What's your dressing room like?"

  "What do you mean?" he says.

  "You don't have a trailer like here in L.A. So what's it like?"

  "Well, it's cluttered. I should really clean up in here. There's a couch where I collapse during intermission and after the show if I can't bear to face the crowd at the stage door."

  "Fans wait for you? That's awesome."

  Tom glosses over my comment. "There's a closet for my costumes, a refrigerator for my bottled water, snacks, and leftovers. A microwave to warm my tea."

  "Tea? I've never known a guy who drinks tea."

  "Come on. I'm British."

  I giggle. "Do you have a floral teapot and fancy tea cups?"

  "It's more like I microwave a mug of water, toss in a tea bag, give 'er a minute, and slosh the dripping bag in the trash. Actually, I hated tea growing up, but it's great for a singer's throat."

  "Now you've ruined the image. I was thinking I'd have to ask you to fix me tea sometime, but it sounds more like instant cocoa."

  "Ah, you Americans, you miss out on the finer things in life. Come visit me and I'll treat you to a proper tea."

  "With little sandwiches too?"

  "Of course, and biscuits."

  I can't imagine him dining over a dainty tea service. "What else do you have in your dressing room?"

  "Wait a sec. I'm not divulging any more secrets of my inner sanctum. How will I lure you up here? If you want to know, you'll have to visit."

  "You sound desperate," I tease.

  "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Hey, I'm at five minutes to places. I'll ring you later."

  "I'll be here."

  12

  New York City

  "Fess up. What's going on? You're constantly distracted," Paige demands from her spot on my dressing room couch where she's opening our Thai takeout.

  "You can tell?" I ask.

  "Even I can tell," Max, my onstage brother boasts. You've been breaking your iron cast routine, dude. Is the world coming to an end? What's up?"

  "Everything is off the charts fine, and not fine at all." I pace my dressing room.

  Max and Paige share a confused glance. "You want to tell us what's going on? Because you're acting odd, even for you." She leans back crossing her arms, waiting for an answer while Max digs into his noodles.

  "Remember when I went to L.A. last week for Celebrity Dance Off?"

  "Of course. What happened?" Max looks up.

  "It's more of a who happened." Paige smiles like a cat flicking its tail with satisfaction. "Go on."

  I grip the back of a chair, so many emotions roll through me. "It's... just... there was this girl."

  "It's always about a woman." Max waves his fork in the air as he speaks.

  "It's because of her that I was in L.A. Chelsea picked a song I did years ago and wanted it for a special dance."

  "So, she's a fangirl," Paige says in a condescending, sing song way.

  "You mean stalker?" Max adds.

  "No!" I snap at both of them. "She's this unpretentious force of nature who is the only non-celeb on the show. I've been watching her all season, so it was wild when I got the call to come to L.A."

  "You've been watching a dance show?" Max asks through a mouthful of noodles.

  "Paige got me started. I thought everyone in the cast watched."

  "Hello. Monday Night Football! Which you should be watching, but no, you British sots only watch soccer."

  "Ignore him. What happened?" Paige interrupts.

  "I fly to L.A. and in rehearsal this girl starts telling me I'm singing the song wrong."

  Paige snorts on her Pad Thai.

  "I know, right?" I laugh at the memory. "Chelsea's lecturing me with vocal instruction when she clearly hasn't sung anything since her grade school holiday pageant."

  I picture her in her coral tank and little black dance shorts, wringing her hands, and her brow furrowed with worry that I won't get the song right. "Except that she was spot on. And then the night of the performance, they play this video package, you saw it Paige, where she shares these dark moments from when she was a kid and lost her mom, then was abandoned by her father."

  "It was heartbreaking," Paige says.

  I nod and continue. "This girl, with no real stage experience, gets out there and dances, revealing her soul to the world. At the end she was so emotional she could barely hold herself together." I don't mention that I'd wanted to jump from my piano bench and cradle her in my arms afterward.

  Max shakes his head. "Bro, you have it bad."

  I pace the small space in front of them.

  "I went to the after party and spent some time with her. She's smart. Funny, and beautiful too."

  Paige leans against the cushions and puts her feet on the coffee table. "And you're falling for her."

  I roll my eyes and shove my hand through my hair. "I don't know. This whole thing is idiotic. I said goodbye, and went on my way. But then the next morning I'm at the airport, day dreaming about the best night I've had in a long time and get this call to return for their encore."

  A smile curls at the corner of my mouth. "You should have seen the look on her face." Chelsea was so surprised and lit up like I was the most important person in the world.

  "You're in love," Paige declares as if it's a foregone conclusion.

  "God no! I barely know her." And yet my pulse is racing.

  "But you want to be." Max grins.

  My eyes dart around the room and I throw my hands up. "I'm obsessed with a girl I barely know and I can't shake it. What the hell is wrong with me?"

  "Huh, the great Thomas Evan Oliver has lost his heart to a girl." Max grins.

  "No you wanker, that's not it." I don't fall for women this way. I'm too busy and my schedule is about to get even crazier. I plop down in a chair.

  Max laughs. "Are you sure she's all that? Maybe she's hiding her bat-shit crazy side, or psycho stalker tendencies. Have you forgotten Barbie?"

  "Bite your tongue. I don’t ever want to hear her name again. Chelsea's nothing like her." I think of how she had me in stitches last night over a story about a spider in her shower.

  "You realize finding the perfect girl is like finding a Unicorn," he says.

  I look up. "What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

  "Finding a beautiful, smart, funny woman is the impossible trifecta. It's extremely rare. So rare, it's like finding a Unicorn."

  "Max, you're ridiculous," Paige laughs.

  He holds up a hand. "But be careful if you ever discover one."

  "Why's that?" I ask, intrigued.

  "Because they're skittish and startle easily. They bolt in the blink of an eye."

  Paige bru
shes off his story. "Tom, I know what you need to do."

  "And what's that?" I ask, because I'm at wits end and need my life back.

  "You have to go see her."

  "In L.A.?" I shake my head. "I could never."

  She arches an eyebrow and smiles. "Couldn't you?"

  Los Angeles

  By the time I arrive at the sound stage, my palms are sweaty. I get out of the cab with my backpack and stare at the stage door. What the hell am I going to say?

  After a minute, I pull out my phone and text her. "Have time for a break?" I hit send. How long before she looks at her phone? What if it's hours? And what if Dominic says they're too busy for Chelsea to see me on a show day? He's a strong bloke, but I think I could take him.

  I start obsessing about a whole new set of obstacles when a familiar gruff voice says, "Well, look who's back."

  "Hank! How are you?" We shake hands.

  "Sneaking out for a smoke. What brings you to this neck of the woods?" I hesitate and then Hank says, "Not that I need to ask."

  I sigh. "Am I that obvious?"

  "Afraid so. But hell, life's short." His eyes twinkle. "So why are you standing out here like a kid with his face pressed to the candy store window?"

  "I haven't figured out how to get in to see her."

  "Hold tight and I'll handle it." He snubs out his cigarette.

  I glance at the closed sound stage door. "I hate to interrupt her rehearsal."

  Hank smacks me on the back and chuckles. "No you don't."

  I grin. He's right. "Thanks, Hank."

  With hands deep in my pockets, I hope my twenty-four-hour impulse trip isn't a colossal mistake. Time passes and I wonder what Hank's doing. Has it been thirty minutes or thirty seconds? And then the door swings opens and a gorgeous girl dressed in a filmy harem costume appears. I do a double take. "Chelsea?"

  "Oh my God, Tom!"

  Chelsea's smile melts away all doubts about spending an ungodly amount of money to visit. Her golden hair is twisted through a little round hat on top of her head with a long ponytail flowing down her back. A sheer scarf dangles from one ear to the other.

  She rushes over and my arms automatically wrap around her slim waist with my hands skimming the bare skin of her lower back. She smells like a daydream.