Where There's a Whisk

by Sarah J. Schmitt

  “They better not be messing with us,” I say, bouncing in my seat. My voice is so light and quiet, I sound like a little girl. I don’t even care, because if I had a bucket list, this would be at the top.

  He pulls his shoulder away and gives me a look that tells me to chill out.

  “Sorry,” I say. “But it’s Hamilton.”

  He looks at the others before leaning closer. “I feel the same way. I’ve watched all the Ham4Ham online.”

  “Then why aren’t you more excited?” I ask as the driver gets out of the car and walks around to Malik’s side.

  “Because I look good in this suit, and bouncing around like a giddy fool messes with the look.” He points to the camera placed along the light bar.

  “Right. I should have known they would be filming us in here, too.”

  He nods. “You can get away with it because you’re a girl, and girls always jump up and down and clap.”

  “We do not.”

  He cocks his head to the side and gives me a hard look.

  “Okay, maybe sometimes, but this time, the moment really demands excitement.”

  The door swings open and the driver holds it for Malik to exit. When he’s out, he turns back and offers his hand to me. “My lady,” he says, giving a slight bow.

  I laugh as I accept it and step out, careful not to trip on the curb. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  Instead of dropping my hand, he tucks it in the crook of his elbow.

  “I’ll act as your buffer tonight,” he says, giving a nod behind us as Hakulani and Paulie follow.

  “Thank you.”

  I only met Malik a few weeks ago, and I realize that it actually bothers me a bit that we’re down to the last week and I’m only just now getting to spend more time with him. Then again, I’ve been with Hakulani a lot this last week, and so I can imagine why someone wouldn’t want to be the third wheel. Plus, he’s been alone since Adam left, so I’m sure that was hard when the rest of us still had our roommates.

  In front of the sign advertising the show, Jessica is waiting for us.

  “Do you think she gets paid really well for the hosting gig?” I ask Malik just before we step out.

  “Huh? Probably. Why? You thinking about going for the hosting gig for the next season?”

  I make a face. “No! Good lord, no. She seems to like doing it, that’s all.”

  Out on the sidewalk, we’re pushed into a small space next to Jessica. People walk by us, giving a quick look at the camera crew, but once they realize they don’t know who we are, they just keep walking.

  Just as we’re about to start filming, a young woman walks up to Jessica and asks for her autograph. She seems genuinely surprised but signs the woman’s notebook and poses for a picture before waving as the woman walks away.

  “That could be you someday,” Paulie whispers, stepping into line next to me.

  “Or you,” I say. “Can you imagine just minding your own business and a fan comes up to ask for your autograph?”

  He shakes his head. “I can’t even imagine having fans.”

  “Right? So weird.”

  Jessica turns back to us, her face slightly flush. “Okay, let’s get started.”

  “Hey, Jessica,” Hakulani says. “How come you never gave us your autograph?”

  “You never asked,” she says. “Don’t worry. It won’t be long before I’m asking for yours.”

  Paulie and I look at each other. So weird, we mouth to each other.

  The red light turns on and Jessica begins her intro.

  “It’s Broadway, baby,” she says, her smile sparkling. “For the next challenge, you are going to look for inspiration from one of New York’s most famous streets.”

  I can’t contain my excitement, and I hop up a little as I start clapping. So much for playing it cool—if Dani were here, she would be having a field day.

  “Someone’s excited,” Jessica says with a laugh. “And you all should be. This weekend you are going to see two of Broadway’s hottest shows. Tonight you’ll be seeing Hamilton, and tomorrow you get to see the matinee performance of Waitress.”

  I clap and try to refrain from cheering, but I can’t stop a soft “woo!” from escaping my lips. Of all the cool things we’ve done so far, this is hands down the coolest.

  Jessica hands us our tickets.

  “Front mezzanine, row A?” Paulie says with a whistle. “These are some of the best seats in the house.”

  Jessica leads us up to a side entrance where a stagehand checks a list and lets us in. “We need to get some shots of you in your seats for the show,” she explains. “So you’re going to get seated a little early tonight.”

  She leads us up some stairs to the entrance to the lower mezzanine. “Here we are.”

  The usher greets us cheerfully and leads us to our seats. I latch on to the railing to steady myself and glance up, first seeing the camera filming our arrival, but my eyes slide past the crew to the stage. “Wow,” I say, stopping so suddenly that Malik staggers to avoid running into me.

  I look over my shoulder. “Sorry,” I say quickly and begin walking forward.

  “These seats are great,” Hakulani says, leaning over the rail of the mezzanine and looking down. “You can see everything.” He sits back, trying to find a comfortable pose. “The chairs are another thing altogether.”

  Malik and I laugh as he shifts.

  “I guess the theater wasn’t expecting a Hawaiian culinary star to show up,” I tease.

  “Well, I guess I’ll deal with it,” he answers with a wide smile.

  I start reading the playbill, scanning the bios of the cast and crew. I’m vaguely aware of the crowd beginning to fill in around me.

  “I’m glad we got to come in early,” I say. “I’m just not sure why.”

  The lights flash, warning the theatergoers that the show is about to begin, and the camera crew begins to pack up and head out.

  “You’re leaving?” Malik asks.

  “Can’t film in the theater,” the boom operator says. “House rules.”

  “I highly support those rules,” I say, sitting back in my seat. As the opening notes float throughout the theater, I allow myself to be transported to the early days of New York City and the beginning of the United States. During intermission, Malik and I trade opinions on the times and the themes that are still relevant today—and not once did I think about the competition. The second act is as good as the first, only more heartbreaking. At the curtain call, I stand and cheer, along with the rest of the audience.

  Back on the street, none of us can contain our excitement.

  “It was so good,” I say for probably the hundredth time. “I love how so many of the cast had double roles, and they completely transformed from one act to the next.”

  “Like the actor who played Peggy and Maria?” Hakulani says in agreement. “I almost didn’t recognize her.”

  And that’s how the conversation goes the entire way back to the apartment. Each of us recounting our favorite scenes or lines and, of course, there was singing. I don’t even care if they use the footage from tonight.

  If we’re supposed to design something around one of the shows we see this weekend, I can’t imagine that Waitress is going to inspire me more than this show.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  TURNS OUT, I WAS WRONG ABOUT THE EFFECT Waitress could have on me. The show is about a woman in a small town who makes amazing pies and is trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who’s wasting his life. As the house lights go up, I don’t move. For this show, we’re sitting in the front row. With no one between us and the stage, it was like I was watching my possible future play out in front of me. Okay, yes, the show ends on a hopeful note, but it’s still exactly what I fear will happen to me.

  “Are you crying?” Paulie asks. When I don’t answer, he leans forward. “You are crying.”

  “I don’t want the cameras to see me,” I say, looking down the row at the PA mo
tioning for us to come with him. Malik and Hakulani stand and move down the row. “I don’t want them to film me like this.”

  Paulie takes one more glance at the PA and then grabs my hand. “Come on,” he says as he drags me in the other direction, weaving between the other theatergoers.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, surprise replacing my mixed bag of emotions.

  “Just keep up.” We follow the crowd to the far end of the lobby, allowing ourselves to be carried away by the mass of bodies. When we exit the Brooks Atkinson Theatre, instead of heading to the waiting limo, Paulie leads me down the block and around the corner to Broadway. From there, he grabs my hand and leads me down the stairs to the subway.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Somewhere the cameras can’t follow,” he says. “Do you still have your card for the subway?”

  I stop for a second and motion to my outfit. “No pockets.”

  “Right. It’s nothing. I have enough on mine for both of us.” He swipes his pass, and then hands it to me to use. Once we’re through the turnstile, he pulls me along as he races to catch the train before it leaves.

  Breathless, I lean against the pole in the middle of the train as the doors shut. Paulie lunges into the car, his body pressing up against mine.

  “You okay?” he asks, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to crush you.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, shifting my body to grab the pole as we begin to move.

  “Are you really okay?” he presses.

  “Not now,” I say, looking out the windows as the lights blur by. With each stop, people get on and get off, moving around me, but I don’t say anything.

  “What’s with you and Hakulani?” Paulie says gently.

  “Nothing,” I sigh.

  “Were you using your relationship to get a little extra screen time or something?”

  There is a bit of an edge in his voice, and I feel like this is a trap or a trick question. “No—”

  “Because he said you were.”

  I groan inwardly: definitely a trap.

  “Okay,” I say, rubbing my hands over my face. “Are you going to let me talk or not?”

  “Are you going to tell me the truth?”

  Our voices are getting a little louder as both of our tempers start to rise. Being in the line of fire of Paulie’s quick responses sucks. “The truth is complicated.”

  He shakes his head slowly and turns forward. “The truth shouldn’t be complicated. By definition, it’s supposed to be straightforward.”

  “Sure, in a perfect world,” I say, waving my hand around the car, “but this isn’t a perfect world. It’s not even the real one.”

  He scoffs at me. “At least we can agree on that.”

  The train rolls to a stop and the doors hiss open. A few people get out and come on, and Paulie and I just watch them—each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  “Okay,” I say softly, once the train starts moving again. “Hakulani and I weren’t really in a relationship—not exactly. We were both in a tough spot and we found a way to help each other get a little further in the competition. But in the end, neither of us wanted to get to the finals by lying, so we ended it.” I look at my hands folded in my lap and then over to him. “Honestly, I’m surprised he even told you that we were in a relationship.”

  Paulie looks down, his face a little sheepish. “He didn’t tell me that exactly.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That you guys were hanging out together—in a G-rated relationship kind of way.”

  “And?”

  “That it was over.”

  “And?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, but then he sighs and says, “And that was all I heard because I might have walked out of the room and slammed the door in his face.”

  I sit back. “That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t.” He shifts in his seat, twisting to face me.

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, come on, Peyton.”

  I can hear Hakulani in the back of my mind, but I silence him. If Paulie does like me, he is going to have to say it—I’m tired of playing games.

  “No. What, Paulie?”

  “Because I like you, okay? And I was hoping, after the show, that we could hang out or whatever.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  He looks at me like I’ve just sprouted a second head. “Because of the show. And the scholarship.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but then close it. On day one, I thought that Paulie was supposed to be the player of the group, but I realize now that I’ve seriously misjudged him. In fact, he might have been the most kind and thoughtful person on the show after Inaaya.

  “What was the tough spot?” Paulie asks, his voice quiet.

  “I can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “Not right now, okay?”

  He watches me for a second and then nods. “Okay.”

  We sit in a more relaxed silence for a few stops, watching the train gain and lose passengers. I look at each person and try to imagine what their life is like—where are they going tonight? Are they in love with someone? What are their dreams and hopes? Then Paulie’s voice breaks me from my reverie.

  “This is our stop,” Paulie says, taking my hand and standing close to me as we wait for the doors to open. Unlike the tunnels in Manhattan, we step out onto a platform high above the street. “Come on,” he says, pulling me to the stairs.

  “How far is it?” I ask, allowing him to pull me along.

  He doesn’t say anything as we cross the street. “We’re here,” he says, nodding toward the red-and-white checkered sign.

  “Vinnie’s Pizza and Grinders? Why this place?”

  “Just go in,” he says with a laugh. “You aren’t the only one with secrets.” He leads me through the front door; a bell jingles as we walk in.

  “Sorry, folks,” a voice from the back calls. “We’re closing in a couple minutes.”

  “Uncle Vinnie,” Paulie calls out. “Surely you can stay open for family.”

  A head pops through the kitchen door. “Paulie?” he says. “I thought you were off being a hotshot TV star.”

  “I am,” Paulie says. “But even the best food in the world can’t compare with one of your pies.”

  “You are a liar,” he says, “which makes you the best nephew I have.”

  “Gee, thanks, Uncle Vinnie,” a second voice calls out.

  Paulie stretches his neck like he can see behind the wall. “Is that Cyrus?”

  Uncle Vinnie comes out into the dining area, followed by a guy who could be a dead ringer for Paulie.

  “Yes, it is,” Paulie says as the two hug.

  “Man, I thought I wasn’t going to see you.”

  “When do you leave for Chicago?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “And they still have you working here?”

  Cyrus gives Paulie a knowing smile. “You can’t stay at Uncle Vinnie’s without throwing some dough around.”

  Vinnie gives Paulie a big hug before turning to me. “You gonna introduce your girl?”

  Paulie groans. “I’m so sorry, Peyton,” he says before introducing me to his family.

  “Don’t take any of his crap,” Cyrus offers as he shakes my hand.

  Vinnie, on the other hand, forgoes the formality and gives me a big hug like we’ve known each other forever.

  “Uncle V,” Paulie says. “You can’t just hug total strangers.”

  “When you’re in my place, you’re family.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how the rest of the world sees it,” Paulie counters. “I know you guys are closing up, but I was wondering if we could hang here for a little while.”

  Vinnie gives Paulie a hard stare. “Why?”

  “We just need a place to get away from the show.”

  “Are you on the show, too?” Cyrus asks me.

  I nod.

  “Very cool. I hope you�
�re teaching my cousin a thing or two.”

  “Actually, he’s taught me a lot,” I say.

  “That’s my nephew.”

  “She’s exaggerating,” Paulie says before turning to Vinnie. “So can we hang for a little bit?”

  “As long as you prep some dough for tomorrow. It’ll keep your hands busy so your hands don’t get too busy, if you know what I mean.”

  Paulie’s face turns a deep shade of red before, luckily, Cyrus saves the day.

  “I think we can trust the honorable Paulie, don’t you think Uncle V?” he asks as he leads Vinnie to the back and out the door. Before he leaves, he adds, “But as the person who has to prep tomorrow, I would greatly encourage you to stretch the dough.” And then they’re gone.

  “I’m so sorry about my uncle,” Paulie says, and he’s so embarrassed I can’t help but laugh.

  “It’s fine. I mean, a little over the top compared with what I’m used to, but it was cool to meet some of your family.”

  “Yeah. Cyrus lives in Chicago. He’s just here for part of the summer.”

  “Must be nice to get to see him.”

  “It is, but that’s not why we’re here,” Paulie says, turning to look me in the eye. “What happened back at the theater?”

  I point at the counter. “Can I sit there? It’s a long story.”

  “Sure. Just don’t tell my uncle,” he says, grinning.

  I smile. And then I tell him. About my dad. About the deal with Hakulani to try to stay in the competition. About Caitlin and how she manipulated me to get better ratings, and how the musical we had just seen was the manifestation of everything I fear for my future.

  “I had no idea,” Paulie says as he picks up a ball of dough and starts pressing it out with the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t realize all that was going on.”

  “Caitlin never talked to you about storylines?”

  Paulie shakes his head. “She only talks to me during the challenges sometimes.”

  “Huh,” I say. “I wonder why.”

  “What are you going to do now?” he asks.

  I hop down off the counter, almost falling as my shoes catch a patch of flour and slip a little. Paulie catches me before I can embarrass myself too much. He holds me for a second or two more before letting me go.