Working With The Enemy

by Raquel Belle

  “Are you sure you’re up for the job? I don’t want to be a part of this if you’re not completely certain.”

  “I am. I’m positive.”

  “Okay then.”

  “I’ll mobilize my flash mob this week,” I tell her. “I’ll take care of everything on my side — choreography, followers, sending out instructions. The only thing I need your help with is the music on the actual day — transitioning from Kesha to the Justin Bieber song.”

  “I can do that, no problem.” She nods.

  “I guess we won’t really have a chance to touch base on this later in the week. I don’t want Sarah to see us talking.”

  “Look, if anything comes up and you have to cancel the entire thing, let me know. Just drop me a line via our work emails. Otherwise consider it a done deal: As soon as ‘Woman’ ends, I’ll hit play on the Bieber track. And that’s your moment.”

  “Cool, so there’s no need to coordinate anything further. Thank you, Amanda.” I reach out my hand. “Can we shake on it?”

  “You’re sort of crazy, you know that?” She smiles as she takes my hand.

  “Well, let’s hope that crazy pays off in this instance.”

  I head towards the exit; I need to get home and start putting this together as quickly as possible. Three days is not a lot of time to put this plan into action.

  “Jake!” I’m almost out the door of the bar when I hear Lydia’s high-pitched voice screeching after me. I want to keep walking — hell, I want to start running — but I can’t risk pissing her off even further.

  “Lydia, what’s up?” I turn and face her.

  “You just spent the entire time chatting with Amanda and now you won’t even sit with me for a second?” She puts on a pouty face, making the most of her overblown duck lips; I’m not sure if she’s serious or if it’s meant to be a joke. “Come on, you’ve got to have at least one drink with me,” she goes on.

  “I’m really in a rush to get home, Lydia. Can I take a rain check?”

  “Fine,” she sets her lips together firmly. “But you owe me.” I think she’s trying to be flirty but it sounds mostly menacing to be honest.

  “Next week,” I promise her. “We’ll make up for lost time then.” I flash her a grin, hoping this will be enough to soothe her, and then make my way back out the door before she can protest.

  Whew, Lydia Bowers does not give up easily. I guess she’s been used to hearing “yes” her entire life. She’s clearly not used to getting blown off. I just hope I haven’t offended her too much. Who knows what she’d do if she got pissed off.

  Chapter 15

  Sarah

  I think the last time I was this nervous was when I was a finalist in my middle school spelling bee and had to stand on stage in front of a few hundred kids for the last round of the competition. I remember looking out into the crowd and seeing my mom’s face, a huge smile on it. It gave me courage at the time.

  The memory of that day is giving me courage again now. I hang on to the thought as I try to soothe my nerves ahead of the massive girl power flash mob I’ve orchestrated. I try not to think about all the things that could go wrong.

  On one hand, I’m still totally paranoid that nobody will show up to participate. On the other hand, I’m terrified loads of people will show up and be there to watch me mess up the routine or, worse, fall flat on my face. In any case, the entire thing will be live-streamed on Instagram so there is absolutely no way to hide.

  “Sarah! Amanda!” Maria comes running up breathlessly. “I’m ready to rock!” She has a huge smile on her face. At least somebody in the group is feeling confident.

  “You’re the best,” I give her a big hug. “I just need to soak up some of your self-esteem. What’s the status on Laura?”

  “She just texted me; she’s on her way. As for self-esteem, you will be absolutely fine. You know these moves inside and out.”

  “She’s right,” Amanda interjects. “Just try not to look stressed out while you’re doing it. This is supposed to be fun! Right now you look more like you’re getting ready to stand in front of a firing squad than lead a flash mob.”

  “I know,” I sigh. “I will do my best to make it look easy and breezy.”

  “You’ll do great,” Maria assures me. I hope she’s right.

  “Can you two just sort of casually go stand under the arch for a second?” Amanda asks. “I want to test out how to best frame the shot for the live stream.”

  We spend the next thirty minutes taking care of logistics and waiting for the others to arrive. By 2:45 our group is complete: Me, Laura, and Maria are there to start the dancing; my sister Celia is here (so we will have at least one person to join in, I think to myself with trepidation); and Amanda is on hand to deal with music and to capture the magic on camera.

  “When do you want us to take off our hoodies?” Celia asks. I had instructed everyone to wear a zip-up hoodie over their pink t-shirt to make for a more incognito effect. A crowd of people in pink milling around the arch beforehand would detract from the spontaneity.

  “As soon as you join in the dancing — just ditch it and come join in.”

  “Okay, will do. I’ll just step to the side for now and let you guys do your thing.”

  “Thanks, Celia.”

  “And Sarah?” She pauses as she’s preparing to walk away.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really, really proud of you. And I know mom would be, too.”

  I just nod and smile, feeling like I might cry if I open my mouth to respond to her. Now is not the time, I remind myself.

  I watch as she walks off into the crowd, blending in seamlessly with the other people. I scan the faces, wondering which — if any — of the people walking around the area is here for me. Well, not for me — for Kesha, for “Woman”, for breast cancer awareness, for general girl power greatness.

  “It’s almost time,” Amanda murmurs in my ear. I check the clock — 2:56. We’re supposed to start at 3:00 p.m. on the dot.

  “Okay,” I turn to Maria and Laura. “Let’s just casually start walking over towards the arch. Not too fast. Shed the hoodies as you walk. As soon as Amanda starts the music, we stop, face her, and kick off the choreography.”

  “And then?” Maria looks at me nervously; her confidence from half-an-hour ago seems to have disappeared. Great. My anxiety is apparently contagious.

  “Then we hope that my own sister isn’t the only person to join in,” I say grimly.

  “Shush, both of you,” Laura cuts in. “This is going to be fabulous. Celia will not be the only one dancing with us. Now let’s go.”

  We start walking. I realize how truly nervous I am when I go to unzip the hoodie; my palms are so sweaty that I can barely get a grip on the zip. Finally, I manage to shrug off the top and let it drop to the ground. Glancing at Maria and Laura on either side of me, I see they’ve shed their cover-ups and are sporting bright pink t-shirts as well.

  Boom! The beat drops. “I buy my own things, I pay my own bills…”

  The first lines of the song blare out into the park. I notice a few people jump, looking startled by the sudden sound, but then I make eye contact with Amanda, who is holding her phone up to record us. Her brow is furrowed in concentration but she looks up briefly from her phone screen and gives me an encouraging smile and a nod.

  Okay, I can do this. I decide to just focus on her as I go through the moves, pretending like we are back in my living room. It’s just the two of us and nobody else is watching. Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up. I remember Amanda telling me not to look stressed out and try to compose my face into a smile.

  Suddenly I see someone else in the crowd unzip a hoodie and reveal a pink t-shirt underneath. It’s a random young woman, someone I’ve never seen before in my life. With a huge smile on her face, she comes running over to us and falls into line, moving with us step-by-step. She’s joined seconds later by a random guy in his thirties. Then an older coup
le comes over, shedding cover-ups and revealing pink shirts underneath.

  Shit. This is working.

  I feel myself start to relax and a genuine smile spreads across my face. I can see Amanda grinning from ear to ear. At one point the choreography calls for us to turn around and that’s when it really hits me: We are actually doing this.

  A crowd of at least fifty people has gathered behind us, each one in a pink t-shirt, each one going through the steps. I catch sight of Celia in the crowd, dancing alongside a woman in her fifties. This is unreal.

  I can’t believe this is happening. I think of my mom, looking at me on that day in middle school when I competed in the spelling bee. I didn’t win; I didn’t even come close. But she was so proud of me. And I feel like she’d be proud of me again today. I’ve brought these people together. Some 50 people have taken the time out of their busy lives, out of their days, to be a part of this. And it feels amazing.

  The end of the track is nearing so I reach into my pockets for the confetti. Kesha lets her signature “yeah” rip at the end of the song — that’s the cue. I throw the confetti up into the air and let it shower down as I point to the breast cancer awareness pin on my chest. That’s a wrap. I continue to look up into the air for a few seconds, not wanting it to be over, shining in the moment as the little pink pieces of paper shower around me. Then I snap back to life.

  I look at Laura and Maria next to me, at the crowd of people — people who were just strangers a few minutes ago — laughing, talking, hugging, congratulating each other. We did it. Laura and Maria are literally jumping up and down. Amanda is grinning like a maniac, still holding her phone steady to finish recording the moment.

  I start to walk towards her to tell her she can stop recording. But before I can take more than two steps, music starts blaring from the speakers by Amanda’s feet yet again. What is she doing?

  For a moment I think she’s accidentally restarted the Kesha song but that’s not it. This is something else. I then realize that she’s also still holding her phone up, live-streaming this moment. What song is this?

  Then the lyrics come in: “You gotta go and get angry at all of my honesty. You know I try but I don't do too well with apologies.” The song is “Sorry” by Justin Bieber. I shoot Amanda a confused look. She just shrugs her shoulders, feigning innocence, and then points with one hand to something behind me.

  The crowd of people in pink t-shirts disperses under my gaze. Someone is walking through them, coming straight towards me. A man. Tall, broad-shouldered, tanned. A man I know. Jake Baker.

  He walks towards me, lip-syncing along: “Yeah, is it too late now to say sorry? 'Cause I'm missing more than just your body.”

  Shit. He’s wearing a tuxedo and carrying a huge bouquet of red roses in his arms. This is so ridiculous. Suddenly he breaks out into some dance moves. He looks so silly trying to carry the mass of flowers and dance at the same time, I can’t help but laugh out loud. What is this idiot doing?

  I notice a crowd of people gathering behind him. Guys and girls, all wearing tuxedos and each one carrying a single red rose. Their steps are perfectly coordinated; they’ve clearly been practicing. They gather behind Jake, all of them staring at me, dancing for me.

  More and more people join in and I realize: This is Jake’s very own flash mob. And he has his very own personal cause: Me.

  Chapter 16

  Jake

  It’s official: This is hands-down the most embarrassing thing I have done in my entire life. If my army buddies could see me now, they’d never let me live it down. I’m not a flash mob kind of guy. I usually think they’re sort of cheesy and over-the-top. But for Sarah, I’m willing to make an exception. If anyone deserves over-the-top, it’s her.

  So here I am, in the middle of Washington Square Park, wearing a full tuxedo I rented at the last minute (and am already sweating through) and carrying two-dozen red roses while trying to execute some choreography I invented just a few days ago. I definitely didn’t think this one through. The moves that seemed simple enough when my hands were empty now feel awkward and cumbersome as I lug around the flowers.

  And to make matters worse, I’m pretty sure I look just as idiotic as I feel. As Sarah watched me first come towards her, her face went through a series of transformations. Initially there was confusion. Then shock. Then disbelief. And then she just burst out laughing — so loudly I could actually hear it over the music.

  At least I have my “back up dancers” here with me. When I put out the call for the flash mob on Facebook, I was totally honest about the purpose. I explained that I had messed up with the girl of my dreams and wanted to surprise her with a flash mob.

  The response was huge. Strangers of all ages, men and women, boys and girls, wanted to help me win back Sarah’s heart. I guess plenty of people have been in my shoes — screwing things up with the one they care about most. I’ve got to say, I was genuinely heartened by some of the responses I got.

  Now I’m making a complete fool of myself dancing in front of an enormous crowd of people. And to a Justin Bieber song, no less. But the look on Sarah’s face right now could mean it’s all worth it.

  “Is it too late to say sorry?” I mouth the words to her as I advance towards the spot where she’s standing, hoping she can see in my eyes that I’m dead serious — even if I look ridiculous at the moment.

  Her face softens into an amused smile as she watches me come closer, her hands clasped in front of her. After having her give me nothing but angry stares and the cold shoulder all week, this already feels amazing. At least I’ve got her attention.

  By the time the song comes to an end, I’m standing right in front of her. As the music cuts out, a weird hush falls over the crowd and I realize everyone is staring, waiting and wondering what’s going to happen next.

  “Sarah...”

  “You are such an idiot,” she cuts in before I can go on. But she’s smiling and there’s a glint of affection in her eyes.

  “What can I say,” I shrug my shoulders and smile. “You blocked me on social media and on your phone, and you iced me out at work. I had to get your attention somehow.”

  “Well, this certainly did the trick. I’m listening.”

  “I wanted to apologize. Really apologize. But not just that. I wanted you to understand how important you are to me in a big picture sense. When we fell asleep together on that Friday night, it was the happiest I had been in years. Literally.”

  She nods, looking up at me. “Me too,” she whispers. Only I can hear it but those two little words make my heart jump.

  “HEY BUDDY! What’s the deal, ya askin’ this chick to marry ya or what?!” A random guy from the crowd shouts out and interrupts us, completely ruining the moment. Damn. This is the problem with grand gestures in public places.

  I turn to face the stranger and set the record straight: “Not yet man. But one of these days, I hope so. If she’ll have me.”

  I turn back to Sarah. She’s blushing and her cheeks have turned a brilliant shade of pink in the meantime. Her face practically matches her shirt and it’s the cutest thing I’ve seen in awhile.

  “I mean that,” I tell her. “I have no doubt that you are the one I want to be with. Really be with. I know we have a lot of catching up to do and I know I’ve fucked up — ”

  “Twice,” she interjects.

  “Twice. But hey, third time’s the charm, right? I am determined to get it right this time, Sarah. To give you the happiness you absolutely deserve…have always deserved. Would you consider giving your dopey ex from college another shot?”

  She pauses. “On one condition.”

  “Anything.” I can feel my pulse racing.

  “Never. Ever. Do those dance moves. Again.”

  I smile. “I have no problem abiding by that condition.”

  “Then you know what, I think I might just be dumb enough to risk it,” she grins and throws her arms around my neck, craning her head up to give me a kiss.

>   I kiss her, long and hard, trying to bring her closer to me. These damn roses are in the way. “Hang on,” I whisper to her as I try to extricate them from between us. “Fuck it.” I just drop them on the ground and then wrap both my arms around her.

  I’m running my hands through her hair, down her back, trying to touch every inch of her. I just want to soak her up before she slips away from me again. But as I bring one hand to the waistband of her jeans, sliding it carefully under her pink t-shirt, she stops me.

  “Uh, Jake,” she pulls back. “We do have an audience you know.” She nods towards the crowd of people around us and smiles, her face flushed.

  “Oh, right,” I grin. I had been so caught up in Sarah for a moment, I forgot all about the people watching us. And now they aren’t just watching, but straight up cheering, clapping, and whistling. I turn to face the people who came out to dance with me and bow.

  One by one, the dancers come up to us. Without a word, each one takes the single rose they had been holding in their hands and drops it on the bouquet of roses I had thrown to the ground. Some of them pause to say congratulations; some have tears in their eyes; all of them are smiling.

  By the time they’re done, Sarah has an enormous pile of red roses at her feet and is looking like a true queen, as if she had been accepting gifts from loyal subjects.

  “This is amazing,” she whispers to me. “I can’t believe you did this.” Her blue eyes are shining.

  “Hey, you’re the one who deserves the real credit,” I tell her. “You came up with the brilliant idea of doing a flash mob in the first place. And for an amazing cause.”

  She nods, looking down quietly for a second. “It was for my mom.”

  “I know.” I pull her closer and kiss the top of her head. Slowly, the crowd is thinning around us. The show is over. Now we’re just two people, standing in a park, together.

  “Hey there love birds,” Amanda comes walking up jauntily, trailed by a couple of Sarah’s other friends and her sister. “That was quite a show. I got a little choked up myself, I’ve got to admit.”