pushed at his legs. "It was
rhetorical."
"You have a very goofy smile on your
face."
"I do not." Leah tried to frown. She giggled.
That couldn't be good.
"Is this going to be a distraction?"
"A distraction? You're the one who told me to
go out." Leah squirmed out from under him to pace the living
room.
"Leah, look--"
"What?"
He stood up, and tucked the napkin into his
back pocket. "I thought going out would loosen you up a little. Not
throw you into a tizzy."
"I needed to be loosened?"
"You've been brooding since we got here."
"It's a dark play, Adam."
He said, "Not about that. You're distracted.
You're not fully committed."
"I'm distracted? You're the one doing the
star. That's not distracting?"
He shook her, and when she offered no
resistance, just flopped like a rag doll in his hands, he let her
go and walked back to the piano, rubbing the back of his head. His
hands were shaking. "I have a lot riding on this, Leah. On
you."
"You can rely on me, Adam. I love this
musical."
"I know."
She went and poked him in the chest, and
said, "Don't screw with me."
"I know." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I wrote this
on you. I always intended you to play the part. It's your
show."
"Don't forget."
"You, either," Adam said.
"I'll never forget what it's like to have a
musical written on me, Adam. You have no idea."
He sat down at the piano bench. She took her
donut and went into the kitchen, where, finally, she checked her
email. Adam began to play the Moonlight Sonata, which was about the
most depressing thing she'd ever heard. She wondered what it would
be like to be waking up next to Sophia instead. Raven hair, sweet
smile, Sophia pulling her down for another kiss; laughing at her
bad breath, curling so that she could wrap herself around Sophia
again and stay, too cold on top of the hotel room sheets, forever.
Stopping only to eat and star in regional theater.
"Oh, God," she said aloud.
"What?" Adam called from the living room. His
playing didn't stop.
"I think I'm in love," Leah said, too quietly
for him to hear. But she'd heard. Her palms felt heavy and hot. Her
stomach churned. She went into the living room, and asked, "Are you
in love with Ward?"
"Yes," Adam said, looking at the piano, as if
he were reading invisible sheet music. A note, a chord, a press of
the pedal. Allegro. Sonata. "But we're not going to raise kittens.
We're doing a musical, and it's going to be glorious, and if we're
really lucky maybe we'll do one again one day. And if we're not so
lucky, we'll do readings and workshops and I'll put him on an album
and he'll introduce me to investors. And if we're not lucky at all,
I'll never see him again, and he'll be a nobody in theater, or I
will."
"That's not how I feel," Leah said.
"About what?"
"About Sophia."
"Sophia? Leah, no--"
"I'm going home."
"What?"
"To New York."
"You can't."
"You said I had a couple weeks off."
"Go to the beach. Go to the mountains. But
home? That'll screw you up, Leah. What about focus?"
"I need to be reminded of why I'm here." She
didn't want to spend a week arguing with him, and she could foresee
it if she didn't get away.
"It's not a good idea."
"Screw you. You'll have the house to
yourself."
"This is our project, Leah," he said, and
sighed. And then he added, "Say hello to your mother."
"I'm sure she'll say hello to you."
Chapter Eleven
Leah stood on the sidewalk and looked up at
the left-most window on the second floor. Home. Trading an empty
hotel room for an empty walkup didn't seem so grand, now that she
was back in Manhattan. But she had missed her things. She wondered
if they would be just as she left them, perhaps dusty, smelling
faintly of stale air. Or perhaps a burglar had come and her
television would be gone, and her clock radio, and the cheap safe
where she kept her contracts.
New York was unseasonably cool. Leah felt
foolish in shorts and a tank top, like she'd just come back from a
winter cruise. She wasn't even tanned. Everyone else
rhetorical."
"You have a very goofy smile on your
face."
"I do not." Leah tried to frown. She giggled.
That couldn't be good.
"Is this going to be a distraction?"
"A distraction? You're the one who told me to
go out." Leah squirmed out from under him to pace the living
room.
"Leah, look--"
"What?"
He stood up, and tucked the napkin into his
back pocket. "I thought going out would loosen you up a little. Not
throw you into a tizzy."
"I needed to be loosened?"
"You've been brooding since we got here."
"It's a dark play, Adam."
He said, "Not about that. You're distracted.
You're not fully committed."
"I'm distracted? You're the one doing the
star. That's not distracting?"
He shook her, and when she offered no
resistance, just flopped like a rag doll in his hands, he let her
go and walked back to the piano, rubbing the back of his head. His
hands were shaking. "I have a lot riding on this, Leah. On
you."
"You can rely on me, Adam. I love this
musical."
"I know."
She went and poked him in the chest, and
said, "Don't screw with me."
"I know." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I wrote this
on you. I always intended you to play the part. It's your
show."
"Don't forget."
"You, either," Adam said.
"I'll never forget what it's like to have a
musical written on me, Adam. You have no idea."
He sat down at the piano bench. She took her
donut and went into the kitchen, where, finally, she checked her
email. Adam began to play the Moonlight Sonata, which was about the
most depressing thing she'd ever heard. She wondered what it would
be like to be waking up next to Sophia instead. Raven hair, sweet
smile, Sophia pulling her down for another kiss; laughing at her
bad breath, curling so that she could wrap herself around Sophia
again and stay, too cold on top of the hotel room sheets, forever.
Stopping only to eat and star in regional theater.
"Oh, God," she said aloud.
"What?" Adam called from the living room. His
playing didn't stop.
"I think I'm in love," Leah said, too quietly
for him to hear. But she'd heard. Her palms felt heavy and hot. Her
stomach churned. She went into the living room, and asked, "Are you
in love with Ward?"
"Yes," Adam said, looking at the piano, as if
he were reading invisible sheet music. A note, a chord, a press of
the pedal. Allegro. Sonata. "But we're not going to raise kittens.
We're doing a musical, and it's going to be glorious, and if we're
really lucky maybe we'll do one again one day. And if we're not so
lucky, we'll do readings and workshops and I'll put him on an album
and he'll introduce me to investors. And if we're not lucky at all,
I'll never see him again, and he'll be a nobody in theater, or I
will."
"That's not how I feel," Leah said.
"About what?"
"About Sophia."
"Sophia? Leah, no--"
"I'm going home."
"What?"
"To New York."
"You can't."
"You said I had a couple weeks off."
"Go to the beach. Go to the mountains. But
home? That'll screw you up, Leah. What about focus?"
"I need to be reminded of why I'm here." She
didn't want to spend a week arguing with him, and she could foresee
it if she didn't get away.
"It's not a good idea."
"Screw you. You'll have the house to
yourself."
"This is our project, Leah," he said, and
sighed. And then he added, "Say hello to your mother."
"I'm sure she'll say hello to you."
Chapter Eleven
Leah stood on the sidewalk and looked up at
the left-most window on the second floor. Home. Trading an empty
hotel room for an empty walkup didn't seem so grand, now that she
was back in Manhattan. But she had missed her things. She wondered
if they would be just as she left them, perhaps dusty, smelling
faintly of stale air. Or perhaps a burglar had come and her
television would be gone, and her clock radio, and the cheap safe
where she kept her contracts.
New York was unseasonably cool. Leah felt
foolish in shorts and a tank top, like she'd just come back from a
winter cruise. She wasn't even tanned. Everyone else
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