My Life After Now Page 13

  “Just for a minute,” I said. “It won’t take long, I swear.”

  “I’m actually right in the middle of something, so…”

  I knew I was supposed to get the hint, but the more he tried to get rid of me, the more I wanted in. He knew I was here to confront him about what he’d done and didn’t want to face me. Well, maybe his brush-off routine had worked with people in the past, but it wasn’t going to work with me. I’d come here to give Lee his share of the blame, and I wasn’t leaving until I succeeded. He deserved that and so much worse.

  Knowing he wasn’t going to voluntarily let me in, I didn’t bother replying. Let him think I’d given up and left. I adjusted my hat and scarf and huddled in the doorway, determined to wait as long as I had to.

  About ten minutes later, the door opened and one of the building’s residents emerged. I caught the door with my foot as it closed and slipped inside.

  I dashed up the four flights quickly, trying not to think too much about what I was about to do. I would say what I came to say and get the hell out of here.

  My mittened hand gave three swift strikes to Lee’s door, and his muffled curses carried out into the hallway. My heart was hammering as I stood there waiting.

  The door flew open, and my breath caught the moment I saw him. He was every ounce as gorgeous as he was the night we met. His shirtless torso was etched with muscles and tattoos, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His jeans were unbuttoned, like he had just pulled them up a second before. He glared at me intensely, but somehow the burning behind his eyes made his face even more radiant.

  But the warm, fuzzy feelings only lasted a half-second and were immediately replaced with loathing.

  I cleared my throat nervously. “I need to talk to you,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked me up and down, the space between his eyes deeply creased.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You look different,” he said, confused.

  I looked down at myself. In place of the skimpy black ensemble I’d been wearing last time were jeans, flats, my puffy green jacket, and rainbow-patterned wool hat and mittens. I guessed I was looking a lot more my actual age tonight.

  But I was saved from having to attempt an explanation because just then I was distracted by a small movement behind Lee. There was someone else in the apartment. I shifted my position outside the door so I could see around him and managed to catch a glimpse of a woman’s bare legs, partially covered by the sheets of his bed, before he swiftly stepped out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him.

  “What do you want?” he growled.

  I stared at him, waiting for my mind to catch up to what was going on here. He hadn’t been trying to avoid a confrontation—he was trying to get rid of me because he was with someone. A girl who surely had no idea what she was getting herself into.

  I suddenly wasn’t nervous anymore.

  “Just how many people have you done this to?” I demanded.

  “Done what to?”

  I looked him straight in the eye. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  He let out a pitying little laugh. “Listen, Lucy, we had fun. But it was a one-time thing—it’s not going to happen again. And I really don’t have time for this right now, so you should really leave before I call the police and report you for trespassing.”

  Oh god—he thought I was here to have sex with him again? I gave him a wry smile. “Go ahead. I have a few things I’d like to report you for too.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I sighed heavily. Might as well just say it. “You infected me.”

  There was a slight pause. “What do you mean, I ‘infected’ you?” he said, his voice less severe now. He genuinely looked baffled.

  “I mean, you gave me HIV.”

  He barked out a laugh. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have HIV.”

  I studied him carefully, searching for signs of lying or even guilt. But his face was smooth, his gaze steady and innocent.

  This was going to be so much worse than I’d anticipated.

  “Yes, you do,” I said cautiously. “And you gave it to me.”

  Lee stared at me, his eyes wide. He shook his head. “You’re wrong. You got it from someone else.” But there was a trace of doubt in his words.

  I watched him silently, his face twitching and jaw clenching as he worked it all out. Right now, in Lee’s head, denial was warring with the undeniable facts. I knew because I’d been there. I’d felt that pull, that desperate yearning to reject what I knew was true. I wondered if my face had looked like that when Diane had told me my results.

  He’d really had no idea. He’d been going around, living his life, playing his music, not having any idea that he was dying. And now here I was, the grim reaper. I wished I had never come here.

  No, wait, that wasn’t right. It was good that I came here. He had to know. Who knew how long he’d had it? Who knew how many people he’d passed it on to or how many people he would have in the future? Maybe I’d even saved the life of the faceless girl on the bed.

  “Lee?” she called, impatient.

  He and I had each been so lost in our own thoughts that the sudden draw back to the present was jarring.

  We stared at each other for a tense, lingering moment.

  “Lee? Are you coming back to bed?” her voice cut through again.

  He blinked. “I have to go,” he said and disappeared, closing the door firmly behind him.

  25

  With a Little Bit of Luck

  I stood outside Lee’s apartment door for a long time. I kept thinking that he would come back out, that after he’d had some time for everything to sink in, he would want to finish our conversation.

  But he didn’t.

  I paced the small hallway. Maybe he and the girl were talking. Maybe she was his girlfriend, and she was comforting him as he told her what had happened. Maybe she was convincing him to come back out and talk to me.

  I put my ear to the door and listened.

  They weren’t talking. But I did hear noises.

  I gasped and backed away from the door in dismay. How could he go right back in there and continue having sex with her like nothing had even happened? There was no doubt in my mind that he’d heard—and believed—everything I’d told him. But this reaction didn’t make any sense.

  He was supposed to be remorseful for what he’d done to me. He was supposed to accept the blame so that I didn’t have to carry it around with me anymore. He was supposed to apologize.

  I didn’t understand.

  Instinctively, I pulled out my phone—Max would have the answer. But halfway through dialing his number, I remembered. Max and I weren’t friends anymore; I’d driven him away.

  There was nothing more I could do. I only had so much energy left, and I couldn’t waste it here.

  So I went home, where my measly halflife awaited me.

  • • •

  I would never admit it to Andre, but I’d secretly become glad I hadn’t been cast as Juliet. It was hard enough finding time for everything without having a whole play’s worth of lines to memorize. My four little Mercutio scenes were plenty, now that I had group meetings and doctor’s visits and this whole other life to contend with.

  But that didn’t mean I didn’t want those four little scenes to be the best they could possibly be. And right now, the fight scene just wasn’t cutting it.

  Monday afternoon, I approached Evan at rehearsal. It was the first time I’d spoken directly to him since he’d decided he didn’t want anything to do with me, but after what had happened with Lee and Dr. Jackson two days earlier, dealing with Evan suddenly ranked pretty low on my awkward encounters list.

  He stood up rail-straight when he saw me headed his way and closed the graphic novel he’d been reading.

  “Lucy…hi,” he said.

  I checked over my shoulder to make sure we were out
of everyone else’s earshot, and then got straight to the point. “The fight scene sucks, Evan. And I don’t know how things worked back in your precious little California drama club, but this is New York. We get Broadway producers and theatrical agents at our shows, and I don’t want to look like a fool up there. So you need to check your pathetic scaredy-cat emotions at the door, and fight me like a man. Comprende?”

  He looked like a deer caught in headlights, but he managed a nod. “I’ll…do my best.”

  “Your best better be good enough. Because this play is pretty much all I have right now, and I’m not going to let you ruin it for me.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Just then Andre called out to everyone from the edge of the stage. “Hello, my lovelies! Counting today we only have nine rehearsals left. Opening night is going to be here before you know it, so let’s all make this time count, okay?”

  “Absolutely!” Elyse said, running up the stage steps to join him. “Ty and I were just saying last night how we both really think this is going to be the best Eleanor Falls production ever. And as your leads, we want to thank each and every one of you for all your hard work.”

  At least I wasn’t the only one staring at her with disdain this time. I had a feeling her condescension-veiled-in-sweetness act was beginning to wear thin on just about everybody.

  I glanced at Evan. He rolled his eyes and we both laughed.

  The moment was sheer miraculousness. It made me feel sort of warm—in a good way.

  “So to show our thanks,” Elyse continued, “we brought cookies!” She held up two tins. “Homemade chocolate chip! Now let’s have a great last two weeks of rehearsal!”

  Rousing cheers went up throughout the auditorium. My castmates were such a disappointment, allowing themselves to be bought so easily.

  “Can you believe thi—” I began to say to Evan, but then I realized that he was no longer standing beside me and was in fact on his way up to the stage in pursuit of cookies like everyone else.

  I bypassed them all and headed straight toward the prop table. Elyse could take her cookies and shove them. I wanted my sword. For some reason, I was pretty sure I would feel better once I was armed.

  As I passed the cookie melee, I heard her and Ty talking.

  “Aren’t you going to have some, baby?” he was asking her. “Your mom worked so hard.”

  A-ha! Elyse didn’t even make the damn cookies—her mother did.

  “You’re not serious,” she replied. “You know I don’t eat sugar!”

  “Ellie, your body is perfect. You can eat whatever you want,” Ty cooed.

  Oh god, I literally could not listen to another word of this. I grabbed my sword, started humming “Wig in a Box” from Hedwig just to shut Ty and Elyse out of my head, and headed backstage.

  • • •

  My scene with Evan was actually going well. Probably because the animosity I was feeling after he bailed on our nice, nonhostile miracle moment in favor of Elyse’s cookies added an extra layer of edginess under the lines.

  Me: Tybalt, you ratcatcher, will you walk?

  Evan: What wouldst thou have with me?

  Me: Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.

  Evan: I am for you.

  Ty: Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

  Me: Come, sir, you passado.

  Then…the fight. And it was every bit as awkward and stilted as it had been the last zillion rehearsals. From the moment we drew our swords, a shroud of hesitancy came over Evan, so thick I could almost see it. He was still afraid of me. This close to opening night, we should have been dancing—no, flying—fearlessly though the choreography. And instead we stumbled through it like we were blindfolded as Andre’s patent sighs carried from the back of the house.

  “Should we stop?” I called into the darkness.

  “What would be the point? I really don’t know what to do with you two anymore,” Andre replied unhappily.

  We were just finishing up the run-through when my phone rang.

  “Sorry, I thought my ringer was off,” I apologized to Ty, who was in the middle of his final monologue. Elyse shot me a malicious look from her deathbed.

  I hastily located my phone and muted the ringtone. The number flashing on the screen was an unfamiliar one, but it was a 212 area code—a Manhattan number.

  I ducked into the hallway and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, may I speak to Lucy Moore, please?” an upbeat male voice said.

  “This is she.”

  “Lucy, this is Darren Clark from CBG Creative.”

  CBG Creative? Could that be…?

  But why would he be calling me? There was no way I’d gotten the job.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “I wanted to thank you for coming in on Saturday. Your audition was certainly interesting.”

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s quite all right. Now, as I’m sure you’re aware, after that audition we aren’t able to offer you that particular job.”

  “Of course. I understand.” But then why was he calling me?

  “That being said, we really liked you, Lucy. Your fiery individuality was inspiring. So we had some meetings today and discussed the project with our client.”

  “Okay…?”

  “We were all in agreement that the campaign needs more life—it was much too dry. So we’ve changed everything. Rather than having our spokesperson address the camera directly, as was our original plan, we want her to play several mini-roles. Costume, makeup, and locale changes, different characters—the photographer, the doctor, the politician, the violinist. And at the end of the spot, a single slogan will tie it all together: ‘NYU. Be who you want to be.’ What do you think?”

  Why on earth would he care what I thought? Unless…

  I gripped the phone tighter to keep it from sliding through my suddenly sweaty palm. “I think it sounds amazing.”

  “Good.” I could hear the smile in Darren’s voice. “Because you’ve got the job. If you’re still interested, that is.”

  “Are you serious?!” I squealed. “Of course I’m still interested! Yes!”

  Darren laughed. “Wonderful. We shoot mid-January. I’m going to have my assistant send you all the details. Look over the contract and let me know if you have any questions.”

  “I will. Thank you so, so, so much!”

  “Thank you, Lucy. Like I said, you really were inspiring. I’m glad to have you on board. Take care and I’ll be in touch.” With that, he hung up.

  I hugged the phone to my chest and leaned back against the wall for support. Was this really happening? Just to be sure, I checked my phone again. The CBG Creative number was right there, at the top of my incoming calls list. Proof that I hadn’t imagined it. This really was happening.

  I sprinted back into the auditorium, feeling more alive than I had in months. Elyse was in the middle of her death scene—I was happy it was her I got to interrupt.

  “Hey, everyone!” I shouted. “I just got cast in a national television commercial!”

  The entire cast and crew suddenly forgot all about Elyse and showered me with congratulations. I told them all about the project and couldn’t help the twinge of pleasure I felt at their obvious jealousy.

  I sought out my friends without thinking. Courtney and Evan were awkwardly hovering around the outer edges of the scene, like they didn’t know how to react. Should they force themselves to join the group and celebrate along with everyone else, even though there was still a ton of personal stuff preventing that celebration from being genuine? Or should they distance themselves from the group and use this opportunity to illustrate just how not-okay things still were between us?

  I was watching them watching me when
Max’s smiling face popped up in my line of vision. “Congrats, Lucy,” he said.

  He called me Lucy, not Luce like he always used to, and he didn’t say anything more, but what with the way Courtney and Evan were acting, Max’s simple “congrats” felt like an enormous gift.

  I smiled back. “Thanks,” I said, glowing with happiness. Maybe this tiny exchange was just what we’d needed—the first step on the road to repairing our friendship.

  Suddenly, Ty pushed through the crowd and pulled me into a giant embrace, lifting me up off the ground. “I am so proud of you, Lu,” he whispered. I melted into his warmth, his strength. God, I had missed this.

  Elyse hadn’t moved from her spot on the stage. Still in Ty’s arms, I flashed her a smug grin. Her glare burned right back.

  26

  You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught

  Dad lifted his ginger ale. “To Lucy. May this only be the first in a lifetime filled with successes!”

  “To Lucy!” Papa echoed.

  “Isn’t it bad luck to toast with a nonalcoholic beverage?” Lisa grumbled.

  Dad gave her a look. “We’re not a very superstitious household.”

  She just rolled her eyes and helped herself to a sizeable piece of lasagna.

  For the first time in ages, the four of us were having dinner together. There were no meetings or appointments of any kind tonight, and both my parents had come home from work early when they heard my big news. Lisa had been on her way out the door when Dad stopped her. I was in the next room and overheard their conversation, which went something like this:

  Dad: Where are you going?

  Lisa: Like you care.

  Dad: Well, Lucy just got some great news and we’re going to have a little celebratory dinner tonight. We’d like you to join us.

  Lisa: Sorry, I have plans.

  Dad: Sorry, but that wasn’t a request.

  End scene.

  Now, as she shoved garlic bread in her mouth, I realized I hadn’t seen much of Lisa lately. The first couple of months she’d been with us, she had always been around, lounging on the couch or rummaging through the fridge or asking for rides. But the past few weeks she’d been a ghost. I wondered what that was all about. I didn’t think she knew anyone in Eleanor Falls.