The Score
Page 79
“Good, actually. Mallory memorized the final act, so Steven is happy. But I’m still a tad worried.”
“How come?”
“We’re taking a three-week hiatus for the holidays. What if she falls into an eggnog coma and forgets all her lines?”
I chuckle. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. When is opening night?”
“First week of February.” She pauses. “By then I’ll probably know if I got that Fox pilot, too.”
There’s no enthusiasm in her voice, and I glance over with a frown. She told me she’d sent an audition tape to the producers in LA, but other than that, she hasn’t mentioned the role, and I don’t think she’s even called her agent for an update.
But she ought to be clamoring for an update, right? I don’t know much about show biz, but a Fox pilot feels like a pretty big deal to me.
“Do you want the part?” I ask slowly.
Her hesitation is more telling than anything else she could’ve said.
I press my foot on the brakes as we near a red light. “Talk to me, babe. What’s bugging you about this project?”
Allie shrugs. “I’m just not in love with the role. And…well, lately I’ve been thinking I might want to stay away from comedies and find more dramatic roles. Or maybe stage work. Maybe in New York.”
The confession startles me, but when I stop to think about it, it becomes obvious where it stems from. “You want to stay close to your dad.”
She turns to me with sad blue eyes. “That’s definitely part of it. He’s getting worse, and I’m not crazy about the idea of living on the opposite end of the country from him. What if something happens and he needs me? I’d have to sign a contract—I can’t exactly walk up to the producers and say, sorry, gotta go to New York for a few weeks. Shoot around me.”
“What about hiring a nurse?” I suggest.
“God, no. He’d never be cool with that. I actually brought up the idea last year. It wasn’t something he needed at the time—we were just discussing options for the future—but he freaked the fuck out. He said he could take care of himself, thank you very much.”
I fight a smile, because I can almost hear Joe Hayes’ crotchety voice in my head uttering those words.
She bites her lip. “It’s true, right now he can take care of himself. But the numbness in his legs is so much worse than it was last year. So is his vision. He’s using the cane for now, but what if eventually he needs a wheelchair? What if we’re looking at paralysis? Blindness? If that happens, he will need someone. Maybe not round-the-clock care, but I don’t like the idea of him being all alone in Brooklyn.”
I reach over the center console to squeeze her hand. It’s cold. Trembling. She’s scared, I realize. Scared of losing her father, the way she’d already lost her mother. I’m not sure what to say to make her feel better, because truth is, she has every right to be scared.
Both my parents are healthy and active, so I don’t spend much time worrying they might die. When I’m with them, I don’t see a thundercloud of doom hovering above their heads.
But Mr. Hayes is suffering from a disease that’s slowly eating away at his nervous system. He’s dealt with it for years, while his daughter stood on the sidelines watching it progress, helpless to stop it.
Jesus. I’m suddenly floored by her strength. I hadn’t understood, not until this very moment, how difficult this must be for Allie.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. I’m bumming myself out.” Her voice wobbles before steadying. “Tell me more about this restaurant you’re taking me to.”
*
After dinner, we drive to my house. Last night I stayed with Allie in the dorms, so tonight it’s her turn to sleep over. We’ve got a nice, fair arrangement going, except for the times when Allie plays the vagina card, in which case the arrangement becomes do what your girlfriend wants.
My girlfriend. Fuck me. It still boggles my mind. I ain’t complaining, though. Allie and I have a blast together. We also have wild, sweaty sex on the regular. So I’m trying to focus on that and not read too much into the rest of it.
Too bad my friends can’t do the same. Garrett is convinced I’ll do something to screw up the relationship and that it’ll end in a massive fireball that blows up in all of our faces. Sometimes I wish he gave me more credit.
Says the man who almost drove someone to suicide.
The painful memory grips my heart, conjuring up the image of Miranda, and her tears, and the harrowing late-night phone calls where she threatened to kill herself and accused me of ruining her life.
Christ. I feel sick every time I allow myself to think about it, so I shove the unwelcome reminders aside. She never accepted my friend request, I realize. I guess that’s not much of a surprise.
Allie and I walk into the cramped front hall of the townhouse, which smells almost as good as the restaurant we just came from. Tucker must be home.
“Tuck? Where you at?”
“Kitchen,” is his faint reply.
I shrug out of my coat and toss it on one of the hooks in the wall. Allie does the same before bending over to unzip her leather boots. I smack her ass, then grin when she scowls at me. “Whatcha making?” I call out to Tucker.
“Soup,” he calls back. “And baking some bread.”
I sigh. “Sometimes I worry about him,” I tell Allie. “The more domestic he gets, the bigger the risk of his penis falling off.”
She tsks in disapproval. “Sexist bastard.”
“I think you mean sexy bastard,” I say helpfully.
“No, I got it right the first time.”
We move toward the living room just as the front door swings open behind us. I turn around, and I literally have one second to react before a blond tornado flies toward me and launches herself at me.
“Surprise!” the tornado shouts, flinging both arms around my neck. “Guess who’s spending the weekend!”
I’m so dazed and taken aback that I return the hug on instinct. From the corner of my eye, I see Allie’s mouth twist in a deep frown. Shit. I know the conclusion she’s jumping to right now, and I need to squash it, pronto.
When Allie clears her throat purposefully, the intruder swivels her head and says, “Oh. Hi. And you are?”
“Dean’s girlfriend,” Allie replies tightly. “Who are you?”
“How come?”
“We’re taking a three-week hiatus for the holidays. What if she falls into an eggnog coma and forgets all her lines?”
I chuckle. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. When is opening night?”
“First week of February.” She pauses. “By then I’ll probably know if I got that Fox pilot, too.”
There’s no enthusiasm in her voice, and I glance over with a frown. She told me she’d sent an audition tape to the producers in LA, but other than that, she hasn’t mentioned the role, and I don’t think she’s even called her agent for an update.
But she ought to be clamoring for an update, right? I don’t know much about show biz, but a Fox pilot feels like a pretty big deal to me.
“Do you want the part?” I ask slowly.
Her hesitation is more telling than anything else she could’ve said.
I press my foot on the brakes as we near a red light. “Talk to me, babe. What’s bugging you about this project?”
Allie shrugs. “I’m just not in love with the role. And…well, lately I’ve been thinking I might want to stay away from comedies and find more dramatic roles. Or maybe stage work. Maybe in New York.”
The confession startles me, but when I stop to think about it, it becomes obvious where it stems from. “You want to stay close to your dad.”
She turns to me with sad blue eyes. “That’s definitely part of it. He’s getting worse, and I’m not crazy about the idea of living on the opposite end of the country from him. What if something happens and he needs me? I’d have to sign a contract—I can’t exactly walk up to the producers and say, sorry, gotta go to New York for a few weeks. Shoot around me.”
“What about hiring a nurse?” I suggest.
“God, no. He’d never be cool with that. I actually brought up the idea last year. It wasn’t something he needed at the time—we were just discussing options for the future—but he freaked the fuck out. He said he could take care of himself, thank you very much.”
I fight a smile, because I can almost hear Joe Hayes’ crotchety voice in my head uttering those words.
She bites her lip. “It’s true, right now he can take care of himself. But the numbness in his legs is so much worse than it was last year. So is his vision. He’s using the cane for now, but what if eventually he needs a wheelchair? What if we’re looking at paralysis? Blindness? If that happens, he will need someone. Maybe not round-the-clock care, but I don’t like the idea of him being all alone in Brooklyn.”
I reach over the center console to squeeze her hand. It’s cold. Trembling. She’s scared, I realize. Scared of losing her father, the way she’d already lost her mother. I’m not sure what to say to make her feel better, because truth is, she has every right to be scared.
Both my parents are healthy and active, so I don’t spend much time worrying they might die. When I’m with them, I don’t see a thundercloud of doom hovering above their heads.
But Mr. Hayes is suffering from a disease that’s slowly eating away at his nervous system. He’s dealt with it for years, while his daughter stood on the sidelines watching it progress, helpless to stop it.
Jesus. I’m suddenly floored by her strength. I hadn’t understood, not until this very moment, how difficult this must be for Allie.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. I’m bumming myself out.” Her voice wobbles before steadying. “Tell me more about this restaurant you’re taking me to.”
*
After dinner, we drive to my house. Last night I stayed with Allie in the dorms, so tonight it’s her turn to sleep over. We’ve got a nice, fair arrangement going, except for the times when Allie plays the vagina card, in which case the arrangement becomes do what your girlfriend wants.
My girlfriend. Fuck me. It still boggles my mind. I ain’t complaining, though. Allie and I have a blast together. We also have wild, sweaty sex on the regular. So I’m trying to focus on that and not read too much into the rest of it.
Too bad my friends can’t do the same. Garrett is convinced I’ll do something to screw up the relationship and that it’ll end in a massive fireball that blows up in all of our faces. Sometimes I wish he gave me more credit.
Says the man who almost drove someone to suicide.
The painful memory grips my heart, conjuring up the image of Miranda, and her tears, and the harrowing late-night phone calls where she threatened to kill herself and accused me of ruining her life.
Christ. I feel sick every time I allow myself to think about it, so I shove the unwelcome reminders aside. She never accepted my friend request, I realize. I guess that’s not much of a surprise.
Allie and I walk into the cramped front hall of the townhouse, which smells almost as good as the restaurant we just came from. Tucker must be home.
“Tuck? Where you at?”
“Kitchen,” is his faint reply.
I shrug out of my coat and toss it on one of the hooks in the wall. Allie does the same before bending over to unzip her leather boots. I smack her ass, then grin when she scowls at me. “Whatcha making?” I call out to Tucker.
“Soup,” he calls back. “And baking some bread.”
I sigh. “Sometimes I worry about him,” I tell Allie. “The more domestic he gets, the bigger the risk of his penis falling off.”
She tsks in disapproval. “Sexist bastard.”
“I think you mean sexy bastard,” I say helpfully.
“No, I got it right the first time.”
We move toward the living room just as the front door swings open behind us. I turn around, and I literally have one second to react before a blond tornado flies toward me and launches herself at me.
“Surprise!” the tornado shouts, flinging both arms around my neck. “Guess who’s spending the weekend!”
I’m so dazed and taken aback that I return the hug on instinct. From the corner of my eye, I see Allie’s mouth twist in a deep frown. Shit. I know the conclusion she’s jumping to right now, and I need to squash it, pronto.
When Allie clears her throat purposefully, the intruder swivels her head and says, “Oh. Hi. And you are?”
“Dean’s girlfriend,” Allie replies tightly. “Who are you?”
