“Jittery. Evasive.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and rock back and forth. “I think he’s hiding something from me.”
“Like what?”
“If I knew, he wouldn’t be hiding it from me.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of theDancing Shoescompany,” our stage manager’s voice booms over the loudspeaker. “This is your half-hour call. Thirty minutes to curtain.”
I swear under my breath and hike my bag up higher on my shoulder. “I’d better go get into costume and makeup.”
“Okay, but I wouldn’t worry too much about David if I were you. I’ve seen how that boy looks at you. He’s totally smitten.”
“Smitten? Who uses that word anymore?”
“Me. And the Urban Dictionary. Trust me. It’s in there.” She turns on her heel and flounces off, blowing me a kiss over her shoulder as she goes. “See you on stage, Beak.”
“What did I warn you about calling me that?” I say to her back as she sashays away. “Wait until we get to the lift. You’re going down.”
But of course she doesn’t. The performance goes off without a hitch, as always. We’re professionals, after all. Although I do give in to temptation and manage to sneak a couple of not-so-professional glances at David in the pit, all serious and adorable as he tickles the ivories, his hair flopping over his furrowed brow to the beat of the music. Once we even lock eyes, and an endearingly shy smile flits about the corners of his mouth.
The knot of tension in my stomach eases a little.There,my head says to my heart.See? Alyssa’s right. David’s crazy about you. No reason to panic.
When the show’s over and we’ve bowed our last bow, all I want is to rush offstage, find David, and tell him how proud of him I am. Okay, yeah, and kiss the shit out of him, too. You know what they say. Actions speak louder than words.
But tonight we’re collecting for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights Aids, the charity that draws on the talents of the theater community to raise money to help provide essential services for people with HIV/AIDS and other critical illnesses. Which means that I have to stay on stage for a few more minutes and then go into the lobby with my bright red BC/EFA bucket, collecting donations from audience members as they leave the theater.
I try to catch David’s eye one more time as Alyssa, our dance captain, takes a handheld mic from the stage manager and begins her please-break-out-your-wallets-for-a-good-cause speech. But he’s not behind the keyboard. He’s not anywhere in the pit.
The doubt crows start circling again, but I shake them off. There’s nothing all that unusual about musicians packing it in as soon as they’re done playing. I’m sure David’s waiting for me in the green room. I’ll catch up with him there.
I turn my attention to Alyssa, who should be wrapping up her speech about now. Instead, I’m surprised to hear her mention my name.
“Chris, could you come up here?”
Huh? What is she doing? This isn’t part of her usual BC/EFA schtick.
I shuffle forward, thinking maybe this is some sort of payback for me threatening to drop her. Then I see a familiar, well-loved face peeking out from the wings, and my heart lodges in my throat, making it difficult to breathe.
“We’ve got a special surprise for you tonight, Chris,” Alyssa continues into the mic so everyone can hear. “For all of you, really.”
She gestures to the audience, and a murmur of anticipation ripples through the crowd. “I mean it’s not every day you get to witness—well, I’ll let David, our fabulous keyboard player this evening, explain everything. Come on out, David.”
He enters the stage, gives the audience an awkward wave, and crosses to center, where Alyssa meets him and engulfs him in a bear hug. I could swear he mouthsthank youto her, confusing me even more. What is he up to? Why is Alyssa hugging him, and what is he thanking her for? Sure, she’s become one of my closest friends during the run of the show, and she and David have gotten to know each other as a result. But I didn’t realize they were on a hugs-and-thanks-for-the-favor basis.
Alyssa releases him and I hear her whisper, “You got this,” before she hands him the mic and gives him a gentle push in my direction. Up close, I realize for the first time how nervous he is. His smile is shaky, his cheeks pale, and there’s a line of sweat at his brow.
“Hey,” he says. The quiet greeting is only for me, not the audience, seeing as the mic is down at his side.
“Hey.” I smile back, I hope reassuringly.
He raises the mic to his lips. Time seems to stop, and my heart along with it. He’s not the only one who’s nervous. I’m as jumpy as a chorus girl at her Broadway debut. But it’s not because I’m worried about what he’s going to say. It’s because I think—I hope—I know what’s about to happen.
David shuffles his feet. “So, I, uh, suppose you’re wondering what we’re doing up here.”
“You could say that.”
The audience, and the cast behind me, titters. David reaches out with his free hand and takes one of mine. “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, you walked into mine a little over a year ago and upended my life. But if I’m honest, you’ve been doing that since the first time I saw you back at the conservatory. Because that was when I knew you were going to own my heart.”
He goes to one knee, and there’s an audible, collective gasp from the crowd.
