Page 105 of My Own Kind of Person

“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate these ideas.”

“You’re not going to use them, though, right?” he says.

“I don’t think so.”

I reread the message and send it. I shouldn’t stare at my phone to watch Elijah’s lack of a reply, but I can’t help it.

Last night I drove back to the Vanderbilt in time to catch the end of Joe’s set. When he walked offstage he asked me to follow him through the hallway while we exchanged phone numbers. Then he pushed open the exit and left. I tried my best to be present while talking with everyone in the lobby, but at the diner afterward, while Christy and Andi and Tony brainstormed ideas for The Greenroom, all I could think about was Elijah.

He’s all I think about for the rest of the morning, as we slowly turn the garage into a place people will want to go. Christy and Andi climb ladders and hang the sign from the ceiling. Mr. Z wraps a mini fridge in a green plastic cover. I somehow finish the podium, and Tony ceremoniously places a tablet on it for checking in guests.

“Now, back to more immediate matters,” he says, and motions to new index cards on his bulletin board. One says, Research towns in New Jersey. Another says, Research how to stalk.

“He told me he wants someone reliable,” I say, “but how can I show him I can be there if he isn’t even here?”

“Can you write him a letter?” Christy asks.

“I don’t have his address.”

“But if you send it to his mom,” Andi says, “wouldn’t she bring it to him?”

“That’s true.”

“Here’s a strategy,” Tony says. “Send him a link to an event and then say, ‘Sorry, I meant to send that to someone else.’ ”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Inviting someone to have fun is more effective than inviting them to talk.”

“Saying you meant to send it to someone else isn’t an invite.” I take out my phone. “But, fine. I’ll check to see if there’s an upcoming show I can actually invite him to. Only because I never listen to your advice, and I want to prove to you that it won’t work.”

Tony moves his cards around the board as though divining a missing piece. “Couples like to do things together. Is there a dance class you could take him to?”

“He already takes ballet.”

“Where?”

I look at him. Christy and Andi look at me.

“A place called Steps. Steps on Broadway. He mentioned it once.”

Tony pulls out his phone. “It’s in the city?”

“I texted him late last Monday and he was awake because he’d just gotten home.”

“So he’ll be there tomorrow.” Tony loads up the website. “Ballet is at six o’clock.” His mouth falls open. “The classes are drop-in.”

“What does that mean?”

Christy comes closer. “Anyone can take one.”

“I’m anyone,” I say.

Tony looks me in the eyes. “You’re someone.”

I feel like I should be breaking into a run. “What do I do until tomorrow, though?”

He puts his fists on his hips and squares his jaw like a drill sergeant. He growls, “You rehearse.”