The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,34
fourth-quarter, last-time-out pep talk. “Pretend this is Theater Arts again. Your character is this cool, sexy twentysomething with a private jet. This is the improv game of your life.”
He nods, only partially convinced. I want to tell him how lucky Dominick would be to have him as a boyfriend, but that’s stock best-friend speech, and it would fall on deaf ears. Even if it’s true.
“C’mon, girls.” I wrap my arm around him and pull Leo toward Gretchen and her friends. “He needs some encouragement.”
They clap and cheer wildly in that synchronized Woo scream that girls do so well, like a Greek Life Chorus. We make our way to the stairs. Gretchen and the girls go first. Leo nearly bites off my arm to stay back.
“This is stupid. Let’s just watch the show.”
“Just follow the plan, and this will work. You’re going to talk to Dominick Salsano.”
But he doesn’t move. “I can’t do this, Becca. I can’t do this.”
“If you stay up here, then you know how the rest of your night will go. We’ll listen to this terrible band, have another round of Diet Coke, and then go home. It will be fine, neutral, uneventful. But if you go down there, if you take that chance, then…”
“Then what?”
“Then anything could happen. And isn’t that a more exciting prospect than fine?”
Leo takes it all in—the band, the concertgoers, the sweat-tinged flavor of possibility.
Gretchen hops back up the stairs. “Are we doing this?”
Leo gives me a confident look. Well, straining for confidence. I’ll take it. He continues downstairs, and the girls Woo again at our entrance. I watch from above. His guardian angel. Or club boss.
The girls dance their way over to Geoff and Jeff. The Jessalyns launch into the one song I vaguely recognize, and all the casual fans and poseurs go nuts, dancing like mad in the pit. Gretchen gets her flirt on with Geoff, and he’s unable to resist. He dances crotch out toward her. One of Gretchen’s friends, the tall, skinny one, curls her finger at Jeff, calling him over. And then they’re all dancing in a circle together.
Minus Dominick. He bobs his head, still mellow, taking in the craftsmanship.
Leo clutches his hands like a grieving widow at a funeral. He takes two steps forward, one step back. Literally. I can feel his heart pounding in mine. He needs to do this. I’ve laid all the groundwork. He just needs to swoop in, and Dominick will be his. But Leo doesn’t think this way. He turns around, back to the stairs, head down so he can’t look at me.
Just as he’s about to reach the staircase, the lead singer talks into the microphone. “This next song is off our new album. It’s dedicated to everyone putting their hearts on the line.”
Leo looks up at me in disbelief. It’s the song of all songs. It enlivens Leo, strikes him with a thunderbolt of chutzpah. He readjusts his knit cap, pivots around, and marches right up to Dominick.
I exhale a deep breath and stay on my tiptoes to watch, my body wrenched in anticipation. Once Leo and Dominick head to the bar, I shout, “Yes!”
Step Five: Celebration!
“Isn’t this song awesome?” some drunk guy next to me shouts at me.
“The greatest.”
Leo may be randomly drug tested today. The kid cannot stop smiling. It takes over his entire face and won’t let up. Yep, he’s too happy for a school day. It must be drugs.
Or just the work of a talented relationship engineer.
I make my way to Theater Arts class, and outside the door are Leo and Dominick, gazing into each other’s eyes with the occasional bits of conversation thrown in.
“I can’t believe they played ‘Pantsuit Jacket,’” Leo says.
“Yeah, that was pretty awesome,” Dominick says. “And Brant’s drum solo in the middle was freaking sweet.”
“It’s the stuff of legend.”
Dominick brushes a wild lock of hair from Leo’s forehead, and I swoon. They are officially Ashland’s cutest couple, even if they aren’t official yet.
“Excuse me,” I say as a go into class. Leo gives me the quick nod that one gives to random classmates. Playing it cool. He and Dominick talked on and off for the rest of the concert, and Dominick gave him a ride home. No one has to know we arrived there together on official relationship engineering business. I get it. My clients don’t want to be linked to me. They don’t want the secret to get out that they required my services.
At least we’ll have Theater Arts to gossip