Sway

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

It was our fourth date, and Gage Johnson had yet to disappoint. He’d taken me to the opera where I died over Cosi Fan Tutti. We wore cheesy Mickey Mouse hats and got wet on Splash Mountain at Disneyland. He made me dinner at his North Hollywood apartment—salmon teriyaki with grapefruit and fennel and chocolate covered strawberries for dessert. Even his abnormally white teeth had toned down to a normal shade.

Tonight we sat across a small table from each other in a cozy Italian restaurant. Votives adorned the tabletop and a vase of pink bougainvillea emitted a light perfume, barely noticeable amongst the scent of garlic and oregano. Mascagni played in the background. I recognized the intermezzo from his opera Cavalleria Rusticana, the notes humming through my head as if they were my own.

“Have you ever been in love before?” Gage asked, leaning toward me.

His question surprised me. We’d been talking about our favorite musicians and then bam! he sprang this on me, as if Schubert and Ella Fitzgerald had something to do with my love life.

“Twice,” I replied after a moment. “They were both musicians.” Their only similarity, really. Even my love for them felt different. It had taken me years to get over Eric. Kaz and I had broken up a month ago and I rarely thought of him.

Gage raised an eyebrow. “You like the famous type, huh? Is that why you’re with me?”

“More like the artsy type. And since when are you famous?”

He put a hand over his heart. “Ouch. I think you hit an artery there. Medic!”

I laughed. “I’d like to think I go for men based on who they are, not what they do.”

“Admirable.” His lips puckered and I didn’t know if he was containing a laugh.

“It’s my way of rebelling.”

“You, a rebel?”

“I know. But with my dad, he always pushed us toward people based on how famous or important he thought they were. ‘Be friends with so-and-so, their dad is an Oscar-winning director.’ That kind of thing.”

Don’t date him. He’s a nobody and he’ll never make it—something I heard more times than I could count.

“I could have skipped school every day to smoke crack and he probably wouldn’t have cared as long as I was smoking crack with a celebrity,” I said. Aunt Rose would’ve had a fit if she found out, of course, but I’d never wanted to rebel against her.

“What a childhood you must have had.” Gage grabbed the last thin wedge of bread from the basket and offered it to me. I declined.

“It wasn’t all that interesting, trust me.”

His face softened as he chewed. “My father was nothing like that.”

I reached across the table and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. The night we had salmon at his apartment, Gage had told me how his father passed away a year ago. It still weighed on him, probably always would, much like my mother’s death never seemed to let me go. “What was he like?”

“Handsome, intelligent, debonair.” He stared down at our hands, stroking my fingers with his thumb. “He was very well-respected. Others always came first. I always came first.”

“You miss him.”

He nodded. “You know, he used to talk about you all the time.”

“Me?”

“You and your sisters. He met you when you were just kids but he would always tell me how sweet you all were. Little angels, he said.” He smiled. “He would say, ‘Son, when you grow up, marry one of those Elliot girls.’”

“Really?” I released his hand. “I don’t remember meeting him.”

His eyebrows lowered. I think he was disappointed. “You were probably seven or eight at the time. Maybe older.”

My fingers self-consciously played with the ends of my hair. “So what happened?” He shot me a confused look. “Between your dad and mine? Didn’t you say they used to be friends?”

Gage leaned back in his chair. “Some sort of falling-out. I’m not really sure.”

“Huh.” I didn’t remember Dad mentioning anything about it. But then, if I was just a child at the time, why would he? Or maybe I just hadn’t paid attention.

Gage took a sip of wine, studying me over the rim of the glass. Underneath the table, his leg rubbed against mine. “Maybe someday you’ll introduce us? I’d like to meet him.”

“You actually want to meet the parents? Doesn’t that go against every boyfriend convention?”

He reached under the table and slid his hand over my knee. “I want to meet anyone who’s important to you.”

It was the perfect thing to say but I wasn’t sure if I was there yet. His fingers began toying with the hem of my skirt and I couldn’t form another coherent thought until the waiter brought our dinner.

* * * * *

After orchestra practice, Lexi and I went to the beach near Mari’s house. We lounged on beach chairs while the sun tried in vain to penetrate our SPF-soaked skin. Lexi flipped through an issue of Vogue, every page earning some sort of comment.

“This dress is gorgeous.” She groaned in longing. “Elie Saab. It’s probably so expensive.”

I looked up from my worn-in, much-read Jane Austen novel. “Uh, yeah.”

“But look at it!” She held up the magazine so I could see the pale pink strapless dress with flowery lace overlay.

“Wow,” I agreed.

“A million times wow.”

“More like a million dollars wow.”

Lexi slammed the magazine onto her chair. “When I fall in love with a man, please let him be rich.” She raised her hands to the heavens as if in prayer.

“And sweet,” I said, joining my prayer to hers.

“And hot.”

“And smart.”

“And willing to take on a two-year-old.” She heaved a loud sigh.

I stared at the pages of my book without seeing the words. “I met someone,” I said after a few minutes.

“What? You did? Who?” Lexi was out of her chair and onto mine in a second.

“His name is Gage.” I moved my legs over so Lexi could fit more comfortably on the chair. “We met at that dance club I went to a couple weeks ago.”

“No. Way.” Her face lifted in excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged.

“So?”

“What?”

Lexi rolled her eyes. “What’s he like? Is he hot? How many times have you gone out? You need to spill it.”

I pressed my lips together in amusement.

“Come oooooon.” She dragged out the word like a chugging engine. “Don’t make me beg.”

“We’ve gone out a few times. And he’s…he’s…almost perfect.”

Lexi was dissatisfied with my description of, “brown-eyed, lush-lipped, tanned and muscles like Hercules.” She wanted more details, intimate details—the kind I didn’t have yet. She also wanted to know everything he’d ever said, worn, and eaten for some reason.

She groaned when I was done. “He does sound perfect. You have all the luck.”

I tried not to grin.

“Have you paraded him in front of Eric yet?” she asked.

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, come on.” Lexi rose from the chair and put her hands on her hips. The sun shone behind her silhouette, and I squinted up at her. “You’re not that naïve.”

“It would be—” The right word evaded me. “Weird. Besides, Eric wouldn’t be jealous or anything. He and Lacey are practically engaged.”

Lexi went back to her own seat. “Really?”

I lowered the back of my chair and then lay on my stomach. “Well, no, but if it were up to Lacey, they would be.”

“That girl needs to get her heart broken,” Lexi muttered. I scowled at her. “What? She needs to learn that life isn’t a chick-flick.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head on my arms. Lacey did expect her life to turn out perfectly. She was certain she’d marry someone famous, live in a mansion, and have beautiful babies. She had yet to learn that even if you got everything you ever wanted, it could all be taken away in an instant. I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to learn that lesson or not. In a weird way her innocence gave me hope. Like maybe the chick-flick ending could happen once in a while.

“Whatever happened with that guy from your office?” I asked, opening my eyes.

She made a disgusted sound. “Don’t ask.”

“That bad?”

“He took one look at the picture of Elle on my desk and bolted. He’s barely spoken to me since.”

So much for chick flicks. I reached my hand out. She took it and held on tight, as if I was somehow keeping her afloat in the sea of sand beneath us. “You always have me,” I said.

Her lips turned up. “No offence, but you’re not my type.” She let go and her hand fell into the sand. “But I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” I said. And this time, I actually meant it.