Keep Me Where the Light Is
(part 25)
How can one become so bounded by choices
that somebody else makes?
How come we've both become a version of a person
we don't even like?
We're in love with the world, but the world just wants
to bring us down
By puttin' ideas in our heads that
corrupt our hearts somehow.
When I was a child,
every single thing could blow my mind
Soaking it all up for fun, but now
I only soak up wine.
They say to play hard, you work hard,
find balance in the sacrifice
And yet I don't know anybody who's truly satisfied.
You better believe I'm tryin'
(Tryin', tryin')
To keep climbin'
(Climbin', climbin')
But the higher we climb feels like
we're both none the wiser.
So I hope I learn to get over myself
Stop tryin' to be somebody else
So we can love each other for free
Everybody wants somethin',
you just want me…
Tuesday, November 15, 2022
11:58pm
"RRRRAAARRAHHHH." A collective cheer rumbled across a crowded interior toward the front door as Brittany pulled on an oversized golden handle, opening the bar door to The Whistle Blower. The crowd was solid for being nearly midnight as multiple large tv screens replayed the Knicks basketball game from earlier in the evening.
She removed her plum-colored beanie and ran long fingers through her straight blonde hair before approaching a wooden bar that ran the length of the entire left side. The bar was weathered with age, distressed like an old cork barrel, and she could feel about twenty layers of stickiness when she touched it.
The tall blonde rested against the solid structure for several minutes, scanning the bar for familiar faces. Brittany was eager to meet up with her fellow chorus dancers for their weekly night out, especially since she had been promising them for quite some time. It seemed like a good night earlier when she said yes, but with two shows coming up on Wednesday, she was suddenly regretting not being in her comfy bed.
"What can I get you," a bartender with a crooked smile finally asked.
"Sam Adams," Brittany responded.
"You got it."
"What's the score?" a strange voice asked from behind Brittany.
She turned and replied, "Not sure, I just got here. I think the Knicks are winning though…everyone seems amped up."
"They're playing Philly," the man stated.
Brittany shrugged, "I don't watch much basketball." Even that was a stretch, because more accurately, she should have said she watched zero sports at this point in life…and to be completely truthful, the former cheerleader could have admitted to not watching much of those high school games either.
As the bartender returned with Brittany's full glass, the strange man stepped forward with a big smile. "Let me get this for you."
Brittany tossed some cash on the bar top, picking up her beer and its paper coaster, "No thanks. I can pay for my own." She winked at the bartender who snickered at the guy's defeat.
She moved past some of the front tables, finally seeing a waving hand toward the back corner.
"Finally!" Austin Royle shouted over the background noise.
Brittany squeezed between two people who were part of a formed line trying to order at this other end of the same wooden bar. She set down her glass as she picked up a fried cheese stick off Austin's plate.
Chewing, she said, "Sorry I'm late. I had to run through a few steps with a new swing after the show."
"Eww, I hope it wasn't that one with the…" Kyle Attmore interjected, sounding slightly drunk and snapping his fingers while he searched for his words.
"Chason?" Eva offered with a dramatic laugh.
"YES!" Kyle shouted with relief, "He's a shady bitch. You watch that one, Pierce."
"Kyle!" Brooke Weber cackled.
"I'm telling you," Kyle insisted, grabbing a nacho.
Brittany shook her head but giggled. She knew the dancers could be catty toward newcomers, but with the holiday season about to kick off, the production would need additional dancers and swings on standby.
"He's a quick learner," she assured them, "Dominic has him scheduled for next week through Thanksgiving weekend."
"We're just glad you made it out this time," Austin gave his best friend a side hug, looking around their general area, he added, "We can find you a stool."
"I'm fine. I'm only staying for one drink," she notified them.
"Noooo," the group whined in response.
"We're up next for darts," Eva told her, "Stay and play with us."
"I should go soon," the blonde insisted, feeling her beer already zapping what little energy she had left.
"Don't rush off…please," they all coaxed her.
"Ok, one round of darts," she agreed with a big grin, glad to hang out with her friends.
Why am I obsessin' about the things
I can't control?
Why am I seekin' approval from
people I don't even know?
In these crazy times, I hope to find
somethin' I can cling on to,
'Cause I need some substance in my life,
somethin' real, somethin' that feels true.
You better believe for you, I've cried
(I've cried, I've cried)
High tides
(High tides, high tides)
'Cause I want you so bad,
but you can't fight fire with fire, oh
So I hope I learn to get over myself
Stop tryin' to be somebody else
Oh, I just want to love you,
love you for free
Everybody wants somethin' from me,
you just want me.
Listen, I know how low I can go,
I give as good as I get
You get the brunt of it all
'cause you're all I've got left
Oh, I hope in time
(Hope in time)
We both will find
(We'll both find),
peace of mind
Sometimes, the road less traveled
is a road best left behind….
(I Drink Wine ~ Adele)
Wednesday, November 16, 2022
10:14am
"You weren't kidding about being a morning person," Santana grumbled as she slid closed the heavy entry door to Miller's loft on Wednesday morning.
She heard his billowy laugh as he moved about on the far side of the large apartment that he had set up as a photography workspace.
"Early bird catches the worm, Santana Lopez," Miller shouted over his shoulder.
She stepped toward the kitchen island and set down a tray of coffee, a paper sack of fresh bagels and a few other bags from her morning errands. Santana was pleasantly surprised when Miller texted her last night, asking her if she wanted to start the day after her interview. She also admitted to herself, she was just as intrigued about him as he seemed to be about her.
No sooner had she arrived at 8:30am that he gave her a list of errands and had her heading back out the door.
"Did you find everything okay?"
Santana retrieved the new day planner from her large purse, perusing a hand-written list of errands. "Yep," she confirmed, pulling items out of their bags, "Memory cards. Batteries. Light meter." She laid each one on the island, continuing while pointing, "Coffee. Bagels. And I dropped off your package at FedEx."
"Excellent," Miller replied, walking up to the island, inspecting the light meter, "I'm trying a new one of these. It's supposed to help with getting more accurate exposure settings."
"If you say so," the young woman said indifferently, taking a big bite of bagel, "Knife?"
"Top drawer behind you," Miller motioned, still holding the box, "Come on, Santana, exposure settings is like...the love language…of photography. I'm going to teach you every intimate detail."
The brunette laughed aloud, retorting, "I can't wait." She busied herself with opening the cream cheese container and spreading it on her bagel then adding some cream to her coffee as Miller put away his new supplies.
As he moved back over to the kitchen island and grabbed a bagel, he heard rustling from the direction of Santana's oversized bag which sat on the glossed concrete structure. Miller looked toward the leather purse with a puzzled look.
Santana stared at him as she continued to chew.
"Did your purse just…meow?" He questioned.
"Hmm? Nooo," she tried passing off the odd sound just as a louder meow emerged.
Miller leaned to peek inside the giant bag, looking back up at his new assistant with a grimace.
The head of a tiny gray fluff popped up and meowed insistently, tipping over the large leather purse.
"Our…junior assistant?" the Latina offered as a viable explanation with a playful shrug.
12:55pm
Santana spent the rest of the morning learning how to set up tripods and soft box lights. Miller had one other assistant he took with him on remote shoots, basically extra muscle to help him carry all his equipment. The thin Latina was glad to hear that information.
She was feeling excited as she dipped her toe into the world of photography. She had been comfortable in front of the camera for a few years, and now, she would be learning all the angles and light design that was needed behind the camera to capture the perfect shot.
After lunch, Miller was focused on his monitor, editing images with his online lightroom. Feeling a giant tug at his foot, he looked down to see a gray fluff gnawing on the tie of his expensive shoe.
"Santana!" he shouted in frustration, "Your cat is destroying my shoe."
"Yes, yes…sorry," the Latina darted over to retrieve the wayward kitten.
She sat down on the cement floor with the tiny animal, dragging a string around in a circle, attempting to redirect the ball of energy. "You need to behave," Santana told it in a playful voice.
"Explain to me again why you brought it with you here?" Miller shook his head.
"I couldn't trust it alone in my apartment. Could I?" Santana picked it up and petted its head. She told Miller that morning about finding the orphaned animal in the rain last night, sure to not leave out any of the annoying details of housing a tiny kitten overnight.
"Right, right…," Miller remembered the earlier story, "It peed on the rug."
"It peed everywhere," Santana grimaced, "In just a few hours. Plus, I lost it under the furniture twice this morning."
"I thought we agreed it would stay in the bathroom until you left."
Santana smiled sheepishly. "It snuck out."
"Here, pick up a litter box this afternoon…and whatever else it needs," Miller instructed good-naturedly, handing her his credit card, but added, "Then leave it home tomorrow."
"Yes, Mr. Baskin," Santana snickered, tucking the card inside her pants pocket, telling the kitten as she walked it back to the bathroom, "Don't take it personally."
"Funny," he responded, "Hey, come take a look at these."
Santana returned and rolled a chair over to sit by Miller at his dual screens. "Oh wow, those are amazing," she confirmed, inspecting the side-by-side images of uptown Manhattan, asking further, "Will your entire book be in black and white?"
"Not sure yet, but it is tempting. See here, your eye is drawn to the details when there isn't any color," he pointed to the design of the buildings, asking Santana, "What are your thoughts?"
She outlined the ornate windows in the buildings. "The absence of color neutralizes the entire image. It makes it…timeless," the young woman commented.
"Very astute, Santana Lopez," Miller complimented, causing the brunette to blush.
Miller was about to tease his new apprentice some more when her cell phone buzzed.
She pulled out her phone, looking quickly to see it was a text from Rachel, then tucked it back inside her pocket.
"Not who you were hoping to hear from?" the older man wagered, watching Santana's facial expressions closely.
Santana's nose wrinkled, but she forced a giggle.
Miller leaned back in his computer chair and crossed one leg over the other, taking a sip of coffee and saying, "Talk."
Santana rolled backward to add distance between them, not sure if she was ready to get that personal with her new boss.
"Talk, Lopez," Miller instructed, "It's cheap therapy."
She sighed then finally answered, "That obvious, huh?"
"New romance?" Miller teased, playfully kicking her knee with the tip of his kitten-eaten shoe.
"Old romance actually," Santana confessed.
"Ohhhh…," Miller leaned further back and jokingly scoffed, "Even worse."
"So what's the story?"
"It's my wife…we're, I don't know…separated?"
"Are you asking me?" Miller pointed to himself and took another sip of coffee, urging, "Continue."
"Brittany…my wife. She moved out a few weeks back," Santana revealed, "It was mostly…it was all…my fault really."
"Hey, don't be so rough on yourself…."
She cut him off with a brush of her hand, "No, really…the blame is mine. I imploded and made a mess of everything. She deserved better than I gave her, on so many levels."
"Have you told her that?"
"Not in so many words. There is a lot of hurt to work through," Santana admitted, "She seems to be enjoying the single life right now."
"Ouch," Miller sighed, "Is she dating someone?"
Santana had not thought much about what Brittany might be doing in her free time. She just assumed her wife went to work then home then work again. "I hope not," Santana said sadly.
"She is living with her choreographer right now. An older guy."
"Interesting," Miller stated, "Anything between them?"
"No," Santana told him emphatically, "She's known Dom for a long time. He's like an uncle."
"Do you think she wants to make the marriage work?"
"Yes…I get the feeling she does," Santana replied, thinking back to their night together earlier in the week. The two had texted back and forth a few times since then, but Santana kept hoping Brittany would call, wanting to talk about them, about their marriage, about a future together. That is why she kept jumping to answer every buzz that came through on her cell phone.
"So do something about it," Miller suggested.
"Like what?" Santana asked, opened to any idea.
"Call her up and ask her out," he said matter-of-factly with a shrug.
"A date?" This made Santana chuckle boldly.
"Why not? You know what she likes, right?"
"I guess so," the Latina answered.
"So use what you know…plan something and ask her out," Miller said as if it were obvious, "Don't make it complicated, Lopez."
"Is this how you wooed your wife?" Santana teased.
"Yep…both of them," Miller gave her a giant grin.
7:08pm
Quinn Fabray stood up from the fabric-covered seat, situated in the third row of the SoHo Playhouse. The building that had become her home away from home since she moved to NYC. The theater was deep into production planning and staging for their new season. The troop was starting with a two-act play written by a local playwright, and they were already garnering media attention.
Stepping out of the row into the aisle, Quinn bent over slightly then stood up tall to stretch her aching back, using both hands to massage her side muscles.
"How long are you planning on holding out?" Ellen Gardner asked, approaching from the back of the theater.
"Tonight…or just in general?" Quinn laughed, "Because I ask myself that every hour as my butt gets more and more numb."
"You sound tired, my dear," the older theater director told the younger blonde.
"I'm hanging in there, I promise," she assured her boss, "Staging is going well this week."
"Good. I approved Desiree's costume changes," Ellen advised.
"Excellent." Quinn took a swig of water from her jug, knowing it would only speed up her next trek to the restroom, but knowing her doctor advised her at their last visit to stay hydrated.
Even though this was Quinn's second pregnancy, and she was only four months into it, she could admit it was not as simple as her first one when she was a teenager. Adding twelve years plus the hustle of work and family life, Quinn was genuinely exhausted at the end of every day.
Ellen watched the body-language of her new assistant. "Let's talk more in the morning when you get here," she advised, "You head home now while you can still stand up."
Hiring an unproven, young woman to run the day to day of an off-Broadway theater was a risk Ellen was audacious enough to take. She made determined decisions based on gut instinct, and she was immediately impressed with Quinn's talent and progress at Yale.
Ellen's decision allowed her to start stepping back as she approached sixty, and she could already sense that Quinn Fabray was a perfect fit for the playhouse. However, the aging woman was certainly not expecting her new-hire to announce that she was pregnant straightaway. Ellen was a tenacious woman who had worked hard to achieve all she had in the New York theater world, giving up many personal indulgences along the way.
There had been no time for relationships, even friendships mostly faded over the years. Ellen certainly could not be anchored to any consistent home life that a child required. At fifty-nine, Ellen Gardner had only three or four cherished friends, the reputation of this theater, and her beloved Lhasa Apso, Earnest, named after the Oscar Wilde play.
"Thanks, Ellen" the younger woman said as she packed up her bag and water bottle, grabbing her jacket off of a nearby seat, "See you in the morning."
Thursday, November 17, 2022
12:33am
Brittany finished brushing her teeth, rinsing her toothbrush and setting it back in the ornate silver holder of Dominic's extra bathroom. She was still feeling the extra fatigue her body held onto all day from drinking with friends the night before. The twenty-eight-year-old dancer was convinced that thirty was the new forty when it came to drinking.
Even when she was twenty-five, she could drink until the bars closed, grab an hour of sleep on the couch, and still jump up to conquer the day with no hang-over.
"Ugh," Brittany frowned at her image in the oversized bathroom mirror, surrounded by its theater-style lighting. Tonight, she looked completely drained. She filled a glass from the counter with water and drank it with one gulp.
Tossing her dirty clothes into a hamper inside her bedroom, she pulled on a clean t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks then climbed into her soft bed, pulling up several layers of blankets. Her eyes had just closed when the phone on her nightstand buzzed.
"Hello," Brittany answered without hesitation.
"Hi," Santana said sweetly.
Author's note:
Thank you for continuing to read. I appreciate your comments, so please keep them coming if you actually want me to finish this story.