14

Erik

She sat on the chair I brought out especially for her, rummaging through her messenger bag to find the notes she took on tonight's rehearsal. "Here they are," she finally said. She slid them on my desk. "Overall, a good rehearsal. No distractions…except Barry was acting weird and my aunt texted me. Kids were behaving." She produced her cell phone from her pocket. "I recorded the opening number for you to see, 'cause you wanted to have a part in it and stuff." She pressed a few areas and handed it to me. The critic in me that awakened, and he was upset. It wasn't the worst dancing I'd ever seen and I tried to be sympathetic because of their ages, but she gave me the opportunity to make a difference and I did. I took the liberty of not returning the phone before it ended. When it was done, I looked up at her and she said immediately, "How much do you hate it?" Could she really see right through me? She sighed and said, "Look, I don't know anything about dancing. Like, the moves for A Chorus Line were so basic that my pugs could do them. Barry…isn't the king of choreography. Neither am I so…what do you propose we do?"

I didn't know either off the top of my head, but I could figure it out. "Would you give me the night to think about it?"

"Yeah, sure," she said. "Uh, I could upload it on my computer and email it to you so you can see it a few more times to refer."

I chortled. "That won't be necessary."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Excuse me, but you're…amazing. Are you absolutely sure you can remember every screw up?"

After all those years watching from the lofts above the stage at the Opera Populaire, I knew how to memorize things. Also because this was my show, and I had seen it the way I liked it once before. "Yes, I am."

She nodded. "Good for you. To be honest, Mr. Y, I'm a little…weirded out by your mysteriousness. Like, it eats me a little and by the show I'm just going to be a bag of bones."

"When is the show? Did you say?" I asked.

"The weekend before winter break," she replied. "We get the last two weeks in December off, so yeah. That would be…" she muttered and counted with her fingers.

"The week of December eighth?"

"Yeah, like ten weeks. All the time in the world," she said.

The Opera Populaire never spent more than a month rehearsing. Perhaps because it was a full-time job for the cast and crew. To compare these children to the professionals and "professionals" would be inappropriate.

"You can call me tomorrow after three ten, or," she said. "You can call me during lunch, but it has to be between twelve'oh'five and twelve fifty. Don't want my phone ringing in English class. I'll eat in Barry's room and he'll probably be happy to talk with you about the dancing." She chortled. "If he doesn't pass out by fangirling too much. He sees the show a lot."

"Have you…told him much about me?" I asked, hoping she didn't.

"Tempting, but no," she replied. "Just doing what you told me to, and the school hasn't burned down yet so I guess there won't be a problem."

I tried to summon a laugh with her but couldn't. She didn't seem to notice because she continued, "Anyway, if there's nothing else you wanted to discuss, I should head home and let the dogs out…and do my math homework."

There was nothing business related, so I had to let her go. Besides, I also had some work to do. She stood up, holding the strap to her messenger bag. The strap fell off and spilled papers and books and a binder. "Crap," she grunted.

"Let me help you," I said, rising from my chair. We put it all back in and when she stood up again, the seam ripped and more things poured out. Nicole groaned. "God damn it…I've had this since tenth grade but expected more from it." She gathered all that she could carry and I took the rest. "I'll bring these to your car for you," I told her.

"Thanks," she said with a smile.

I followed her down the hallways to the parking lot behind the theater. She had a two-door car that wasn't brand new but in good enough shape. She opened the passenger door and put the things she carried on the passenger seat and stepped back. "You can just put that stuff on top." I did.

She closed the door and said, "Anyway, thanks for talking with me. I think this is gonna be a good partnership."

"Yes," I agreed. "You'll hear from me soon."

"Good," she said. "Bye." She got in her car and I watched her drive away.

When I returned to the office, I found a sheet of paper under the chair she sat on. Something we must have missed. I picked it up and turned it over. It was a detailed drawing of my masked face. I looked at my transparent reflection from the glass covering a bookcase and back at the drawing. A spitting image, but somehow the drawing was better. In the right hand corner, I noticed when I looked a third time, she wrote Mister Y=Mystery. Was she onto me? Was she…interested in me? My thoughts debated so much that I couldn't focus on going to my comfort zone through the secret passage. When I did get there, I immediately put the drawing in the Memory Box in case I needed it. Someone found me in the least bit attractive. It was a relishing thought I never dreamed possible.