Samantha’s laugh is genuine as she cries out, “That’s exactly how she looked!”
“She had that a lot during the end of our run.”
As I listen to Sam say, “I still can’t believe they didn’t hire her to stay on with you guys when the company changed musicals,” I glance over to Ines as she glares at me from the barstool I left her on. She adjusts her weight and focuses on the hot bartender as her index finger gracefully demands another drink be delivered so that she can deal with the fact that I’m talking to my American friend. Again. It’s a constant source of conflict.
Why do you need to call this girl?
I told her I would.
That’s not good enough.
She’s my best friend.
What am I?
You’re my girlfriend.
I want to be both!
I explain to Samantha, “They saw the numbers were dropping, ticket sales were blamed on her. They had to blame somebody. Plus, Guilford, the new choreographer I told you about, is super hot in Europe. They said that this production would make history and they wanted new blood. She didn’t have a chance.”
There’s a beat before Sam cautiously asks, “Was she okay with that?”
“She saw the ax coming.”
“Logan, can you hear yourself?”
I straighten my back, voice hardening. “What? This is how it is. She kept trying to breathe life into a dead show because she didn’t believe that something new would take hold like this one has. Guilford saw his chance and he took it.”
“Max and Natalie had their boy. Guess what they named him?”
“What?”
“Logan.”
It takes me a minute before I break into a laugh that’s born from relief I didn’t know I needed. The family hasn’t forgotten about me. “Are you kidding?”
“He insists it’s not because of you.”
“Max did that? I’ll reach out to him online.”
“He’ll deny it. Lexi told him it was rude since you’re so far away.”
My smile fades. “Why did she say that?”
“I’m sorry, just a few more minutes,” Samantha intimately says to someone else in the room.
Confused, I ask, “Who’s that? Where are you right now?”
“It never occurred to you to ask, did it?” she laughs uncomfortably.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your life is so fabulous that you never ask what's happening in mine anymore.”
I stare at a grey, stone wall that’s been here for centuries, mind racing over past conversations to see if she’s right. “It’s been two-sided. I’m always asking what’s going on in your life.”
She is all gentle compassion. “Do you really believe that, Logan?”
Raking my long hair back, I search the past again, but find certainty impossible. “Yeah. I do. I know all about…”
“Logan, it’s okay. I’m teaching children how to dance and really be who they are. That’s all you need to know.”
“I know where the studio is!”
“I told you that almost three months ago. You’ve heard no stories since then. But it’s okay. It’s not as exciting as running with the bulls in Pamplona.”
I frown, “Who is with you right now?”
There’s a hesitation. “Steven. I’m with Steven. I was going to tell you about him last Monday. The timing never seemed right, and our phone call was so rushed.”
And one-sided hangs in the air, unsaid.
The bar froze at the name Steven. Time no longer has power.
My voice deepens. “Is this your boyfriend?”
Ines is a statue. There’s a stream of liquid from the shaker suspended above a glass.
“How did you meet him? Have you…”
Slept with him?
Told him you love him?
“He been to one of your BBQs?”
“It’s too early for that,” she replies, voice quieted so he can’t hear.
“How early?”
“A month.”
“Has Lexi met him?”
“Of course.”
“Caden?”
“Yes.”
My eyes close. “Your parents?”
There is silence until finally Samantha says, “Not yet.”
I glance to my girlfriend, and the room animates once more as I mutter, “Good,” though I don’t know what gives me the right. Logical or not, if she would’ve told me that Jason and Sarah had met this new guy this soon, I might’ve gotten on a plane. He’d be the one. The instinct took over.
Ines dismounts the barstool, her eyes locked with mine and she balances a full martini glass made for her by a bartender hoping he’ll get lucky.
She’s a beautiful girl, incredibly sensual, and way out of my league. She knows that. It’s why my friendship with Sam confuses her so much.
Sultry eyes are scanning mine as she raises her voice over loud music and the conversations of strangers, “I’m going to finish this drink and then I want to go home and fuck you.”
I wince and turn away.
Samantha says, “Look, Logan, it sounds like someone is getting jealous.”
With a horrified laugh, I rake back my hair and ask, “You heard that?”
“Anybody could hear that,” she says with a smile in her tone. “I’ll talk to you next Monday, okay?”
She wants to be reassured that nothing has changed between us, even though everything has. I hear the voice of her new whatever-the-hell-he-is in the background. It makes me frown and rush to ask, “You want that?”
Misunderstanding the question, she says, “I want to talk to you every Monday for the rest of my life. If we can keep that up is another thing. But let’s try, okay? I have to go, Logan.”
“Right,” I mutter, rubbing my face. “Talk next week.”
“Okay.” The line goes dead.
When I asked, you want that, I meant, do you want to be in a relationship with this guy?
Sam has a boyfriend who’s there with her on a Monday. The concept is as foreign as all of the countries I’ve been to since I last saw her face.
I’m a hypocrite.
That’s what I am.
But I hadn’t realized how small a tight rope we were walking on. Can we keep up our weekly ritual? I know the passive-aggressive guilt I get from Ines.
And she’s French!
How will this guy act?
Men from the south won’t tolerate another guy near their woman. Just like I don’t like the idea of him being near her, regardless of the fact that Samantha and I are not in
