Crazy in Love (14 page)

“Thanks for coming over.” Rachel grinned, a little
sheepishly.

I skipped home that night, feeling like a million dollars.
The evening air was brisk and energetic, electrified with the
promise of frosty winter weather. Life was good, and I felt
exhilarated. Even the fact that poor Saul was still out in the
cold, tossed aside and forgotten like Don Quixote, didn’t seem
important, at least for the moment. All that mattered
was one simple fact: Rachel and I were friends again!

I love giving parties. The best part isn’t even actually having
them.  It’s spending days planning and making lists and
shopping and rearranging furniture. And just when you’re
convinced that there’s not enough time to get everything
done, it’s the night of the party and the whole thing just falls
into place.

That week turned out to be a busy one. Besides the party, there was the matter of the song for the contest. I mean, the
whole purpose of Friday night’s gathering was to present the
world with this remarkable new musical creation, and come
Wednesday, there was still no creation to speak of. A state
of panic had set in.

“Saul,” I whined over the phone after school, “I know we’re both supposed to be working on our song, but I just
can’t seem to get inspired. I’m suffering from writer’s
block. Please, you’ve got to come over tonight so we can
work on the song!”

“Relax,” came Saul’s steady voice over the wire. “Our
song is done.”

“It’s finished? You mean you’ve written the lyrics already?” I was torn between a great sense of relief and the
chagrined realization that our brainchild had been com
pleted without me. What had happened to our team spirit?

“Well, not exactly. It’s still rough around the edges. It
needs some more work.”

“How much more?” I was starting to feel a little better.

“I’ll bet you and I, working together, could whip it into
shape in a couple of hours. It definitely needs an outside
opinion, though. I can’t quite get it to fit together. It’s crying
out for your touch.”

All of a sudden I felt important. “Well,” I said
, “how about coming over Friday, early in the evening? I’ve invited a few people over for that night so we
could try our song out on them. We’ll have a few hours
before they show up, and we can work on the song then.
Think that’s enough time?”

“Yeah, that should do it. What time should I come?”

I remembered my instructions to Rachel about coming
over a little early. It was at that point that I realized I hadn’t
yet given up on playing matchmaker. My attempts may
have been halfhearted, but they were nonetheless hopeful.

“People will be coming around eight, so how about six?”

“Fine.”

“Let’s see. That’ll give us two hours ... sounds okay
to me, too. As a matter of fact, you could read me the words
right now, and I can work on them until we get together.”

“Good idea.”

Well, believe me, if I’d been impressed with Saul’s musical creativity before, I was positively bowled over by the set of lyrics he proceeded to recite to me. They were terrific! Of course, they did need some polishing up, but my
mind was already racing with ideas on how to finish the
song off. By the time he was done, I was actually jumping
up and down.

“Saul, we can’t lose! I’m totally floored! They’re terrific!
You’re
terrific! And listen, here’s what we can do. In the
first line
...”

My excitement grew over the next few days because of
two reasons: the fact that the contest was getting closer and closer with each passing minute and the fact that I was certain our magnificent song couldn’t lose. It
became increasingly difficult to function as a normal human being. Doing things like going to school and washing dishes
seemed pointless and mundane. After all, fame and fortune were not only lurking around the corner, they were so close
that I could almost touch them!

The rest of that week dragged on. And then—
finally
—-it
was Friday, dinner was done, the bowls of chips and M&M’s were arranged around the living room. Saul was due at any minute. I was ready for anything and everything as I sat with my guitar on the couch, excited
and nervous.

This whole thing had become so important to me that
even my lavender corduroy overalls weren’t good enough. No, I’d splurged and spent all my Christmas savings— what little there was—to buy myself a new pair of khaki-colored pants expressly to wear at the party and the contest.
The image I conveyed with those pants and a blue-and-
white striped cotton blouse was dignified and serious. The effect was much more suitable for a professional songwriter
than purple corduroy, I was certain.

Saul was on time, in his usual style, although at the sound
of the doorbell I jumped about nine thousand feet. I’d
even lost the will to pair him off with Rachel; that’s how
involved I was in the WROX contest. Saul had become
nothing more than my musical partner. My concerns about
his social life were buried deep beneath my stage fright.

“Hi,” he said calmly, waltzing in and tossing his jacket
onto a chair. “How’s our song?”

“Finished,” I said, trying to sound triumphant but
instead sounding scared. “At least I
think
it’s finished.”

“Sallie,” Saul scolded me, “surely you’re not
nervous,
are you? Look, we can’t lose. You said so yourself.
Tomorrow night you’ve got to get on that stage with the attitude that you’re doing the audience a favor by letting
them hear your song. You’ve got to start believing in
yourself. And in
us,
as a team.”

“I believe.” My meek voice sounded anything but
convincing. Saul sat down on the couch next to me.

“Okay, why don’t you run through the song for me a couple of times so I can hear what you’ve done with it.
Then we can work on our performance technique. I have an idea for an unusual harmony for that part at the beginning.”

My family is well trained. They know when it’s safe to
deal with me, and when it’s in their best interest to lie low. That evening, they must have sensed my anxiety and been
aware of how important the contest was to me,
because they all managed to disappear. I discovered later
that Dad had taken Jenny to a movie, while Mom, who had
volunteered to play the role of unobtrusive chaperon, read
in her bedroom with the door open and one ear cocked toward the living room. As far as the Spooners were
concerned, the apartment was mine for the rest of the
evening.

With no distractions from relatives, I became totally
absorbed in our song. Saul and I ran through it a dozen
times, and then I made him run through it another dozen.
Not only were our entire futures it stake, but tonight all my friends would be judging the very first Spooner-Rodriguez
endeavor. I was becoming more confident, however. My
faith in myself and Saul and our song gradually replaced my
doubts and my stage fright.

Time sped by. When the doorbell rang, I jerked my head
up, surprised at being pulled back into reality.

“Is it eight o’clock already?” I gasped.

“No,” Saul replied, glancing at his watch and looking a
bit disconcerted. “It’s only seven-thirty.”

Then I remembered. “Oh, right, that must be Rachel.”

“Rachel?” Now it was Saul’s turn to look surprised,

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I asked her to come over a lit
tle early tonight. You know, to help out with the party.
Gee, I still have to mix the onion dip, and fill the ice
bucket....”

Saul remained silent. He just plucked at his guitar and
appeared to be uncomfortable. I felt kind of sorry that I had
n’t given him any warning. The bell rang again, and I
jumped up to answer the door.

“Hi, Sallie!” Rachel said breathlessly. She thrust a cookie tin
at me.
“Here. Show-Stopping Brownies. They’re still warm. And I doubled the recipe to make sure you’d have some left
over.”

Her face was flushed, as if she had run over to my house
in the cool autumn evening, and her eyes were bright. Her
attention was focused on her coat buttons. She
fumbled with them as she strolled into the living room. When she finally looked up, she froze dead in her tracks.

“Oh, hi, Saul,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“Hi, Rachel,” he replied in a similar tone.

“I—I didn’t realize you’d be here already.”

“No, and Sallie didn’t mention you’d be coming over early, either.”

“Well,” I said with forced cheerfulness, “since we now
have a cast of thousands present, how about if you guys
help me get ready? I still have a million things to do. Let’s
get started in the kitchen.”

Saul, Rachel, and I made clumsy small talk as we went
about doing odds and ends, those typical party things that
have to be left for the last minute. Perhaps that half hour
before the other guests started arriving was excruciating; I
really have no idea. I was so wrapped up in myself once
again that I was totally uninvolved with the rest of the
world. This time, however, it was the role of hostess for the
elite of New York City—or at least of our high school
class—that was making me jittery. Stage fright had been put on hold for those few minutes I had to try and pull off a successful party. From what I can remember, however, Saul and Rachel were civil to each other. Not belligerent and not
lovey-dovey, just two polite guests up to their elbows in
sour cream.

At precisely 8:05, the doorbell rang. I squealed.

“That doorbell is going to drive me crazy before this
evening is through! Mark my words: they’ll be carting me
away by 8:15. Well, hi there, Sharon! I’m glad you could
make it! Here, let me take your sweater. I’ll just put it in the
bedroom...
.”

I understand that it’s considered chic to be “fashionably
late” in some circles. Not in mine. Perhaps it’s the lure of
food, or maybe I just hang out with a dull crowd ... I
don’t know. What I do know is that by 8:20, the living room
was full and a party was in full swing.

Parties are like everything else in life that provokes apprehension or self-doubt: once they’re under way, once
you see how easy it is, it becomes simple. After I made
certain everyone had a glass of something in one hand and a Show-Stopping Brownie in the other, I began to relax. I turned up the Madonna album that was playing on the stereo
as my little group of friends got more relaxed and more boisterous.

I have to admit, the evening was turning out to be a success. Energy was high, and people did their best to mingle. Even I was having fun, a sure sign of a good party. I forgot to be nervous about the upcoming contest, or even the impending musical debut of our new song. I managed to
devour eight—count ‘me,
eight
—Show-Stoppers, proof
that there were no butterflies taking up space inside my
stomach.

“And you thought you’d be too nervous to eat,” Rachel
kidded me as she watched me stuff one of the heavenly little
tidbits into my mouth.

I chewed, then swallowed. As soon as I could manage to
sound like a human being once again, I said, “You know
I’m your greatest fan. I know no limits as far as Show-
Stoppers are concerned. Ooh, I love the cream cheese part.
It tastes like ice cream.”

“Sallie, is there any particular reason why you invited me
over early tonight?” Rachel scrutinized me so closely that I
started to squirm.

“Why, no. Oh, I see. You think I’m still trying to get you and Saul together. Well, you can rest easy. It was perfectly innocent, I assure you. I was after you for your dip-making
abilities, not your girlish charms.” I shrugged. “One cannot force matters of the heart, can one?”

“No, I guess one can’t.” Rachel munched on a handful
of M&M’s, then turned to me. “Hey, what about your song?
It’s almost 9:30 already. How much longer do we have to
wait for the big preview?”

Instant butterflies. And here I thought I was managing to remain as cool as a cucumber. “Oh, yeah, I suppose
you’re right. Now is as good a time as any. Let me go find
Saul.”

I gulped, then made my way through the cluster of bodies
in my living room, planted together in small groups or
draped across the couch and chairs. I found Saul talking to
Sharon, over in a corner.

“Excuse me, Sharon. Can I steal Saul away? I think it’s
show time.”

“Oh, great!” Sharon cried. “I can’t wait!”

Well, that’s
one
fan, I told myself as I picked up my
guitar and clinked a glass for silence.