Fix It for Us (5 page)

             
“Yeah,” I agree, “I am in no way complaining over here, but that was kind of … intense.  What happened to spark that?”

             
Davis rolls up onto one elbow facing me, his head on his hand.  “I was sitting there in the clinic, waiting for you to come out.  I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing you, holding you when you got out.  Worrying a bit about your appointment.  Wondering how you were.  I remembered that it was about this time last year that Neil started pursuing you.”  He was thinking about me while
I
was wondering how his appointment was going.  Funny.

             
“Mavis, that’s so weird. 
I
was sort of thinking about the same thing.”

             
An instant frown changes his previously relaxed face.  He pinches his eyebrows together and lines of concern form.  I see uncertainty in his eyes. “And?”  he asks.

             
“No need to frown,” I run my fingers up to smooth away the lines between his brows, “I was thinking how much you must actually care … love… me, to make that appointment for us.  Us.”  I pause a moment to consider how to explain.  “Neil, God I hate to even say his name, NEVER thought of anything but himself.  Not me.  Not US.  Because to him there was no US.”  I am pleased to see the frown leave Davis’ face.  He reaches over to stroke a piece of my hair away from my face and trace his finger down my jaw to my lips.

             
“I used to be like Neil.”  There is audible sadness in his voice.

I shake my head in disagreement.
  “You are NOTHING like him.  Neil never cared for me like you do.  He didn’t.  Ever.  He dumped me.  Dumped me when Robyn turned up pregnant.  Dumped me with Randall to fend for myself.”  The last thought causes me to shudder.

             
“You cold?”  Davis asks and pulls the blanket up around me.  He doesn’t know what the shudder was about – that it wasn’t from a chill.  At least not an external one.  Something nagging at the back of my brain has made me shiver.

             
I cover, “A little.”

             
“We’re good, right, Lizard?”  Davis asks.

             
I reassure him, “Mavis, we are more… than… good.”  I kiss him in between words.

             
Inside, I still question how we are going to be.  As a couple.  As individuals.  How are we going to be together and not become obsessive and consumed by each other.  It’s impossible to be together all the time.  I don’t know how Davis feels, but I want to be with him
all the time
.

             
When I voice my concerns, he is nothing but positive.  He tells me he feels the same – he wants to be with me all the time, too.  Good, so it’s not just me that is swept up.  Davis tells me it will work out.  We’ll hang out at the dorms when we need to and go to his place when I have nights off.  We can’t plan everything, he says.  We have to let it happen.  But I just want to know him better.  Jeez, we’ve discussed birth control, but I don’t know his favorite movie or color or ice cream.  He again reassures me that we have time, and that the answers to those questions are, The Hangover, blue and chocolate.  I store the information.

             
The remainder of January flies by, just as Davis said it would.  He was most happy seven days after visiting the clinic.  We ran away to his condo and he did finally get me naked – in every way.

Chapter 2-FEBRUARY

             
I went to my first audition for Once Upon A Mattress four days ago.  It must have gone well because two days ago, they called me back to read for all the female leads, sing a bit more and dance.  Of the three, dancing is probably my weakest area.  I love to dance, I’m just not good.  Not terrible, just not great, you know? I have danced in choruses of musicals.  My saving grace may be is that this particular musical is a comedy – so if it’s comedic dancing, I can probably handle it.  I felt good about my readings.  I enjoyed reading the part of Fred the princess the most, and I might not have the dancing chops for Larkin.  And now… now, I am in limbo.  It’s the waiting period until the cast list comes up.  In most cases, the list is posted within 24 to 48 hours.  We are over 48 right now.

             
I’m heading back to my dorm room after my last class on Friday afternoon, fretting about casting and trying to remain calm.  Whatever happens, happens, right?  As I reach my floor, the text alert sounds on my phone.  It’s Davis.

Where are you?

I text back

About to walk into my room.  Where are you?

He replies             

I think you need to come over to the theatre right now.  It’s a bit of an emergency.

              I think about the cast list being posted, but that’s not an emergency.  Something must really be wrong.

Me: 
Are you OK?  What’s wrong?

Davis:
I
am fine.  Just get over here.  It’s really urgent.
 

Me: 
On my way

             
I open my door very quickly and throw my books onto my desk in a flurry of movement.  An emergency?  Is someone sick?  Did someone get hurt?  Who would be there now, on a Friday afternoon with no show in rehearsal?  Everyone should be heading out to Happy Hour.  PJ.  PJ is always there.  Something’s wrong with PJ.

             
It isn’t far to the theatre, only about two blocks.  As I enter through one of the stage doors, I realize I have no idea where Davis and the emergency might be.  Then I hear voices, lots of voices, loud ones.  There is a good deal of cheer and joy in them.  Doesn’t sound like an emergency to me.  I spy Davis, as he emerges from the center of the crowd.

             
“What is it?” I ask.  “Is it a fight or something?”

             
Davis isn’t smiling.  He actually looks sort of serious.  He approaches me and turns me around.  I am doing my squirrel chatter, firing a million questions at him, “Is everything all right?  You seem okay.  Is it PJ?  Where is he?”  He answers none of my questions and proceeds to blindfold me. 

I resist slightly, until he whispers in my ear.  “Quiet, you are turning me on with all the questions.  Just let me blindfold you.  You won’t be sorry.”  This is getting a little weird.  There are a bunch of people in close proximity.  I notice it’s gotten quieter, with only the faintest of whispers.  I can’t make out what anyone is saying.  Davis turns me back around and with a hand on each shoulder, guides me toward the whispers.  When he stops me, I can feel people around me.  Their warmth, their breath.  I am feeling a little panicky and claustrophobic. 

Annoyed, I bite out, “Davis, what was so damn urgent?”

He
laughs and then everyone else joins in.  I swear I hear PJ’s guffaw.   “Lizard, it was
urgent
that you see … THIS.”  He whips off the blindfold and as my vision comes into focus I see I am standing in front of the cast list.  I read down quickly to where Davis is pointing. 

PRINCESS WINIFRED……………Elizabeth Connelly

I swear I’ve only done it once before in my life, but I feel my eyes bug out and my hand go up to my opened mouth.  “I… I got it.  I got Fred.”  I am caught up in a sea of congratulatory kisses, hugs and well wishes.  Reality sets in.  “Oh my God, I got Fred!” I am going to have a lot of work to do.  Carrying a show.  Huge responsibility.

I am a bit confused about the emergency part.  I have to ask. “Mavis, I understand the urgent part, but why was this an emergency?”

The crowd laughs. 

PJ
steps up and wraps his arm around my shoulder, “It was an emergency because Davis threatened anyone who called or texted you the news, with bad lighting for the rest of their college career.  Actor’s Emergency.”

“Well, that
is
a pretty serious threat.”  I giggle.  I turn to Davis, who hasn’t said a word since the reveal.  His smile is huge.  His eyes damp, from crying or laughing or both, I guess.  “Thank you for making sure I saw it myself first.”

Scooping me up in his arms and leaning
down to kiss me, he whispers into my mouth, “Congratulations, baby.  You are going to be a terrific Princess Fred, Lizard.” 

At this particular moment, I can only think of one time I
’ve been happier.  That was with Davis, too – when he asked me to marry him after our extended weekend of making love.

Rehearsals start in
a week.  Davis and I go to pick up my script from the theatre department office.  PJ follows us and explains that since I will now have rehearsals, I won’t be responsible for the management of the costume shop this semester.  My theatre job will be given to someone else.  It saddens me a bit because I really like hanging out with PJ.  The good news is that for Once Upon A Mattress, PJ is doing costumes and Davis is designing lights. They have brought in an alum of the Weldon theatre program, Owen Fox, to direct. I met Owen at auditions.  He is talented and charismatic.  A terrific musical theatre performer, he’s been on Broadway a number of times.  Two years ago he was nominated for a Tony award.  It’s a huge deal for us theatre students to work with him.  I have my work cut out for me.  And what’s really cool is that I am not feeling panic or the need to use my mantra right now.   I believe I can do it.  That’s huge too.

I have one week to wrap my head around this big role before I jump into it.  I
plan to take the time to familiarize myself with the script in general, but also to figure out how I am going to balance my classwork, RA duties and not least of all…Davis, with this new challenge. 

Davis and I
celebrate semi-privately in my room in Lawrence Hall after seeing the cast list.  It’s Friday night and I am, unfortunately, on call.  I would much rather escape to Davis’ condo, but I have a job to do.  It’s not so bad.  Tonight we’ll stay in and talk about Mattress and eat dinner and…. And tomorrow we’ll go to his place, have some time alone and then go to HeartSmash.

***

We are parked in the underground garage at Davis’ condo.  The ride over was nothing remarkable. We listened to music and talked about Boxwood and HeartSmash and our costumes, but since pulling into the parking space, Davis has become very quiet.  Still.   

Looking straight ahead at the wall in front of the car, he heaves a rather large sigh and finally speaks, “Lizard?”

His sudden quiet sets me a bit on edge.  I notice him looking at the little silver Mercedes sports car in the spot next to him.  I’ve never seen it before.  “What?  What’s wrong, sweetie?” I ask.

Davis runs his hands back and forth across the steering wheel, still not looking at me.  Then he scrubs his face with both hands and finally turns to me to say,
“You may not feel like calling me sweetie in a minute.  I think I may have done something stupid.”

I try to stay positive by replying, “I highly doubt that.”

“Um. Wait ‘til I tell you before you decide … You see the little Mercedes in the parking spot right next to me.  Um … It’s Kathleen’s,” I freeze.  Maybe he
isn’t
a sweetie. “I invited her to come stay with us… this weekend.”

Kathleen. 
Davis’ ex-fiancée.   I say nothing.  On one hand, I absolutely hate the idea and want to scream at Davis.  It’s OUR weekend.  Our only weekend for quite a while now that we are going into production.  And why is he just telling me now? He had to have known for a while.  On the other hand, Kathleen has been nothing but nice to me and she HAS helped Davis in the past.  I have many thoughts, arguments and protestations swirling about in my head, but eventually settle on a rational response, “Well, why is she here?”

“She had
an interview with Arch Scene magazine for a position in their fashion and society department,” Davis replies, “I’m so sorry.  I agreed a few weeks ago.  I have extra room and it seemed silly for her to stay in a hotel.  I guess, I forgot all about it at the time and this week you were auditioning and every time I thought to tell you, I just couldn’t.  I thought it might distract you.”

I don’t really know what to say, so I smile and say nothing and get out of the car.  I move to the back of the Escalade to retrieve my bag and costume for the party tonight.  Davis has jum
ped out of his side and meets me at the back.  He clicks the lock open with the remote.

“Are you mad? Upset? Say something” he implores.

“I don’t know what to say yet.”

“She’s only staying until tomorrow morning.  She had her interview today.”  He pauses and says the next thing tentatively,  “And…
I invited her to go to HeartSmash… with us.”  He has a pained grin on his face, like he is waiting for me to let loose on him.  I sort of want to.  What is this, Sister Wives?  I don’t want to share him.  “If it helps at all, I asked Smitty to come over and go with us.  Be Kathleen’s escort for the night.”

Davis’ words strike me as funny and pushing down the irritation and upset I say, “I hop
e you didn’t use the word
Escort
when you asked Smitty this favor.  He’ll totally take it the wrong way.  Get all American Gigolo on us.”  Humor – my defense mechanism. 

“I don’t think I did.  Oh G
od, I hope I didn’t.”  Davis laughs.  “So you’re not too angry?”

“It’s going to be weird.
” I tell him,  “You can’t think it’s not going to be weird, right?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking … it’s going to be weird.”

***

As we come through the front door to Davis’ condo, he yells out, “Kath … Kathleen? You here?”

I hear something, a door or drawer or something, close.  “Um, yeah, in the kitchen.”  Kathleen replies.

We walk together toward the kitchen.  Davis moves quickly around the island toward Kathleen, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  I stand on the other side and
, seeing her face over his shoulder, I wave and with a strained voice that sounds like I am about to cry, say, “Hey, Kathleen.”  Then I turn and head for Davis’ bedroom.   Why did my voice sound like that?  I am trying to not be upset.  After all, they’re not together.  I’m with Davis now.  But there is a lot of history there.  And why did he forget to tell me she was coming?

Not yet to the door of Davis’ bedroom I hear them talking.

Kathleen admonishes Davis, “Davis, you didn’t tell her I was coming, did you?”

“I did.  But …
not until just now.”  I hear him sheepishly confess.

“
You
, my friend, are an asshole.” Kathleen laughs.  Hearing her say that makes me a little less upset.

“I know.”  Davis sounds resigned.

I don’t listen to any more.  I need some time to myself to process the change in what I was envisioning for my weekend.  Unpacking my overnight bag, I put my toiletries in the en-suite bathroom, shove the bag with my clothes next to the dresser and hang up the garment bag with my costume for HeartSmash tonight.  I sit down on the bed to think and decide to call Jules.  She’ll have perspective.  I’m so relieved that I don’t have to leave a message when she picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, Biz … what’s going on?  All ready for tonight?” Jules’ voice is chipper and bright.

“Yeah, I’ve got my costume.  I’m here at Davis’. Gonna get ready soon.”

She c
lues in on my less than enthusiastic response, “What’s wrong?”

I tell her about how I thought my weekend would go.  I would get all dolled up in my Roaring 20’s garb and so would Davis.  We’d look
dapper and dangerous and go out for a fun night with friends and then have the rest of the evening and weekend alone together.  But then, Kathleen happened.   And it’s not her fault.  It’s Davis’.  I don’t want to drag the pouting out, but I also don’t want him to think I think it’s great.  I tell her about Kathleen telling him off.

Jules is reassuring.  “It sounds like Kathleen may be taking care of this for you if she’s alread
y called him an asshole.  By the way, I totally agree with her.  He is.”

“Yeah.”

“Go out there and greet Kathleen.  Between the two of you Davis will learn his lesson.”

“Thanks for listening.  I’m not being a baby about this
, am I?  This is weird, right? Like an awkward position to be put in?” I quiz for approval.

“Yes.  Now, go.”

I hear Davis and Kathleen, still in the kitchen.  Laughing and joking.  I am just about to round the corner when I hear her say, “Davis – I almost forgot.  Happy Birthday!”