Virtuosity (15 page)

But Jeremy liked what he saw anyway, didn’t he? I smiled. He did.

Unless he didn’t. And suddenly there it was, Diana’s voice in my head.
People will do
anything
to win …

“Let’s go over this again,” Heidi said, running the wand through the lashes over my left eye. Her face was uncomfortably close. There was nowhere to look, so I was trying to focus on the crease between her nostril and her cheek rather than stare straight up her nose. “You meet him at five-thirty and take the Red Line to the stadium. The game is six-ten to—I don’t know—nine-thirty? When does your mom’s benefit dinner start?”

“Cocktails at eight, dinner at nine.”

“Hmmm …” She put the mascara back on the table and reached for lipstick. “Dinner at nine and she’s on the organizing committee?”

I nodded.

“Hey, did I give your permission to move your head?” She grabbed a tissue and wiped where the lipstick had smudged. “Benefit dinners go on forever. The earliest she could possibly be out of there is midnight, which means you have to be back here by then. You seriously ruined your lipline with the nodding.”

“Midnight. I can do that, but I don’t think she’ll stop by. She’s been really preoccupied with this dinner. It’s been four days since the name Jeremy King was even spoken in our house. She thinks I believed her when she said he was just trying to mess with my brain before the competition.”

Heidi bit her lip and squirted makeup remover on another tissue. “But you don’t?”

“No. Not after going to that jazz club with him. Maybe I should be thinking about it though.”

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” she said. “Most girls have to worry about guys just being after sex, but you should really be more worried if he isn’t after sex. You just can’t do anything normally, can you?”

I didn’t answer. Sometimes Heidi’s ability to hit the nail on the head hurt.

“What did you tell your mom, by the way? We should probably have our story straight.”

“She thinks we’re going to the game together.”

She raised an eyebrow. “But I’m a Cubs fan.”

“Yeah, but I needed to get the tickets from Clark somehow, and I’m pretty sure Diana doesn’t keep track of the teams you cheer for.”

“Well, I hope the Sox lose.”

“That’s fine with me, as long as I don’t get busted.”

“I’m glad I attacked those eyebrows the minute you walked in the door,” she muttered, rubbing the sore skin above my eye with her thumb. “The redness is just now fading.”

“I can do my own makeup you know.”

“Wrong.” She dipped a makeup brush in powder and swept it over my cheeks. “You never wear makeup unless you’re on stage, and stage makeup makes you look like a transvestite.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You know what I mean. Just from up close.”

I ran my hands over my straightened hair. It felt weird and smooth. “When do I get to look in the mirror?”

“When I’m done.”

I fished my phone out of my purse. It was four fifty-one. “Hopefully that’s soon. I need to go in ten minutes.”

“Wrong again. You have to be late. Trust me, you
don’t want to be there before he comes down. He needs to be standing around wondering if you’re actually going to show up. It puts you in a position of power.”

Power. I was so clueless. Obviously, there were mind game components to relationships I hadn’t even begun to think through. I wasn’t dumb enough to ask Heidi why it couldn’t just be about me liking him and him liking me, but I could think it. “I’ll be late then,” I said.

“Good girl.” Heidi took a bushy makeup brush off her desk, dipped it in a jar of bronzing powder, and gave my face a liberal dusting. Then she took two steps back and put her hands on her hips. “I give one freaking fantastic makeover. Put your boots on and stand up.”

I zipped up the knee-high brown boots, stood, and adjusted the jean skirt. She squinted and grinned. “Go look in the mirror,” she said, gesturing to the full length at the end of her very short hallway.

I turned and studied my reflection, slowly letting out the breath I hadn’t even known I was holding.
Hallelujah, still me!
Somewhere midmakeover I’d started to worry that the finished product was going to look nothing like the original, and that Jeremy would take one look and know I’d spent the entire day primping. But Heidi
was
good. I looked fresh and natura, and my hair looked so … smooth. I ran my hands over it again. It was going to be hard to go back to the fuzzy ponytail.
Maybe I’d just never wash it again. Heidi’s clothes certainly helped—Vera Wang flat boots, a snug indigo-denim mini, a vintage red wraparound sweater tied at my hip.

“Adorable. You look like Selena Gomez. And that skirt is perfect on you. It kind of makes me not want to wear it again,” she said, as she slid a bracelet onto my arm. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a miracle worker.”

“Hardly,” she said, still grinning. “I had good raw material to work with.”

“I love it. Thank you.”

“Good. You can show your appreciation by not spilling mustard on the boots. They cost about half a month’s rent.” She fished around in her front closet and handed me a tailored khaki jacket. “You should go. You know which bus you’re taking to the Drake?”

I nodded.

“And you’ll be back …”

“By midnight,” I said, and grabbed my purse from the couch.

“One more thing.” She put her arm around my shoulder and walked me to the door. “Forget the violin crap and just be have fun.”

I gave her a hug. “I’ll try.”

* * *

The bus that took me from Heidi’s to the Drake lurched and squealed like a drunk pig. My stop was still two away, but I stood and made my way to the exit, clinging to each safety bar as I went. I was starting to feel motion sick and Heidi was right. Being early would be a mistake.

I stepped off the bus and into a cloud of tulips. I’d forgotten about Tulip Days. Every April hundreds of thousands of tulips bloom overnight on Michigan Avenue. The explosion of crimson and tangerine was even more dizzying than the bus, a sea of rippling red heads bobbing around me.

I wove through clusters of shoppers and tulips, noting Diana’s favorites as I passed them: Saks Fifth Avenue, La Perla, Tiffany & Co., Ralph Lauren, Gucci, Louis Vuitton—Michigan Avenue was high-end retail paradise.

Then up ahead the Gothic facade of Fourth Presbyterian Church appeared, and I remembered the hidden courtyard. I’d played concerts at the church before, but I’d never been there without my violin. Never alone.

I checked the time. It was 5:18 and the Drake was only a block up. I crossed over and slipped under the graceful stone archway that led into the courtyard. It was empty. Stillness weighted the air. I walked slowly to the fountain and surveyed the space around me. Emerald green ivy blanketed the stone walls, growing up to the sky. It
looked so vibrant I reached out and touched a leaf with my fingers. It was warm from the sun. That ivy worked a kind of magic on my nerves, absorbing the sounds of traffic and shoppers on the other side of the wall. Just a few feet away, they didn’t exist.

My purse buzzed, bringing me back.
Don’t be Jeremy,
I prayed.
Don’t be calling to cancel.
I dug for my phone and raced to come up with a response for if he was and how to sound completely indifferent about it, or maybe even beat him to it and cancel first. My finger was on the talk button, ready to press it, when I glanced down at the screen.

Diana’s cell.

I exhaled shakily.

It could be worse. I could already be at the game. If I was with Jeremy, he’d hear me lying to my mother and start wondering why he was hanging out with a twelve-year-old. The phone buzzed again. What would I say if she wanted to talk to Heidi?
She’s in the bathroom.
And what if she wanted to stop by for some reason on her way to the benefit?
We’re on our way out for dinner.
Maybe. It buzzed again. Next time it would go to voicemail. That could worry her enough to send her straight to Heidi’s. I pressed talk.

“Hi.” My voice was at least two whole tones higher than normal.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good. What exactly are you two planning on for tonight?”

“Dinner, then the game.”

“Great. Can I talk to Heidi for a sec?”

My heart thumped. I took a deep breath. “Uh, she’s in the bathroom.”

There was a short pause then in the same careless voice, “Is that why she can’t talk? Or is it because she’s in her apartment and you’re nowhere near there?”

In all my musing on the nature of God, on whether He existed or not, I sometimes forgot there was another option:
Diana was God.
How else could she be so freaking omniscient?

“I’m assuming Heidi coached you on the bathroom excuse since that’s exactly where she said
you
were when I called her apartment a minute ago.”

I groaned. Heidi hadn’t even coached me on the excuse! Why was it so hard for her to believe I thought for myself occasionally?

“Where are you?” The tone was all business.

I looked up at the web of ivy. Early evening sun had warmed the stone beneath it to a pinkish brown. Had she already squeezed the answer out of Heidi? “Church,” I answered.

“What?”

She would be picturing Saint Clements Holy Catholic Church, the church we faithfully ignored fifty Sundays of the year. (Face time on Easter and Christmas seemed like plenty.) Why correct her?

“Why would you be at church? Am I really supposed to believe that? Are you with Jeremy King?”

If Heidi had told her I was seeing Jeremy, lying would be pointless. She might be trying to trap me. But I wasn’t with Jeremy. Yet.

“No.”

“I don’t believe you. And you’re sure as hell not at church either. What are you thinking, Carmen?” Her voice cracked over my name. She waited, though the question was obviously rhetorical. What I was thinking had certainly never been of any interest to her before. When she continued, her voice was quiet again, but still just as agitated. “I thought you understood our discussion about Jeremy’s motives. I guess I was wrong.”

“You
were
wrong,” I said, “but not about me. About him.” Whose voice was that? She sounded like me, but with a spine.

I could just picture Diana’s little nostrils flaring. “If you’re going to disregard my advice as your mother that’s fine, but as your manager, I’m ordering you to stop being an idiot and get home.”

Or else? The absence of a threat was insulting. Was I
supposed to obey just because she was angry and because I always did what I was told?

My eyes followed a shoot of ivy as it twisted and climbed skyward over the stones. I could call Jeremy and make up an excuse. Or tell him the truth. At that point, it wouldn’t matter. I could walk out to Michigan Avenue, hail a cab and be home in fifteen minutes, practice an hour or two, and be in bed by nine.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Carmen—”

“No. I’ve got plans. I’ll be back at Heidi’s around midnight, and I’ll be home tomorrow morning.”

I hung up before I had the chance to hear her response.

I powered off my phone.

Chapter 13

I
was starting to worry.” Jeremy grinned and leaned back in his chair under the red Lavazza umbrella. He didn’t look worried. His hair was wind whipped, and his sleeves were pushed up. In front of him sat a glass, empty except for a small chocolate puddle at the bottom, atop a half-finished crossword puzzle. “I’m falling in love with this place,” he said, and gestured back toward the shop.

Along with a jewelry store and a handful of expensive boutiques, Lavazza sat beneath the hotel lobby, opening onto the street. Behind Jeremy, the Drake’s awning fluttered and a doorman stood sentinel by glass rotating doors.

“My grandparents stay at the Drake when they come to Chicago,” I said. “I’ve eaten at the restaurant inside but never here before.” I looked through the window at the tubs of glossy gelato, and pretended not to notice that he was staring at me.

“Sorbetto cremespresso,” he said and tapped his pencil against the empty glass. “I’m addicted. It’s probably just melted coffee ice cream, but they can charge double with a name like that.” He stood and slid the pencil into his back pocket. He looked good in jeans and a rugby shirt, long and muscular.

“You look different,” he said, squinting.

The un-compliment. My least favorite. “Thanks. I’ve always wanted to be told I looked different. Are you ready to go?”

“Your hair,” he said. “It’s straight.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes I straighten it.” He didn’t need to know that the first of those sometimes was today. I checked the V-neck of my sweater to make sure my bra wasn’t showing, feeling suddenly like a Barbie doll someone else had dressed up.

“So how do we get there?” he asked.

“The Red Line.”

“Lead the way,” he said, tossing his crossword puzzle into the pile of café newspapers.

We walked side by side, but at completely different
gaits, my legs taking three steps for every two of his. He didn’t seem to notice.

“So, have you been pretty busy the last couple of days?” I said. Ouch, that sounded desperate. Why hadn’t I just lead with,
Why haven’t you called me?

He shrugged.

With all the anticipation, and Heidi’s primping, and replaying the first kiss and then the second kiss every ten minutes for the last few days, I hadn’t planned for awkwardness. That was dumb. I should have been writing up and memorizing lists of potential conversation topics.

I shouldn’t have flushed all my Inderal. If I could take just one, this jittery feeling in my gut would be gone.

I glanced over at him. His hands were in his pockets and he was whistling something familiar. Maybe the awkwardness was only in my head. I leaned in to hear the tune.

“Brahms Sonata in G Major,” I said, finally recognizing it. “Is that part of your semifinals program?”

He stopped whistling. “I don’t want to talk violin.”

Nope. Awkwardness not just in my head. We reached the corner and waited with the other pedestrians to cross. Abruptly, he turned to me and I saw the angry red line on the left side of his jaw from practicing. It looked sore.