The One That I Want(2)

I couldn’t answer him. I tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as I sucked in large gulps of air. I couldn’t get enough, and my head spun from lack of oxygen.

“I have tickets to Wicked tomorrow night, and I know you like musicals. At least I think you do, judging by the magazine you always carry.”

I stopped dead in my tracks and spun to face him. He stood two steps below me and I was taller than him for once. I still couldn’t speak, my brain had short-circuited. Was he asking me on a date, or offering the tickets to me because no one else wanted them? Was I his good deed for the week? My heart plummeted.

“Sorry, I’ve got plans.” I turned around and took the stairs two at a time, leaving him staring after me.



WAITING IN line for my drink during intermission, I felt a hand on the small of my back. “I never thought I’d see you here. Are you with someone?” I turned around and came face to face with Mr. I’ll-give-him-tickets-because-he’s-a-sad-loser. Why did I have to run into him in my favorite place in the entire city? Wasn’t the city big enough for the two of us?

Musicals were my escape, my happy ending. After being thrown out of home for being “perverted, unnatural, and against God,” I escaped to the theater. There were always happy endings in musicals and for only a couple of hours, I could believe there was a happy ending waiting for me too.

“I’m Paul.” He stuck his hand out and it was only because I was brought up to be polite that I shook it. He didn’t release his hold.

“Jason.”

“Jason, it’s nice to finally know your name. You didn’t answer my question, Jason.” He said my name like he was rolling it around on his tongue, savoring it.

Paul didn’t let go of my hand until I tugged it hard enough he had to release me, or look like an idiot trying to arm wrestle while standing in a crowded theater.

“No, I’m not here with anyone.” I moved forward in the line a bit. I really needed that drink.

“Do you always come to the theater by yourself?”

“Yes.” I looked around. “Do you?” I tried for smug but I don’t think it worked.

He chuckled. “I have a spare seat next to me that was supposed to be yours. You ran off yesterday morning before I had a chance to ask you to join me.”

“You were going to ask me to join you? Like a date?” I was gobsmacked.

“Exactly like a date. What did you think I was going to ask you?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Would you like to join me? I’m near the front, excellent view.”

I had a cheap seat with restricted viewing, thanks to a huge pillar in my way, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen the show before. I spent nearly every Saturday night going to shows on Broadway, and sometimes I was lucky enough to catch two in one night.

“Can I sing?”

“Umm, sing?”

“Yes, I won’t be able to stop myself. If this is something that will embarrass you then it’s okay, I’ll go back to my own seat.” Paul might as well know what he was in for if I sat with him. It wasn’t like he was asking for a relationship, God forbid, so if he couldn’t handle me singing along, I’d be happier back in my cheap seat by myself.

I was at the head of the line so I placed my order while Paul thought about whether or not he still wanted me to sit with him. I ordered a wine, and he ordered a beer. He insisted on paying for both.

“Thank you,” I said, once we’d stepped out of the way of the other theater-goers.

“You’re welcome. Follow me, I’m down this way.”

“Umm, okay.” I wasn’t sure I would be able sing along now, knowing he’d be sitting beside me and would hear my caterwauling.

He was right, though, the seats were amazing. I could see the entire stage and all the detail of the performers’ costumes that I couldn’t see from my original seat in the next neighborhood. I could never have afforded these seats.

The performance was almost over, my wine was long gone, and I was buzzed by how much better the show was when you sat closer to the action. I sang along, maybe not at the top of my lungs, but I still sang, but when I looked at Paul, he was fast asleep. How could he sleep through that? The orchestra was on fire and the singing was fantastic, and he slept through it? Had he had a big day or was he bored with my company? He wouldn’t come to a musical if he thought they were boring so I was hoping he’d had a big day, and it wasn’t me.

But it probably was me. I mean, Paul was the perfect male specimen. Tall and handsome with perfect teeth. He was a corporate high flyer with enough money to spend on premium Broadway tickets and designer suits.

I was the too-skinny, average-height, nondescript-looking accountant who spent his day in a gray office cubicle next to a hundred other cubicles. I didn’t even have my own office. Paul’s office would have a great view of the entire city and the park. I bet he even lived in a penthouse. With a butler. Okay, maybe a butler was pushing it.

I stopped singing and tried to enjoy the rest of the show, but my enthusiasm for the great seats had worn off. Now all I wanted to do was go home to Dave.

The final scene played out and everybody stood and clapped their hearts out. Including me. Paul stood and clapped enthusiastically next to me, giving me a wide grin. I tried to grin back but I think it came out more of a grimace.