RUSH (City Lights, #3)(56)

“I’m not really hungry,” I said, trying my best to not sound like an ungrateful *. Pretty sure I failed miserably.

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’ll figure something out,” I said. “Go ahead, Charlotte. Go out with your friends.”

“Would you…uh, like to come with me?”

I knew what it cost her to ask me that; I’d felt the urge to ask her and couldn’t even muster the guts. I guess the cliff dive stole my backbone too. But then again, the relentless itch to escape was consuming me and the sooner I was away from Charlotte, the better. For her.

“No. Thank you, Charlotte. I’m under the weather today. I think I’ll just rest. But thanks for asking.”

I turned and made my way up the stairs before she could say another word.

Alone in my room, I threw myself on the bed, and did nothing but listen for the sound of the front door closing that meant Charlotte had gone out. My watch told me it wasn’t even four o’clock. I had hours to wait.

My thoughts went back to the dog park. I’d asked Charlotte where she’d go if she could get out of this city, as if I could live vicariously through her. As if I could escape the blackness through her vision. All I could think about was getting out, going anywhere but where I was, which was a chamber of inky nothing. A room in a townhouse. Central Park. A dog park with wide spaces that weren’t wide at all, but fenced off. All different words that boiled down to the same thing.

No matter the name or dimensions; if a breeze blew or if it didn’t; if it were populated with dogs or people or just a chair and a voice reading in my ear, it was all the same black prison to me.

And I had to get out.





Chapter Nineteen


Charlotte

I watched Noah walk upstairs. Inexplicably, my heart clenched and tears sprung to my eyes. He was having a ‘bad day’, that was clear. I thought about staying in, but his expression, his voice…I recognized the grief in them. I’d looked and sounded like that many times in the early months after Chris died, and I’d just wanted to be alone. Noah’s ‘death’ was fresher than mine and he was still making his way through it. I had to respect that.

I got ready to go out, dressed in a knee-length blue shift with an artsy diamond pattern sewn in thick maroon thread along the hem. I brushed my hair until it shone and it settled prettily around my shoulders. I wished that it was Noah I was going out with, that we’d slow dance under the lights of the Brooklyn Bridge, and I’d describe to him the sunrise so that he could see it. Like he had in Machu Picchu.

Because I’m his endless possibility.

The girl reflected in my bathroom mirror blushed prettily.

“You’re setting yourself up for disaster,” I told her. “Again.”

But she wasn’t listening.

*

I met the gang at the Gin Palace in the East Village. The swanky bar’s fa?ade was a jut of gold-trimmed onyx in the falling night. Regina, Mike, Felicia, Melanie and Sasha were all there, sitting in a row on the top level of the long dais-raised seat that ran along one side. I climbed up the other two steps, and Regina and Melanie scooted so I was wedged between them.

“So?” Regina crowed as Mike pressed a gin and tonic—the bar’s on-tap specialty—into my hand. “How was it? The audition for the Phil?”

“Oh, I uh…I didn’t get it,” I said, grateful that we were all sitting side by side. Regina didn’t know I was lying but it would take one peek from Melanie and the jig would be up. “It’s okay, though,” I added quickly. “I wasn’t one hundred percent prepared.” Understatement of the century.

Regina lifted her glass in a solemn toast. “A for effort, Conroy. We’re all happy to see you’re getting out there. And those knuckleheads at the Phil don’t know what they turned down.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, and took a long pull from my gin and tonic. I felt a hand on my arm.

“Hey.” Melanie’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I’m proud of you. I know it took a lot for you to do that.”

“Yeah, well…”

“But how was it? What did you play? Did you feel nervous?”

I couldn’t lie to Melanie. Our friendship just didn’t work that way. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Sure, sure. Booze it up a little. Relax. Celebrate the first step on the road back to concert violin-ing, instead of personal assisting.”

I smiled thinly and took another long sip. A really long sip.

The group chatted about the various orchestras they played for or were vying for a spot with, and Regina talked up her musical shin-dig that was—she reminded me frequently—a week away.

Eventually, it was my turn to get the next round. I asked Melanie to come with me to help carry, and while we waited with the crowd around the glittering bar, I came clean.

“I didn’t audition for the Phil,” I blurted.

Melanie’s face contorted into concern. “Oh, hon. Is it still so bad?”

“It’s worse,” I said. “I didn’t freeze up, or f*ck up, or even play at all. Mel…” I clutched her arm, “I forgot. It didn’t even cross my mind.”

Her concern morphed into perplexity, her brows coming together under her thick, dark bangs. “You…forgot? You won yourself an audition for the New York Philharmonic and you forgot?”